Prologue

Fresh blood dripped from the silver dagger hanging limply by her side—the scarlet drops creating a dark stain in the thick mud at Ava’s feet. The sections of the blade that weren’t bloodstained glinted in the sunlight peeking through the throng of grey clouds overhead, mirroring the somber atmosphere.

The pungent smell of iron burnt her nostrils with a sickly-sweet sting. It wasn’t the first time that Ava Rose had smelled blood—no, she was more than familiar with the crimson fluid and its scent. The nausea twisting her stomach and making her sick had far more to do with the person to whom the blood belonged.

Boyd Cameron stared up at her from the ground, curled up in the fetal position just a few steps away, his hands bound together in front of him, and too weak to get up. But the way he looked at her revealed that he was well aware of what was going on around him. His beautiful green eyes were filled with pain and confusion—his normally neat blond hair had spilled from his ponytail and was caked with mud and fresh blood.

Even while lying on his side curled into a ball, Boyd was noticeably taller than any man she’d known. His height had always made him a formidable highlander. Her highlander.

Ava stared down at him, contemplating her next move. He didn’t deserve this… nae like this… A laird laying in the mud, wounded by me own hand. Wounded by someone he had come tae trust… Thoughts of who he really was nagged at her conscience.

This wasn’t a murderer who lay in front of her. This was Boyd Cameron. Laird to the villagers who surrounded them now. And the man she loved.

Me heart is breaking, I cannae dae this…

“Finish the job,” Tavish snarled from beside Boyd when Ava lingered for too long, towering over the wounded man in triumph. Tavish’s light green eyes were dark with murderous intent. Ava looked at the nasty grin across his face, letting her gaze fall to the sharp-edged dagger against her brother’s frail neck.

The agony of the situation had turned his skin even paler and ashier than usual. Dark circles under his eyes alerted Ava to the fact that his body had already taken as much as it could. How long had it been since he had his last dose of medication?

Focusing on her brother and drowning out the screams of excitement and confusion emanating from the unruly crowd, Ava shut her eyes. A single hot tear ran down her cheek. There was no other choice… She would have to do it. She opened her light blue eyes that shone with tears. Crossing the small divide between her and the man she loved with small, hesitant strides, she dreaded what had to be done with every fiber of her being.

Kneeling down before Boyd, she cupped his rough cheek and brought her face closer to his. “I am so sorry Boyd, I didnnae mean for things tae end like this…” she whispered with tears flowing over her pale cheeks. “I have tae dae this…” She leaned in closer and pressed a final kiss against his quivering lips.

The blood he’d lost, in addition to the dizziness from the potion, was beginning to have an effect. His skin paled noticeably. Boyd returned her kiss with a small grunt of pain as he strained to lift himself up, making her heart break with regret and sorrow for the man she loved and had betrayed.

“Dae it already!” Tavish screeched at her in his grating voice.

“Think about what ye are about tae dae, Ava!” Rory’s voice called to her from the side. The crowd parted slightly, revealing Boyd’s best friend being held back by a group of Tavish’s men dressed in kilts and traditional battle garb.

Grunting from the pain in his hand where the blood still flowed from his wound, Boyd looked up at Ava with a tumultuous, cross expression written on his ruggedly handsome face. His slurred words and slow movements were an indication that the potion was still having an effect on his body. “Ava… are ye really going tae dae this? After everything we’ve been through?”

She stood frozen as he spoke.

“I thought ye loved me as much as I love ye, Ava…” Boyd’s words trailed off as he saw her head turn toward her brother before he could even finish his sentence. “I thought we felt the same…” he whispered.

“Enough sentiment!” Tavish growled. His arms tightened around Neil as his anger and impatience grew.

Neil’s eyes pleaded with her again, tugging at her heart as his chest rose and fell with increasing effort. A coughing fit was not far off when he breathed like that. Time was running out.

Ava shut her eyes and gritted her teeth as thoughts of the past few weeks raced through her mind. They were interrupted by her brother’s pleas for help and Rory begging her to see reason. The moment had come to make her final decision. Turning slightly to the left, Ava raised her dagger high into the air. She knew what had to be done.

“Ava, nae! Dinnae dae it!” Rory’s voice was frantic with panic as he yelled over the onlookers’ heads. The crowd gasped in shock.

Tears flowed freely down her porcelain cheeks as Ava spun around and plunged the dagger’s blade into his hot flesh, all the way down to the hilt. Bone cracked, and blood spurted down her hands and onto her dark cloak. The sickening smell of fresh blood was nearly as unbearable as the number of hot tears spilling over her cheeks. The gurgling sounds of a man dying at her hand pierced her thoughts like the dagger that had penetrated the man’s flesh.

“I never wanted to dae this…” she whispered through her tears, her voice thick with emotion.

The crowd grew silent as Ava twisted the dagger one last time to ensure that the job had been executed correctly. Taking a step back, she could no longer control herself and sank to her knees, sobbing at what she had just done.

The clouds erupted with fine rain, which fell over the lifeless body lying in the street as she cried aloud and hugged her middle. Villagers were shocked. Some people covered their mouths, while others stood motionless, unable to believe or accept what they had just witnessed.

There was no going back now. The deed was done. Ava Rose had made her choice, and no number of potions nor pleading could take it back…

He was dead.

Chapter One

“One Month Earlier…”

Ava tossed her long black hair over her shoulder and straightened the dark traveling cloak she always wore on her missions. It was yet another dreary moor afternoon in the Scottish Highlands, and the wind rustled through the trees and underbrush.

“That one was rather quick. Ye was in and out in the shake o’ a lamb’s tail,” Skye said, her hazel eyes scanning the bushes of heather in case they were being followed.

“Aye. He thought luck was on his side when a young lass wondered so readily intae his house. I didnnae even have tae convince him tae let me in. He even readily accepted the tea mixture.” Ava’s stomach clenched with disgust at the way the man had licked his lips and scanned her from head to toe when he opened the door.

“The bastard had it coming. He was a bad man,” Skye added and balled her delicate fists at her sides as they walked. Her already pale skin whitened at the knuckles.

Ava clenched her jaw at the thought of what she’d just done. Skye was right about one thing: the man she had just poisoned was indeed a bad man. There was no denying that he shouldn’t be left in the world to ruin people’s lives.

Yet, she felt terrible. But she needed the money to help pay off the debts left behind after her parents’ deaths, as well as the care her brother required. When no other option presented itself, Ava had taken to hiring herself out as a paid assassin. Poison was her weapon of choice. Years of experience had taught her well.

Just by glancing at a pinch of powdered nightshade, she could determine whether it’d induce sleep or death. The purple plant that grew only in the dampest and darkest sections of Scotland’s moors was always present in her arsenal of potions, whether to kill or knock somebody out. She couldn’t afford even the slightest miscalculation.

She was as good as any healer in the village, even better, some would say. There was one thing that bothered her, however. Ava always struggled to come to terms with her own conscience after she’d successfully executed a mission.

“I ken what yer thinking Ava, I’ve known ye long enough. What ye did was right; he ruined that young lass’ life. Naething ye did can be worse than what he did tae her. Remember that,” her friend said.

Walking on without saying another word, Ava listened to her best friend prattle on about how bad the man was and how the world was better off without him in it. Years spent helping the village healer who looked after her brother once their parents had died, had equipped Ava Rose with a helpful, and sometimes deadly, knowledge of herbs and plants that she used to her advantage whenever the occasion arose. She wasn’t proud of the fact that she killed men for a living. But these men had brought nothing but misery and sorrow into the world, they deserved it.

“If ye hadn’t poisoned him, he would be free tae hurt another wee lass. Ye did the world a favor, Ava. Yer a hero in my eyes,” she smiled reassuringly at her friend with her thin lips. Everything about Skye was fine and delicate, from her height, slender body, and fairy-like features to her voice and the pretty floral dresses she wore. Ava was often worried that the tiniest gust of wind would blow her away. But her friend possessed a heart that was fiercer than any man she had ever met.

“I ken it might have been the right thing tae do in the eyes of the world at large,” Ava sighed heavily. “But was it right for me tae make that decision…” her words were less of a question and more of a statement.

Ava had been hired to carry out revenge on a man that had taken advantage of a young girl in the woods while she was out picking flowers. She was only fifteen. The girl’s father had wanted revenge and sought out Ava’s services in one of the taverns that she frequented for work. She only took on missions where she was absolutely certain that the target in question deserved what she was asked to do.

It was the only way she could earn enough money to support herself and her brother Neil. He suffered from a bad chest, and a myriad of other ailments, that required around-the-clock care from healers as well as herself. All of which didn’t come cheap. They barely kept their heads above water with the money she earned.

“I ken that the people I poison are bad people; it’s just that the question plagues me mind night after night…” she paused for a second, struggling to put her thoughts into words. “Is it really me decision, or yers, or anyone else’s for that matter? Tae decide when a life should end based on what they dae or did tae others? Should he nae have just gone tae jail or some other form of punishment?”

“Dinnae go down that path again,” Skye attempted to soothe her best friend’s conscience. “Ye dae what ye have tae, tae survive. And by doing so, ye rid the world of people that shouldnae be in it in the first place. Monsters like that should nae be allowed tae carry on living.”

Smiling half-heartedly, Ava looked at her friend as they walked. Skye was a blessing, she didn’t know what she would do without her. The young blond girl did everything in her power to help her and Neil whenever she could. She tagged along on Ava’s missions and acted as a distraction whenever was needed to complete the task at hand. A notorious flirt in the village, Skye could always be counted on to distract any potential disruptions.

“Cheer up lass, ye’re almost home,” Sky slipped her arm into the crook of her friend’s. “I’ll brew ye a nice cup o’ tea. Nice clean tea ye can trust,” she added with a teasing wink.

Ava was slightly taller than her friend with a more rounded figure and aristocratic features with a skin as pale and smooth as porcelain that oft had people mistaking her for nobility. Not wanting the attention that her beauty often drew from passers-by, Ava often wore dark dresses and cloaks with hoods that would conceal her identity.

She always pulled her hair up into a tight bun at the back of her head when she was on a mission, loosening it the second she was sure that the target was dead and nobody was following her.

Skye would always tell her that she looked like a young school marm with her hair tied back, and a proper lady with it hanging loose. That suited Ava just fine as she relied on her different appearances for the sake of anonymity.

The cluster of silver birch trees that grew so readily in the forest gave way to an opening that revealed a tiny wooden cabin. Ava’s great-grandfather had built the cabin with his own two hands, and their family had lived in it for generations thereafter. The structure made from oak wood stood in a clearing surrounded by hazel bushes that nestled the humble lodgings in a homely cocoon.

It consisted of a kitchen, two small bedrooms, four small windows peering out the front and sides and a sitting area that Ava had converted into her brother’s room with a wooden-frame bed. It was just easier to have Neil closer to the medication when he had one of his many coughing fits.

Ava felt a small amount of relief at the sight of her home. The only peace she had in the world was knowing that she had a safe haven to return to, where her brother was waiting. A tiny patch of peat surrounded the cabin, fed by the babbling stream that ran through the forest. She stopped for a second, pulling her friend back with her.

“What’s the matter?” Skye suddenly asked when she caught a glimpse of Ava’s face.

“Something isnae right,” she nodded toward the cabin. “The door is slightly open. Sophie was supposed tae be with Neil, she would never leave the door open in weather like this. She’s his healer. She kens what it would dae tae his chest.”

Skye frowned and followed her friend when Ava suddenly broke into a run.

She burst through the partially open door, her breath catching in her throat when her eyes fell on the scene before her. “Oh my Lord!” she exclaimed before rushing forward.

The young healer was bound by her hands and feet with a dirty rag shoved into her mouth. She was laying on her side on the bed that Neil usually occupied. The furniture in the cottage was strewn about the floor.

“Where is he?” Ava asked frantically as she hurried to undo the healer’s hands and remove the rag from her mouth. The rope had already cut welts into the girl’s pale skin. “Where is he?!” she asked a little more frantically when Sophie struggled to catch her breath, gagging and gasping for air once her mouth was free again.

“They…” she struggled to speak over her sobs. The lass looked as if she’d been roughed up a little. Tiny bruises covered her arms.

Skye took a deep breath and tried to calm them both. She brushed strands of Sophie’s long blond hair over her shoulder and wiped away her tears with her sleeve. “What happened here?”

Sophie took a deep breath and stared at Ava with her dark brown eyes filled with tears. Her body shook uncontrollably. “Four men came intae the cabin soon after ye left, Ava. I tried tae stop them, but…”

Ava shook her gently by the shoulders when she started to sob again. “Did they take Neil? Where is he?” she asked more gently. “I need tae know what happened.” Ava stayed close to Sophie while Skye boiled water for tea to calm their nerves.

Sophie nodded as even more tears fell into her lap. “They left a note for ye on the table over there,” She raised a frail arm and pointed to the table in the center of the room, which stored all of the herbs used to help Neil.

Ava left the lass immediately, hurriedly making her way across the room to pick up the single sheet of paper that lay amidst the herbs and potions. She quickly glanced at the slanted writing on the page before rushing back over to Sophie. “Please, read it! Ye ken, I cannae, please,” she asked frantically.

The lass took the note with a shaking hand before finding enough strength to read it aloud.

Ava Rose

Two weeks.

Ava could feel the blood draining from her face as she slumped down in the nearest chair. The letter was not signed but she didn’t need anyone to tell her who had written it.

Skye rushed over once she had seen to Sophie and gripped Ava’s shoulders. Her face was paler than usual. The mischief in her gaze vanished. “Ava, what are we going tae dae?”

“I will have tae get the money before the two weeks are up. There is naething else tae dae,” Ava said as she stood, regaining her composure, trying to think logically again once the shock left her body.

“How will we dae that, Ava? We would have tae dae hundreds o’ jobs tae make that kind o’ money. With those smaller, more ‘honorable’ missions that we take on, we cannae make enough in two weeks’ time.”

“I will have tae go tae The Dark Horseman, Skye, ye ken that,” Ava said quietly as she began to pick up the furniture that had been knocked over.

Skye gasped and stared at her friend with her jaw hanging open. “Ava… ye swore that ye would never go there,” she shook her head lightly in disbelief.

“What else can I dae, Skye? Tell me, and I’ll do it, I swear,” she turned around with tears in her eyes, her voice high with panic and frustration. “Neil has been taken and I dinnae have the money they are asking for. I have tae dae what’s necessary right now. The Dark Horseman is the only place that will bring in that kind o’ money in such a short time.” Her palms felt sweaty from worry. “Or dae ye suddenly have buckets o’ money ye are willing tae give? Last time I checked, ye were just as poor as I am.”

Without sparing a word, Skye rushed over and threw her arms around her best friend’s neck. “I ken lass, I ken…” She buried her face in Ava’s hair. “We will get Neil back in one piece.”

Ava cried softly as she held onto her friend, immediately regretting her harsh outburst. Skye was all she had, except for Neil. She gave Sophie a quick glance, only to see the girl was sitting on the edge of her brother’s bed with her head resting in her hands, her elbows propped up on her thin legs. Her hair hung about her face like a waterfall of gold. The hem of her dress was tattered and torn, presumably from putting up a fight with the men who had taken him.

“I will go with ye,” Skye whispered through tears of her own.

“Nae, ye willnae, The Dark Horseman is nae place for a lass as fine as ye. But I ken that I can count on ye for help when I need it,” she shut her eyes against the burden of what she knew she had to do. “And I ken that I will need all the help that I can get.”

In the space of a moment, the world around Ava got darker. She would do anything to get her brother back alive and well. Even if it meant breaking her own oath, and visiting The Dark Horseman alone, praying to find someone to kill.

Chapter Two

Steel clashed together with deafening metallic clinks as the full moon peeked through the clouds overhanging the quiet castle.

“We cannae keep doing this, Boyd!” Rory called to his friend as he gasped for breath. His dark hair hung over his deep blue eyes, matted in sections from sweat. “It’s the middle o’ the night.” He doubled over, placing his hands on his knees to support himself while catching his breath. Though exhausted, a slight smirk spread across his face.

“Dinnae tell me ye are giving up already,” Boyd wielded his sword again, forcing his best friend to straighten and block his attack with his own sword. Boyd’s long blond hair was tied back in a ponytail to keep it from falling into his light green eyes. He was a formidable highlander with a fierce reputation. Taller than most men, his muscular build and bulging muscle only added to the effect.

Their swords clashed together for the hundredth time that night as they both leaned in with effort, attempting to push the other back.

“It’s nae that I mind sparring with ye Boyd,” Rory grimaced, looking up at his opponent. “I just feel that there are other ways tae tire ye out at night and spend yer energy before bed.”

“Dinnae start again,” Boyd winced through gritted teeth, beads of perspiration forming on his forehead.

“Ye cannae escape women all the time, Boyd. Ye need tae bed a lass, even if it’s one of the local lasses, you neednae go all the way tae the brothel in town. One of yer own maids here at the castle will dae.”

Boyd looked up at Rory in shock. He had never before suggested such a thing. Where, for God’s sake, was that idea from? Taken by the distraction, Boyd stumbled back as his sword fell from his grasp, clattering to the courtyard’s cobbled ground after slicing a neat slit in his grey breeches.

Rory swung his sword triumphantly as if he had made his point clear. “Ye may nae think that sparring is enough tae slake yer lusts, but ye are distracted, Boyd. Ye need tae dae something about that before ye get yersel’ killed in battle. Or even worse, ye could make a mistake and get yer men killed…”

Boyd relented to defeat and let himself sink to his haunches before sitting back on the ground. “I dinnae think that bedding the maids would reflect kindly on me as Laird, Rory.”

Rory took in a satisfied breath and placed his sword back at his side and looked down at the laird panting on the ground. “Then begin the search for another wife, Boyd. It’s been a year since…”

“Exactly, it’s been only a year. I dinnae want tae talk about that,” he snapped quickly. “Ye ken that very well.”

“Ye can bark at me all ye want. Ye dinnae scare me,” Rory hunkered down in front of his friend so that they were eye-to-eye. “Ye need tae hear the truth, and I dinnae mind that it needs tae come from me,” he paused before lowering his voice slightly to a more sympathetic tone. “She’s nae coming back, Boyd… We’ve looked everywhere.”

Boyd pushed himself up angrily, glaring down at Rory, who rose and stared him down, determination mingled with pity. “Dinnae say things like that, ye dinnae ken if she’s been killed,” he reached down and picked up his sword again.

Rory raised his voice more sternly, losing his patience slightly as Boyd failed to listen to reason. Again. “We have searched damn near every corner o’ Scotland. Where else dae ye want the men tae search?” He flung his arm out in a broad gesture. “Under all the heather and peat? She’s gone, Boyd. They all are. Whatever may have happened, ye cannae live yer damned life digging in the past. Ye are Laird.”

Boyd glared at his friend, panting from the exertion of picking up his sword again. The sun was still setting when they began their evening sparring match, and his energy was depleted. But the mention of his lost betrothed fueled his rage. He charged at Rory once more, letting out a fierce battle cry.

Stepping aside with ease, his friend dodged his attack, knowing full well that the Laird’s judgment was clouded. Any talk of Cora never returning was a taboo subject where Boyd Cameron was concerned. Both Rory and Boyd himself knew that very well.

Boyd landed with a thud and a clatter on the stones, his sword scraping in the dirt as it sailed away from him toward the inner walls of the castle.

“I think I have made my point,” Rory said, staring down at Boyd who had rolled onto his back, offering his hand to help him up. Boyd took it and let his friend guide him up. Deep down, he knew that the search could not go on forever. But he was unwilling to accept the fact that he would never see the woman he loved ever again.

Night after night, she haunted his thoughts and dreams. Her beautiful face kept him awake, urging him to find her. Cora. Cora Steward. She had gone missing the night before their wedding under mysterious circumstances, along with his father and the rest of her family and bridal party. Boyd thought her disappearance was the end of him—he could still feel the panic and anguish he felt when he realized they were gone.

“I dinnae say these things tae hurt ye, Boyd. I want ye tae have peace again,” Rory said as he pulled him up. “Tae much time has passed, ye need tae mourn and move on. The clan has bigger things tae worry about.”

Boyd placed his hands on his hips and examined the earnest expression on his best friend’s face as he caught his breath again, panting for air. Everything Rory said rang true. But there was no snuffing out the spark of hope he felt inside. She couldn’t just be dead. She must still be out there, somewhere, waiting for me… Killing somebody’s memory was far harder than killing an actual person.

“I ken what ye are saying, but I cannae just stop looking for her. As for yer suggestion that I bed a lass…” he looked up at the castle window where her bedroom had been on that night while feeling his emotions ebbing to dangerous places.

“I have nae been able tae look at any other lass in that light since… I cannae bring mysel’ tae…” he looked down and shook his head. “I ken that everyone thinks the marriage was planned against our will… and that since it was arranged tae remedy the bad blood between the clans, that we didnnae care for each other with genuine affection…” his voice trailed off.

“But yer attraction was real,” Rory finished his sentence for him.

“Aye, nae just the attraction. She made me laugh and filled a void in my life I never even knew existed.” Boyd looked down at his soiled breeches and the scrapes on the palms of his hands. Tiny drops of blood were beading on the cuts. “It was love at first sight for me… I cannae be sure o’ her feelings on that score. But she did express a great fondness for me as well,” a sad smile tugged at his lips.

The marriage had been arranged by the lairds and the families of the opposing clans to settle the hostility that had long plagued the families for centuries. The plan had seemed like it was going to work up until the night before the wedding, when everything had gone terribly wrong. The families had been once again at war since then. Callum Steward, Cora’s uncle, had taken over as Laird after his brother had disappeared, along with the rest of his immediate family, Cora included.

Callum maintained that the Cameron clan must have had something to do with the disappearance, since the incident had occurred in their castle whilst his family were guests. To make matters even worse, Boyd’s father had gone missing along with the rest of the party, implicating them even further.

Boyd racked his mind but had failed to come up with a plausible explanation of what could have occurred. It is impossible that an entire group of people can go missing just like that without a trace…

Grief-stricken, his mother had taken her own life a short while after. Boyd felt desperately sorry for the pain she must have been feeling with the loss of her husband—it was a pain all too familiar with his because of how he felt for Cora.

Boyd thought back to the time he had first laid eyes on Cora Steward…

He’d been waiting impatiently in the grand entrance hall of the castle for the woman his parents had said he was to marry for the good of the clans. His hopes and dreams had been dashed when he was informed that he would no longer be able to choose his own bride. For Boyd’s heart was already set on a beautiful lass he’d noticed from another clan.

“It’s ye…” a quiet voice had suddenly said from just behind him.

Boyd had turned around to see a beautiful young lass with strawberry blond hair and golden-brown eyes. Her skin was flawlessly white with undertones of peach. Her pale pink gown made her perfect lips look even pinker. To his greatest shock and amazement, she was no stranger at all.

“Hello…” he had managed through his astonishment. “Are ye here with the party or… it cannae be,” his eyes searched her face hopefully with a slight amount of disbelief.

“When they said I was tae marry someone from yer clan, I hoped it would be ye,” she had smiled sweetly.

Boyd had laid eyes on her for the first time at a clan meeting to discuss the ongoing concerns between the families. He’d thought her the most beautiful lass he had ever seen in his life. They had talked and laughed together in a quiet corner of the banquet hall while the elders discussed their business.

She had been so polite and kind to him, that he’d thought her from a different clan. After all, there was no way that a member of the Steward clan would ever be so kind to a Cameron.

He’d fallen for her the instant he’d seen her. Cora’s laugh and gentle nature only sweetened the deal. Nonetheless, their clans were at odds, and would likely be for many years to come, as that night’s discussions had demonstrated. Boyd had made peace with loving her from afar. All the clans in attendance that night had been their rivals.

Cora’s smile broadened. “I hope it’s a pleasant surprise, nae?” she asked demurely, her long lashes brushing her cheeks whenever she looked down.

“More pleasant than ye could ever imagine,” he’d taken a step forward.

She’d laughed then and placed her soft hands in his when he’d held out his hands to her. “My heart was poundin’ so fast waiting tae see how ye would respond. I hoped ye’d be as keen as I am,” her soft and elegant voice reminded him of the meadow pipits in the height of spring.

His throat tightened when he recalled just how lovely she was. They never even had the chance to really get to know each other before tragedy struck. Boyd cleared his throat and adjusted his soiled white shirt to conceal the fact that he was choking up.

“Ye have braved more storms than any other man I ken,” Rory’s words yanked him from his thoughts and solitude. “And while I have the greatest sympathy with all the loss ye have dealt with and the ones ye are still strugglin’ tae accept… Ye are Laird now, Boyd. Ye need tae dae what is best for the clan, and nae just yersel’. As hard as it may be, this is the reality of being ye.”

“The clan must come first,” Boyd said bitterly and straightened his back, doubting that fate would deal him another pleasant surprise as it had done before.

“Aye, harsh, but true. I dinnae mean that ye must throw love out the window altogether and marry just for convenience. But at least be open tae the chance of meeting someone new. I ken how ye feel about Cora, and I am nae saying that anyone else can ever come close, but even if they dinnae. Ye dinnae have tae be alone for the rest of yer life. I want ye tae be happy again.”

Boyd loved Rory like a brother and knew that he would eventually have to take his suggestions on board should Cora never return. But a year seemed like such a short time to move on with your life after having lost so many people. How could their memory be erased so swiftly?

“Apologies, my Laird,” a man approached them from the shadow of the castle. “I dinnae mean tae interrupt yer conversation, but the council has called for a meeting at once.”

They raised their eyebrows and exchanged worried glances before looking back to the messenger. The man had obviously been in a hurry, his kilt was soiled with dirt, and his sandy hair was a mess.

“At this hour?” Boyd asked with concern.

“Aye, one o’ the scouts returned with some particularly disturbing news. It seems like we may expect an attack on our borders sooner than expected, my Laird.”

“Dammit,” Rory cursed under his breath. “I ken things had been too quiet o’ late.”

Boyd quickly retrieved his sword before following the messenger with haste. If this report proved to be true, he may just have to push his own feelings aside and find a bride for the sake of the clans. And soon.

Chapter 1

The street that stretched outside of Muriel’s window, with its carriages and taverns and the countless people that went about their business in a dazzling display of colors, had become so familiar to her in the years she had spent in Edinburgh. But now that her time at the women’s school she attended had come to an end, there was only one place she wanted to go—home.

Soon, her world would change from one of stone and grime to one of the sandy beaches and green hills stretching as far as the eye could see. Edinburgh had an undeniable charm, and Muriel had become accustomed to the smells that offended her nose when she first arrived and the crowds that never seemed to cease. She had even spent whole days without thinking of her home, too busy with her studies and the friends she had made to be homesick. And yet, now that her departure was imminent, she dreamt of the Isle of Barra nightly and woke with a tight, heavy chest.

“Did ye get all yer things?”

The voice coming from the door startled Muriel, but it was one that she knew well. She turned around with a smile and saw Caitriona there, the one girl that she would never forget, no matter how much distance or time separated them.

Caitriona was the opposite of Muriel in every way—sporting dark hair where Muriel’s was strawberry blonde, short where she towered over everyone, timid where she was labeled the troublemaker. It didn’t matter to either of them. They were best friends from the very first day they had met.

Muriel ran to her, pulling Caitriona into a tight embrace, one that had the girl huffing in surprise. “I did,” she said. “Well . . . apart from this.”

As she spoke, Muriel took a handkerchief out of her pocket. Her fingers were still red and swollen from the myriad times she had pricked herself on the needle, and the boredom of the task still lingered in her mind, but she was proud of the intricate embroidery she had managed to create. The golden thread she had picked blended nicely into the stark white fabric, making the entire square shine under the light, and in the corner, she had embroidered both their initials.

“What’s this?” Caitriona asked, her eyes widening as she examined the handkerchief. “For me?”

“Aye,” Muriel said. “If ye dinnae like it—”

“I adore it!” Caitriona was the one to pull her into an embrace then, and Muriel only knew that her friend was crying when she felt tears soak her shoulder. “Muriel . . . I ken how much ye hate embroiderin’. Ye didnae have to.”

“I wanted to. I wanted ye to have somethin’ to remember me by.” Muriel couldn’t stop her own tears from spilling down her cheeks, but she quickly wiped them off, masking them with a smile. “Promise me ye’ll write me often.”

“I promise. Ye must write me, too, dinnae forget,” Caitriona said, and then suddenly slapped her thighs with her hands, as though she was searching for something in her pockets. “Here it is! I almost forgot to give it to ye. It came today, from yer faither.”

The letter that Caitriona handed Muriel was still crisp and folded carefully, despite spending all day in the folds of her pocket. Muriel tore it open with trembling hands. Her father only wrote her whenever something serious had happened.

Dear Muriel,
Ye’ll be happy to ken that I have arranged a very advantageous marriage for ye. Ye are to marry Owen Macleod at once, so there will be nae time for ye to return to Barra. I have sent Liam Russell McAlpine to take ye to Lewis. His reputation is excellent, and he will ensure ye arrive safely. Dinnae fight the lad and do as he says.

Muriel’s gaze didn’t stray from the letter even after she finished reading it. She stared at the words, her mouth hanging open, her fingers curling tightly around the piece of paper.

He didnae even bother to sign it.

Her father loved her, there was no doubt about that. Some of her fondest memories were of the two of them together, even though she had spent most of her time at her mother’s house by the sea instead of in her father’s keep, which stood on the hill above, looming over the shore. He had even sent her to Edinburgh though he had admitted how much it pained him to see her go. Still, it had been necessary to save her from the torment of his wife, who despised her for being the result of her father’s infidelity and found ways to torture her both when she was staying with them and from afar. But there was one thing that her father loved more than her, and that was wealth and power. He was a pirate chieftain, after all. Muriel had learned that the moment she was old enough to realize that her father would never defend her against her stepmother. Her family was too rich for him to endanger their marriage.

And Owen Macleod is from a pirate clan, too. Neither of them will ever love me as much as they love gold.

She would even consider herself lucky if her husband loved her at all. All she had heard growing up were stories about young women who were sold into a loveless marriage, and as much as she despised that fate, it had come to be hers, too.

“What does it say?” Caitriona asked. In her horror, Muriel had forgotten she was even in the room.

For a moment, Muriel considered lying to her. There was no reason for Caitriona to worry, especially since Muriel was supposed to leave so soon. But she had never lied to her, and it felt wrong to start lying to her now.

“It’s from me faither,” she said. “He wrote that I am to marry.”

Caitriona remained silent for what felt like hours to Muriel. The girl searched her face, her gaze so intense that Muriel felt as though she was looking right through her.

“Ye’re nae happy about it,” Caitriona said.

It wasn’t a question. Muriel wondered just how miserable she must have looked for Caitriona to know immediately that she wanted nothing to do with that marriage. She could feel it, too, in the way the corners of her mouth dropped lower, jaw clenching with the effort it took to keep her eyes dry.

“Nae. I’m nae happy about it,” she confirmed.

Caitriona wrapped an arm around Muriel and pulled her toward the bed, the two of them sitting side by side. Muriel didn’t know what to say, and so she remained silent, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

“What will ye do?”

Muriel drew in a sharp breath. What would she do? There was nothing for her to do but what her father ordered.

“I dinnae have any choice,” she pointed out. “So, I suppose I will go to Lewis and marry this Owen Macleod.”

“Can ye nae speak to yer faither?” Caitriona asked. “Ye said that ye and yer faither are on good terms. Maybe he’ll listen to ye if ye tell him that ye dinnae wish to marry.”

“We are, but ye dinnae ken him,” Muriel said, and some venom slipped into her tone. Her father had done many bad things in his life. He had hurt her mother, too, taking her from her home by force to be his mistress and then throwing her aside when he didn’t want her anymore. Perhaps she should have been expecting it, but he had never hurt her directly before. “Once he makes up his mind, there’s nae way to change it.”

“Sounds like someone else that I ken,” Caitriona said with a teasing smile. Muriel knew that she was right. She had grown up to be just like her father, which infuriated her mother more often than she liked to admit.

Not that Muriel could blame her. She had been his captive and had no reason to love him.

“Unfortunately, there’s one thing that I didn’t inherit from him.”

“And what’s that?” Caitriona asked.

“I’m nae a man.”

With a sigh, Caitriona nodded in agreement. Muriel lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling with unshed tears stinging her eyes. Frustration bubbled up inside her, turning her stomach into a knot. If she had been a man, she would have avoided this fate. Maybe her father would even listen to her more, instead of always doing what he thought was best for her without ever consulting her.

Nae, he’s nae doin’ this because he thinks it’s best for me. He’s doin’ it because it’s best for him.

That was the sad truth, the one that was so hard for Muriel to swallow. If her father had been doing this from the goodness of his heart or out of concern for her, she would understand. But she was nothing more than payment to a man who would help her father expand his influence. She was as good as cattle.

“Perhaps it willnae be so bad,” Caitriona said, though even she sounded apprehensive. Muriel wasn’t the only young woman to hear of those stories of loveless marriages. They all knew how those husbands treated their women—as if they had no worth to them at all.

“And perhaps it will be,” Muriel said as she pushed herself back up, slouching as she sat next to Caitriona. “But what is the point in thinkin’ about it?

Nothin’ will change no matter how miserable I become, so I may as well nae think about it until I must.”

Caitriona nodded once again and, for a few moments, she remained silent. Then she said, “How will you get to Lewis? He cannae expect ye to go all alone.”

“He has sent a man to fetch me,” Muriel said, her mind going back to the name she had read in her father’s letter. Liam Russell McAlpine. Her father had mentioned his reputation, but Muriel had never heard of him. She could imagine him, though, an older man with salt and pepper hair, scars marking his face, maybe missing a finger or two. Those were the kinds of men who usually had a reputation.

“And ye must go soon?”

“As soon as he arrives, I suppose.”

Muriel didn’t know when that would be. She could have weeks ahead of her or she could have hours, and that scared her even more than anything else that was to come. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Caitriona and her other friends yet, though she doubted she would ever be. Now that she wouldn’t even be going back to Barra, she didn’t want to leave at all. Before she had received the letter, she had a visit with her mother to look forward to. Now, she doubted her father would even bring her to Lewis for her wedding.

“How about this,” Caitriona said. “I’ll gather the lasses tonight, and I’ll see if I can get a bottle or two of wine from Mrs. MacGillivray’s room.”

Muriel’s eyes widened in disbelief. It was a shock to hear Caitriona even mention stealing anything from the head of their school, let alone being the culprit. Muriel was usually the one to instigate any sort of trouble, and Caitriona usually tried to stop her.

“Caitriona! I cannae believe ye would even suggest that!” she said. “I thought ye were more proper than this.”

“It may verra well be the last night we spend together, lass,” Caitriona said.

“And if I am to do somethin’ rebellious before I leave this place, then this is the time to do it. I can still blame ye for it, and everyone would believe me.”

Muriel knew that Caitriona was joking, but she didn’t tell her that she would take the blame if they were caught. She was used to punishments, after all.

“Fine,” she said. “But dinnae get caught. Mrs. MacGillivray isna verra forgivin’.”

By the time Caitriona left Muriel’s room, it had been plunged into darkness.

Muriel stood and lit a few candles, just enough to have some light in the room, and then sat back down on the bed, taking in her surroundings.

She would never see any of it again. She tried to commit the dark blue, damask print wallpaper to memory, the old, creaky hardwood floor, the small bed with the lumpy mattress that she had somehow come to find comfortable. She wondered what her new home would be like, if it would be as warm and inviting as her little room, though she doubted it.

Muriel didn’t realize how much time she had spent deep in thought until there was an urgent knock on her door. Before she could answer, a crowd of girls spilled into her room, half of them giggling and half of them shushing the rest sternly. And among them, all was Caitriona, with the bottles of wine as she had promised.

“Has Mrs. MacGillivray gone to sleep?” Muriel asked in a hushed tone as she urged everyone inside the room, closing the door firmly behind them.

“Och, aye,” Caitriona said, getting comfortable on Muriel’s bed. “They all have. But we must still be quiet. Ye ken how well she can hear.”

It was true. Mrs. MacGillivray didn’t miss a single sound, and even when she was asleep, the girls had to tiptoe around the building if they didn’t want to get caught. Everyone seemed to remember that for a long while, at least until the first bottle was gone and the second one was opened. Caitriona was the only one who reminded the rest of the girls to be quiet, every now and then sneaking out of the room to make sure that all the teachers were still sleeping and couldn’t hear them, before slipping back inside.

“I dinnae want ye to leave,” Caitriona told Muriel when the other girls had retired to their rooms. The two of them were laying side by side on the floor, and Muriel could see the frosty blue of the morning through the window.

“I dinnae want to leave either,” she admitted. “Maybe I willnae have to. Maybe Owen Macleod will fall in love with another lass and tell me faither he doesna want me anymore. Or maybe Liam McAlpine will perish on his way to fetch me.”

Of course, even then, Muriel would have to go back to Barra. She knew that well. But it was nice to dream that she could stay in Edinburgh a little longer.

“Maybe we should hide ye!” Caitriona suggested. “So then even if this Liam McAlpine comes, he willnae be able to find ye!”

In her drunken state, Muriel found that idea excellent. All she had to do was hide for long enough for Liam McAlpine to give up. She didn’t consider the possibility of him arriving weeks later or her father sending a search party after her.

“Let’s do it,” Muriel said.

In a flurry of excitement, the two girls emptied as much out of the chest that stood by the foot of Muriel’s bed as they could—only there wasn’t nearly enough space for her to fit. Even so, she jumped inside, trying to contort her body to fit the tiny space of the chest, the whole time grunting and cursing under her breath. She was so focused on her task, so insistent on fitting in there, that she didn’t hear the door open.

Chapter Two

The job should be easy, easier than most that Liam had accepted in the past.

Transporting a noble girl from one place to the next was hardly a job fit for someone of his reputation and skill, but the money was good.

It didn’t take Liam long to locate the women’s school in Edinburgh where Angus MacNeil had sent his daughter. From the outside, the building was unassuming though well-kept, clearly maintained to the highest standard. For a moment, Liam hesitated at the door. It was still early in the morning, the dew from the night still clinging to the flowers surrounding the entrance, the sky still half-dark. It was better to leave as soon as possible, though. There was no sense in traveling around the wilderness late at night.

The door swung open before Liam could even knock, and he was met by the stern gaze of a small, older woman. Liam had faced many enemies throughout his life, but those eyes told him that he didn’t want to cross her.

“And who may ye be?” the woman asked.

“Liam Russell McAlpine,” Liam said hastily. “Angus MacNeil sent me to take his daughter to Lewis.”

The woman’s expression softened upon hearing those words, though not enough for Liam to feel at ease. She nodded for him to enter and then climbed the stairs.

When Liam didn’t follow, she turned around and pinned him with that stern look once more.

“Well?” she asked. “Do ye expect the lassie to bring her own things down here?”

Liam followed the woman, though not without a sigh. He didn’t like taking orders, especially when they came from people with an attitude.

When the two of them reached the room, Liam could hear noises from the other side of the door. The sound brought a frown to his face, and he wondered why it sounded as though there were many people in there.

The woman all but kicked the door down, revealing two very feminine but guilty faces staring at them. Liam couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him, though it was cut short when the woman glared at him from the corner of her eye.

“Mrs. MacGillivray!” one of the girls said, shooting up to her feet from where she had been crouching down into a chest. The first thing that Liam noticed about her was how tall she was, taller than most of the women he had seen in his life. The second thing he noticed was how beautiful she was.

Even in the half-light of the room, her hair, a reddish blonde color, stunned him and her blue eyes were so dark they seemed almost violet, sparkling at him from under her eyelashes. She was a sight to behold, and Liam hoped that she wasn’t the girl he had been sent to fetch. He would hate to hand her over to someone else.

“Miss MacNeil, what are ye doin’? Why are ye in there?” Mrs. MacGillivray asked, her hands on her hips as she stared down at the girls. “Have ye been . . . drinkin’? Out, Miss Caileanach! Go to yer chambers this instant!”

At Mrs. MacGillivray’s shout, the other girl rushed out of the room, scrambling to get as far away from the woman as she could. Liam hardly noticed her, though. His mind focused on one thing: the woman had called the beauty Miss MacNeil.

So, she is Muriel MacNeil. Ach, weel . . . there are other bonny lasses out there.

Liam tore his thoughts away from the girl, reminding himself that he still had a job to do. Behind him, Mrs. MacGillivray had been joined by several other older women—teachers, Liam presumed—all of whom seemed to be very curious as to what had been going on in Miss MacNeil’s room, while his client had stepped out of the trunk and was putting her personal belongings back inside.

Liam walked over to her and offered her a hand with a chuckle, but Muriel refused it with an indignant huff. At that moment, Liam knew it was going to be a long trip to Lewis. There was nothing that Liam hated more than spoiled noble girls, and now he realized that Muriel was one of them. Even her beauty couldn’t make up for it.

“Miss MacNeil, I’m Liam Russell McAlpine,” Liam told her. “Yer faither—”

“I ken who ye are,” Muriel said. “I was hopin’ that ye wouldnae come so soon, but I suppose it cannae be helped. Will we be leavin’ immediately?”

“Aye,” Liam said. “The sooner, the better. I dinnae suppose that ye wish to travel in the dark and the cold?”

“I’d much rather nae,” Muriel said. She moved to the bed as she spoke, collapsing on it and covering her face with an arm. Liam looked at her, arms crossed over his chest, and knew precisely what the problem was.

The lassie is still drunk.

“How much did ye have to drink?” he asked her.

“I dinnae see how that concerns ye,” Muriel said.

“It concerns me because I’m the one who has to keep an eye on ye while we travel,” he told her. “What am I supposed to do if ye cannae even stand on yer feet?”

“Who said that I cannae?” Muriel said. “I am fine.”

“Is that so?” Liam asked, walking to the bed so he could stare down at her.

“Pack yer things, then. Let’s go.”

Muriel peeked out from under her arm just long enough to glare at him, and Liam only smiled back, smugly. He had traveled on his caps and hungover enough times to know that the trip that awaited Muriel would be anything but enjoyable. Still, as though powered by sheer force of will and stubbornness alone, Muriel stood and finished putting all her items in the trunk while Liam watched her.

By the time she was done, Liam could tell from her pale skin and the pained look in her eyes that she wasn’t feeling well, and he couldn’t help but feel bad for her. He pressed a hand on her shoulder, making her sit back down on the bed while he carried her things down the stairs, and then, once he was done, he offered an arm to her to hold.

This time, she didn’t refuse his assistance, and Liam led her to the horses.

Once there, she looked at Liam’s wagon with disdain.

“That’s it?” she asked. Liam didn’t know if she was more disturbed by the lack of a roof or the fact that it was tiny, nor did he care to ask.

“Ye’re lucky I brought one,” he said. “I wanted to have just horses, but yer faither didnae want that. We’d be travellin’ faster on a horse.”

“And what would happen to me things?” Muriel asked. “How would I take it all with me?”

“Not really me problem, lass,” Liam said with a shrug. Muriel’s only response was a glare, and once again, she refused any help from him as she climbed up into the wagon.

Liam tried to ignore Muriel as much as he could, even though she was huffing next to him, squirming in her seat every time they hit a bump on the road. He wanted to point out that none of it was enjoyable for him either, and that the last thing he wanted to be doing was spending days next to someone as unpleasant as her, but he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t have her complaining to her father that he wasn’t nice enough.

“So . . . what are ye?” Muriel said after several hours spent in silence. “A mercenary?”

“Aye, somethin’ like that,” Liam said.

“Do people hire ye to move brides like they’re cattle often?”

Ach . . . so that’s what it is.

Liam couldn’t imagine how Muriel—or any young woman in her position, in fact—felt about her wedding. If he were in her place, he would certainly be upset to be promised to someone against his will. He wondered, briefly, if that was one of the reasons why she was so disagreeable, but then again, none of it was his problem.

“I must admit that ye’re the first bride that I was hired to protect,” Liam said, choosing his words carefully. “Ye’re nae cattle, Miss MacNeil. I’m nae takin’ ye to a pen. I’m takin’ ye to yer future husband. Yer new home.”

“I may as well be cattle,” Muriel said, and her tone was so pained that once again, Liam’s heart ached for her. “What’s the difference? Me faither doesna care what I think; all he wants is to sell me to the highest bidder.”

“Ye should be more kind to yer faither,” Liam said. “The Macleod clan is a verra wealthy clan. Ye’ll have a verra comfortable life there.”

“Aye, wealthy enough for me faither to do anythin’ for that wealth.”

Bitterness laced Muriel’s tone, so strong that Liam was startled by it and decided he’d like to avoid having it directed at him at any point in time. He was getting the impression more and more that Muriel was not the kind of woman with whom he would want to argue, stubborn as she seemed to be. Liam didn’t argue with stubborn people. All it did was anger him.

“I dinnae ken what ye wish for me to say,” Liam said. “I am only here to do what I was paid to do. Nothin’ more, nothin’ less.”

“So ye dinnae care what I think about this marriage?”

“Why would I?” he asked. “I have nae say in it. I dinnae even ken ye, so why should I care? Ye’re just what I must transport.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Liam knew he had made a mistake. He had told Muriel that she wasn’t cattle only to imply then that she was merely an object.

“I didnae mean it like that,” he added quickly, trying to get ahead of the damage that he had caused. “I didnae mean—”

“I dinnae care what ye meant.” Muriel’s tone was curt, but Liam could almost feel the barbs hidden under her words.

Muriel fell silent then, and so did Liam. He didn’t know what to tell her, though he supposed it was better that way. The less they talked, the less annoyed both of them would get with each other, and that was the only way their journey could be painless. Liam simply enjoyed the silence and their surroundings, humming softly to himself as they passed through the land.

It was only much later when the sun had already begun to set, that Muriel spoke once more. “May I request that we sleep outside tonight?”

“Outside?” Liam asked. He would be lying if he said that Muriel’s request hadn’t surprised him. He was expecting her to balk at the mere thought of sleeping in the forest instead of a warm, comfortable room with a bed and a fluffy mattress.

“Aye, outside,” Muriel said. “We’ll pass by Loch Leven, will we nae? It seems like a good place to set up camp.”

“Are ye certain that ye dinnae wish to sleep inside?” Liam asked. “We can find an inn; there are towns nearby, and we still have some light.”

“Nae, I’d rather sleep outside,” Muriel insisted. “I wish to sleep under the stars. It’s been so long since I last did that, and noo seems like the perfect opportunity.”

Liam frowned, though he didn’t try to argue with her. It seemed strange to him that anyone would want to sleep outside in the cold when they could just find an inn with a room—and food and drink, which was perhaps even more important to him—but it wouldn’t be the first time that he slept outside. Besides, he didn’t want to antagonize Muriel too much, thinking that perhaps he just needed to show her that he was not her enemy. As long as her requests were reasonable, he had no problem fulfilling them.

“Verra weel, we’ll set up camp outside,” he said. “By the loch. But if ye get cold, dinnae blame me for it. I warned ye.”

“The fire will be enough,” Muriel assured him. “Besides, I’m the bairn of a pirate chieftain. Do ye really think that I’ve never spent a night in the cold before?”

“Och, I dinnae ken,” Liam said. “Ye dinnae seem like the kind of lass who would.”

“And what kind of lass do I seem to be?”

“The kind of lass who would complain about getting’ her dress soiled.”

The look that Muriel gave him was an amused one, as though she found the mere thought of being upset by something as trivial as that silly, and Liam had to re-evaluate his first impression of her as a spoiled girl.

Still, it didn’t make her any less infuriating.

“Ye ken nothin’ about me, so it would be better if ye kept yer assumptions to yerself,” she said politely, but with that same heat under her words that was a clear warning. “And whatever ye think ye ken about me is probably wrong.”

How can a lass so bonny be so frustratin’ at the same time?

Liam shook his head, but he didn’t say anything else. When they finally got to the lake, he tied the horses nearby and began collecting wood for the fire, while Muriel made her way around the clearing, examining the bushes that surrounded the lake with an interest that Liam found both strange and a little endearing. The heat of the fire was a pleasant change from the chill of the air, and for the first time, he realized just how stiff his fingers were after holding the reins for so many hours. Also, for the first time, he thought that maybe Muriel had been cold all along.

“Come sit by the fire, lass,” he told her as a way to get her warm without expressing his concern. Muriel joined him as he held his hands in front of the flames, trying to get the blood back into them.

“Look what I found,” she said, showing him some berries that she had in the folds of her skirt, which Liam regarded with suspicion.

“They’re nae poisonous, are they?”

“Of course nae,” Muriel said, and to prove it, she popped one in her mouth.

Liam took one, marveling at the sweetness that burst on his tongue when he bit into it.

Perhaps this willnae be so bad after all.

“I wish to talk to ye about somethin’,” Muriel said then, drawing a pained moan out of him. He already knew what she wanted to tell him—the same thing she had been telling him all this time.

Or perhaps I spoke too soon.

If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here

Chapter 1

Applecross, Scotland 1566

“Hayden? Is that ye?” a voice called out of the croft.

“Aye, who else would it be climbin’ this far up the hill at this time?” Hayden said with a laugh as he walked past the well up toward the croft door. “Nae many men come this far up the hills, do they?”

His uncle appeared in the doorway of the croft, still wearing the fine clothes that showed he had only recently got back from another of his merchant’s trips.

The scent of spices hung in the air off his figure, the cinnamon and then cumin tickling Hayden’s nose.

“We may have a visitor someday. Ye never ken!” his uncle laughed as he turned and walked back into the croft.

I thought we liked it without visitors. The thought made Hayden smile as he followed his uncle into the croft. It was not something they often talked of, why they had come here. They usually left it unsaid, but deep down, Hayden was happy with their quiet lot in life, and he was even happier that he didn’t have to suffer many visitors from the past. That life is dead to me. This is me life now.

“How goes yer work at the inn?” Nathair asked as he walked inside the croft. The young maid that sometimes clambered up the hill from the nearby village to cook for them had clearly been and gone that day, for she had left food in the kitchen, steaming over a fire with fresh hunks of bread standing on the far grate. “Who would have thought the lad supposed to be a laird would now work at an inn?”

“Uncle…” Hayden lost his smile, his tone darkening. “We daenae talk about that.”

“Aye, maybe we should once in a while,” Nathair said thoughtfully as he reached for the bread.

Hayden took off his cloak, revealing a deep green jerkin slightly mottled from ale spilled at the inn.

“The work is fine,” Hayden said with a sigh. “The inn is busy, and the time passes quickly. That is all I wish for.”

“Ye arenae bored by it then?” Nathair asked with his dark eyebrows raised as he sat down beside the fire, warming his hands near the flames. Hayden set about spooning out some of the stew into two pewter bowls, flicking his eyes toward his uncle.

“Bored? Nay. It is peaceful. I like that.” Hayden pushed the bowl of stew into his uncle’s hands, hopeful it would keep him quiet and stop him from asking such questions.

“I have the impression ye arenae in the mood for conversation, laddie,” Nathair said quietly, adopting the old term he always used for Hayden.

“Will ye always call me ‘laddie’? Even when I’m old and grey?” Hayden asked, conveniently changing the conversation as he sat down on the other side of the fire.

“Ye forget, when ye’re old and grey, I’ll be older and greyer. Aye, ye will always be a lad to me.” Nathair’s words made Hayden laugh as he turned his focus on the stew.

It was good, made with cheap lamb, not that he minded, and chopped up turnip. It warmed his bones through, something he needed on a cold wintry day like that day, where the wind rattled through the windows, making the cloths they had hung up as curtains dance back and forth.

“Ye may nae be in the mood for talkin’, but ye may have to put up with an old man wantin’ to talk for a minute.” Nathair paused with his food as he sat back in his chair, making the thin wood creak beneath him. “I was thinkin’ of the day I left the castle behind this mornin’. Me journey took me past the clan. In some ways, it doesnae feel that long ago we left.”

“Doesnae it?” Hayden asked, realizing he would not escape this conversation without saying something his uncle wanted to hear. “It feels a long time ago to me, and I left after ye, takin’ nothin’ with me to remember it.”

“Aye, so ye did. I had to take somethin’ though.” Nathair raised his hand in emphasis, urging Hayden to look down at the ring on his uncle’s finger. His uncle’s skin was beginning to age, and the fingers were gnarled with the years that had passed, making the ring stand out all the more.

It was a thick band of gold, and in the very center was a small and unique engraving. The Mackenzie clan crest of a stag’s head in a circle was dappled on either side with two fine jewels and rubies.

Nathair was smiling as he looked down upon it, perhaps thinking of the person who had given him the ring, his own father, yet Hayden could not smile. The crest merely reminded him of his own father, Nathair’s older brother, making Hayden shift in his seat uncomfortably.

“I couldnae wear such a thing,” Hayden murmured as he returned his focus to the stew.

“Ye’d be surprised what ye can bring yerself to do,” Nathair lowered his hand again. “I see this conversation has run its course. Ye daenae like talkin’ of the old days.”

“Nay, I daenae. I should tell ye what ye have missed while ye have been travellin’.” Hayden sat back in his seat, adopting a more relaxed countenance now their conversation about the past was done. “The farmer, Kendrick, he has disappeared.”

“Kendrick? Och, the man that goes everywhere with that black dog at his ankles?”

“Aye, that’s the man. He’s vanished,” Hayden said slowly. “Nay one kens where he has gone.”

“That drunkard has probably fallen asleep in a ditch somewhere. Daenae worry on it too much,” Nathair dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand.

There was a sound beyond the croft windows, something that stood out against the whistling wind. It was footsteps against the earth, making Hayden and Nathair fall still.

“Ye were nae expectin’ a guest, were ye?” Hayden asked to be sure, earning a shake of Nathair’s head.

Hayden hurried to his feet, placing down the stew and moving toward the door. Beyond it, was the sword he kept permanently in its scabbard, reluctant to let anyone see the clan markings upon the blade. He hitched the weapon high in the air and thrust open the door, ready to meet whoever had come to creep up on the croft.

“Who goes there?” he called loudly, earning a yelp of surprise in reply from a boy atop a horse climbing up the hill toward the croft.

“Careful, ye scared the boy half to death.” Nathair laughed as he came up behind him, urging him to lower the scabbarded weapon. “Why ye come up this far, boy?”

Hayden didn’t take his eyes off the young man. He was dressed rather finely to be out this far in the high hills. His cloak was studded with beads, and the high collar bore the hint of a ruff around his neck.

“I come with a message,” the boy said, looking between the two of them. He appeared rather like a fish out of water to Hayden’s mind, unused to the wild moor he stood on as he climbed down from his pony. He struggled so much with the dismount that he stumbled and nearly fell over entirely among the bracken. Hayden held in a laugh and stepped further out of the croft, coming to meet the boy.

“We daenae get messages here. Ye must have the wrong place.” Hayden shook his head, ready to send the boy back down the hill again.

“I am lookin’ for Hayden Mackenzie.”
Hayden froze, with his fingers tightening around the scabbarded weapon at his hip. In this area, no one knew his true surname. He had given the folk at the inn a false one to keep his identity hidden.

“How do ye ken me, boy?” he asked, turning his focus back on the young man.

“I have a message for ye. From yer brother.”
Hayden turned his eyes on his uncle, seeing the same curiosity in his brow that he was sure was in his own. Out of everyone, Hayden’s brother was the only one who knew where he was.

“Very well, speak yer message,” Hayden urged with a wave of his hand.

“He needs yer help.” The messenger spoke in a rush as if he was fearful of something. “Many things have happened, and he asks to see ye most urgently.”

“Where?” Hayden asked, feeling his body grow still. I daenae go back to the clan. That is me rule.

“The tavern on the far side of Applecross. They call it The Black Stag. Do ye ken it?”

“Aye,” Hayden nodded. It was hardly the finest of establishments, home to criminals and thieves, certainly a good place for someone to hide without too many questions being asked.

“He will meet ye there tonight after the sun has gone.”

“Ye forget, boy, Hayden has nae said ‘aye’ yet.” Nathair’s words made Hayden look to his uncle another time. “Ye said ye were done with that life. Remember?”

“Aye, so I did.” Hayden ran a hand through his short hair. It was beginning to grow longer now and a little unruly. It allowed him to pull at the locks in frustration before turning back to the messenger. “How urgent is it that he see me?”

“He is desperate,” the boy said slowly. “He rode so hard out of the castle that the animal threw a shoe. Say ye will come?”

Hayden couldn’t say no. Not when his brother was asking for him. He is the one man in that castle I still love.

“If me brother asks it, then aye, I will come.”

***

Hayden stood outside the tavern for a minute, peering in through one of the few glass windows the building had. There was so much candlelight inside that for a second, Hayden’s reflection was the only thing he could see. He was so tall he had to bend down to see in the window, where he could see his fair hair looked paler than normal in the moonlight. The beard that had grown across his chin was a little unruly, but it was the eyes that stunned him the most.

He looked away from the dark blue eyes that reminded him so much of his father and walked into the tavern.

The moment he opened the door, heads swiveled toward him. Some were clearly looking him up and down, trying to judge by his height how much of a threat he was to them. Others were evidently thieves, their gazes judging the clothing he wore. They must have judged him a poor target, for they soon turned away, allowing Hayden to walk into the tavern.

“Hayden?” Brandon’s voice urged him to turn toward the corner of the tavern.

Through the candelabras full of lit candles and past the tables where men were drunkenly half prostrate across tabletops, there was a figure in the very corner he knew well.

“Brandon,” Hayden said with a smile, crossing quickly toward his brother. Bearing the same hair, though, with the dark eyes of their mother, Brandon stood to his feet, much shorter than Hayden.

The two brothers embraced warmly. Hayden couldn’t stop the relief that swelled through him at seeing his brother again after so long. It showed how much something had been missing this past year. Without Brandon at his side, Hayden had become rather empty.

“For the wee man, brother,” Brandon said, his voice deep indeed these days. “It has been too long since I saw ye last.”

“It has been too long,” Hayden agreed and stepped back, clapping his brother around the shoulder. “I wish to share a drink with ye and be merry, but both yer messenger’s words and the look on yer face tells me this is nay time to be merry. Ye have nae come just to see me, have ye?”

“I wish I could say that I had.” Brandon sighed and sat back down at the table before sliding a tankard of ale toward Hayden, urging him to take it. Hayden sat opposite his brother, feeling the chair creak dangerously beneath him before he lifted the tankard to his lips and took a big gulp. “I am pleased to see ye are well.”

“And I ye,” Hayden said, lowering the tankard again. “Speak yer mind, brother. If ye have come so far to see me, then whatever bothers ye must be great indeed.”

“Very well.” Brandon nodded and sat forward, resting his elbows on the table and making his cloak fall open. It revealed the rather fine clothes, urging Hayden to reach across the table and close the cloak back up again. Brandon flinched at the close touch. “What did ye do that for?”

“Protectin’ ye. There are thieves here that will nae hesitate from stabbin’ ye just to get hold of yer purse. Best be careful nae to show them those fine clothes of yers,” Hayden explained as he lowered his hand.

Brandon looked taken aback and tightly closed the cloak around his throat, sending a wary look around the tavern.

“Begin, brother,” Hayden urged him on.

“Our faither is dead. Did ye hear?” Brandon’s blunt question made Hayden pause with the tankard half lifted in the air. His expression must have been enough to answer his brother. “Ye had heard.”

“I heard a whisper.” That same hollowness returned to Hayden’s chest, the same he had felt the day he had heard of his father’s passing. What was he supposed to do? Weep for this man? He didn’t love the man enough to weep for him. All he felt was emptiness; it acknowledged that his father was gone and the pain that remained, without Hayden longing for the man to rise from his grave. “I didnae ken if it was true. I imagine I cried nay more than ye did.”

“Nay tears at all? Then we are alike indeed,” Brandon nodded. “Ye could take yer place now… surely ye ken that.”

“Nay,” Hayden spoke sharply, lowering the tankard back down to the table with a thud to emphasize his words. “Brandon, ye and I had this conversation long ago. I daenae wish to have it again.”

“As ye wish,” Brandon fidgeted with his hands before looking up to Hayden another time, flicking the fair hair back from his forehead to look him in the eye. “Then let us discuss another matter. These last months, they have been dark indeed.”

“Dark? In what way?” Hayden’s interest was piqued, noticing the haunted look that appeared on his brother’s face, with the eyes hooded.

“Murder, brother. I talk of murder.”

Chapter 2

“Murder?” Hayden repeated, uncertain he had heard his brother right.

“Aye,” Brandon’s voice turned deeper and quieter, prompting Hayden to lean forward to hear his brother better. “So many deaths in our castle walls these last months that we have barely buried the last before news reaches us of another. It is too awful to bear. It is as if the devil himself walks our castle corridors.”

“Devils daenae walk, Brandon. They stay in hell where they belong.”

“This one hasnae done so. Someone is killin’ the men of our clan.” Brandon grew angry. It was an emotion Hayden had barely seen in his brother over the years. His whisper became seething as he bent across the table. “I cannae bear it anymore. I cannae see another man I trust die at this devil’s hands. The last death was me own General, me man-at-arms. Killed in the middle of the night. His throat slashed.”

The words took the vigor out of Brandon, forcing him back in his chair. He lifted his hand to his throat and placed it there, clearly thinking of the wound he had seen.

“Brother, I am so sorry,” Hayden muttered, seeing his brother’s hand tremble. “I think ye need another drink.” He pushed back his chair, ready to stand to his feet and fetch that drink, when Brandon veered sharply forward, taking his wrist and stopping him from going anywhere.

“I need yer help.”

“Me help? What can I do?”

“I daenae ken who the killer is. Nay one does. I daenae ken who I can trust in me own walls. What if I place me trust in the very man who turns out to be this devil?”

“Brandon, ye are startin’ to sound like a man possessed. Calm yerself.”

“Ye would be this panicked too if ye had seen the things I have seen,” Brandon snapped. Heads turned to look at them with curiosity. Hayden lifted a hand to his brother, urging him to lower his voice. They didn’t need those in the tavern to hear of this business. “I need someone in the castle I can trust, Hayden. Someone I ken without a doubt has nothin’ to do with these murders. Someone who can help me find this killer.”

Hayden pulled his wrist free of his brother, realizing just what he was referring to.

“Ye want me to come to the castle?” He was already shaking his head, even before he had finished speaking. “Brandon, ye ken I swore never to go back there.”

“I ken, but I am desperate,” Brandon explained with his hands outstretched.

“Our faither isnae there anymore.”

“His memory is there,” Hayden said quietly. “I cannae go back there when I remember what he said to me, what he expects. Nay, it isnae possible.”

Hayden saw the disappointment on his brother’s face. It made the guilt swell within Hayden, urging him to run his hands through his fair hair another time.

“I am sorry, Brandon. If I could help ye from afar, I would. I would do so in a heartbeat. Yet I cannae go back to the castle. I am truly sorry.”

Brandon nodded slowly. The disappointment was evident, even as he raised his eyes to Hayden and attempted to smile. The smile didn’t last long before it flickered and faded completely.

“I kenned it was a lot to ask. I remember why ye left. Most men wouldnae come back after that.” Brandon stood to his feet. It was so sudden that Hayden was startled, leaning back in his chair. “I wish I had time to exchange pleasantries, but I fear I daenae. I must get back to the castle. I am increasin’ the guard to stop anyone else from dyin’.”

“Brandon, one more drink?” Hayden asked, reaching for his brother. “Let me hear how ye are before ye go.”

“One more drink then,” Brandon said uncertainly. “Yet trust me. Ye daenae want to hear how I am. I will only talk of death.”

***

Hayden urged the steed away from Applecross village toward the hills. On one side of him, the ocean stretched out. Wild and vicious, each wave crashed against the shore with a kind of sizzling anger, yet Hayden took no notice. He gave the waves no more attention than he did the frost-dappled grass that was crunching beneath his horse’s hooves.

“Home, Bhaltair,” he called. “Home now.”

The horse neighed as if in agreement with him. It was time they rested their weary bones.

Hayden kept looking behind him as though he half expected his brother to follow him up the hills, but he did not. Brandon had taken his leave rather quickly from the tavern, stepping out the door to reveal three guards that had followed him, all secretly keeping watch over him. Hayden had barely recognized the guards’ faces as he had been gone from the castle for so long. He was just glad Brandon was being watched over as he took his leave from the tavern with his guards with him.

“The new laird. I hope he does a better job of it than our faither did,” Hayden muttered to himself, his thoughts still on Brandon as Bhaltair took him up the hill.

They only went a few steps more when Hayden felt the horse’s muscles stiffen beneath him. He whinnied, abruptly, high into the sky.

“Woah…” Hayden took hold of the reins, urging the horse to fall still. It was a difficult task, with the normally so calm steed now wild, almost feral. “What are ye doin’? Ye’ll kick me off in the sea in a minute!” He kicked the horse’s flank with his heel, but it did little to rest him.

As Hayden tightened one of the reins around his wrists, the better to hold onto the steed, he began to realize what it was that could have upset the animal.

Something was burning. It was acrid and smokey, so strong that it hit the back of Hayden’s throat, turning it dry. “Burnin’.”

The horse turned its nose back up the hill, urging Hayden to look ahead. In the distance, there was an orange orb leaking into the night sky. An orb so great that seeing the stars had become impossible.

“Nay,” Hayden said, urging the horse forward. “It is nae the croft. It cannae be!” He dug his heels in another time, and on this occasion, Bhaltair obeyed his orders. The black steed leaped forward, bending his nose down in the urgency with which they rode. Hayden leaned over the head of the steed, prompting him on at a greater speed.

The hill began to flatten out, revealing just where the orb was coming from. It was the croft, after all.

“Uncle Nathair!” Hayden bellowed the words as he grew nearer to the croft. The burning smell was strong, with black smoke filling the air. Flames were curling through the windows of the croft. “Nathair!”

Yet Hayden’s panicked cry went unanswered.

The horse tried to back away. Hayden jumped down from the animal, slapping it on the rear to be certain to send it scuttling back from the flames before he advanced.

“Nathair!” He wrapped his cloak around his arms, about to use it as a shield to barge his way into the house and find his uncle when there was a boom of wood snapping.

Hayden was forced to scramble backward as the thatched roof half caved in. Part of the roof was still intact as the other half fell away. The straw disappeared into the house, along with timber beams that cracked and echoed into the air.

“Nay,” Hayden muttered, uncertain how to get into the house at all. The flames could kill him. “Uncle!”

This time, there was an answer to his bellow, yet the sight that greeted him chilled him to the bone, despite the heat coming off of the fire.

The door burst open, half-broken off its hinges as a figure stumbled forward.

It had to be Nathair, yet his body was no longer his – it belonged to the fire, engulfed in it. There was not an inch of his body that was not alight. The clothes were blackened, his face too, the hair curling in smoke in such a way that the color was gone.

Nathair called out, no words, but just a scream, his voice so marred with pain that the voice was practically unrecognizable.

“Nay,” Hayden muttered. Hayden stumbled forward, his boots tripping on the mounds of the earth beneath him as he hastened toward his uncle. There was nothing he could do. Not now. Though he wished he could, desperately. His hands lifted in the air toward the figure, somehow hoping he could pull the flames free of him.

“Nay…” Hayden murmured into the air. “God’s wounds!”

Behind the figure, the croft was lit in flames. The entire roof was caving in, with the sounds of the thatched roof cracking and snapping in the fire.

Hayden had never known heat like it. Every time he tried to get closer to the house and the man, the warmth hit him with full force, demanding he step back again, stumbling away with his hands over his face. He could feel the heat sizzling at the edge of his hair when he got closer, forcing him away, further from the man.

A scream erupted from the body. The voice practically bore into Hayden’s soul as he watched his uncle burn.

He was beyond recognition, with his face blackened as he clawed at it with his own hands.

There has to be somethin’ I can do! The words tore through Hayden, spurring him into action. He scrambled further away from the croft, down the hill a little toward where a well was buried into the ground. He threw the bucket down the well with a rope attached to the handle, barely able to hear the splash it made in the water above the sounds of the fire. Hitching it back up again, he fumbled to untie the rope before running back up the hill toward the man still burning in flames.

He tossed the bucket of water toward the man, dousing him in the water. It was only enough to dampen some of the flames, the bucket too small to hold much at all.

Hayden stood back, the bucket limp in his hands as he realized what little good he had done. The man had stopped shouting his name now. His body had grown weak; he capitulated to the ground on his knees.

I cannae lose me uncle! God have mercy. There must be a way to stop this.

“Nay. I have to do somethin’,” Hayden muttered in a hissed whisper, feeling the anger burning through him, as strong as the flames that were now ravaging his home. It was not a fire that would be put out, the want of justice, of revenge.

Hayden ran back down the hill toward the well. He would not give up. He couldn’t. He would do what he could to save his uncle.

He lost track of how many times he collected buckets of water and threw them on the fallen form of his uncle. All he knew was that by the time of the third bucket, his uncle was on the ground, unmoving. The fingers were still, no longer clawing toward him in desperation, and the eyes stared glacially outward, the color marred by the white around the irises having turned a deep red.

Hayden threw a final bucket of water over his uncle. With the flames put out for good over the unconscious man, he reached down, taking his uncle’s arm, and dragged him away from the fire across the earth. The cloth felt unnatural beneath Hayden’s touch, and the skin was hardened. Bile rose in his throat at the stench of the burned skin.

Once they were a few feet from the house, safe from the burning building, at last, Hayden dropped down to his uncle. He reached for his uncle’s wrist, trying desperately to search for a pulse, but the skin had morphed too much for him to do it easily. Instead, he moved his fingers to his uncle’s neck, trying to find a pulse there.

Nothin’. Hayden reared back from his uncle with horror, pushing away across the ground before falling still, feeling the tears sting his eyes.
His uncle had gone. His spirit had left that scarred body so much that the body almost felt foreign to Hayden.

He’s nae here anymore. Hayden bent forward, unafraid to stop the tears. They wracked his body, making his tall frame weak for a minute. He rested his forehead against the ground, his face in the grass. “Ye cannae die, Nathair. Ye cannae die.”

He knew well enough his words were pointless, but they came anyway. As if they were some sort of desperate plea with God to bring his uncle back to life.

There was another crack in the house, and Hayden snapped his head up, looking toward the building. The rest of the roof caved in, cascading sparks in a flurry, leaving but a carcass of the croft behind.

Hayden’s home had gone, just as the uncle he loved had gone too.

Bhaltair neighed sharply into the night. For a moment, Hayden thought it was the animal’s way of showing despair until the horse did it again, louder this time. Hayden turned his gaze on Bhaltair, watching as the animal pawed at the ground with one hoof. Hayden slowly moved to his feet and moved to the horse, looking down at what had caught the animal’s interest so much.

It was an iron ball, half-cracked open with a burnt rag pressed in the top.

A grenade? Hayden bent down, prodding the pieces of the broken ball. His uncle owned no such weapon, and neither did he. Yet here one was feet from where his home was burning down.

This was nay accident. Hayden stood to his feet and turned away from the grenade, knowing all he needed to know. This was murder.

He crossed back to his uncle, kneeling beside him. He tried to rest a hand on his uncle’s forehead, longing to say goodbye properly, yet the skin was still too warm, and he was forced to back up away from his uncle, unable to get too close. He was blackened beyond recognition. The only thing that was still visible and recognizable as his uncle was the presence of the ring upon his finger.

“I swear to ye, on everythin’ that is left in this world that I hold dear, ye will be avenged. Whoever did this to ye, whatever the reason for it, they willnae escape justice.” Hayden felt the steed walk back toward him. Either Bhaltair was escaping the flames or coming to Hayden for comfort. It made Hayden lift his hand and take hold of the steed’s reins, pulling himself to his feet. “We cannae stay here, Bhaltair.”

The horse grunted as if in acknowledgment.

“After the burial, we go to Brandon. There are now many deaths that need investigatin’, it would seem. Maybe this one has somethin’ to do with what is happenin’ at the castle.”

He reached forward and pulled the ring free of his uncle’s body. It was an awful thing, leaving Hayden to grimace at the touch of the burned skin and look away, unable to stare too long at the blackened body. With the ring free, he held it in the palm of his hand. It would need to be cleaned.

A final boom was behind him, urging Hayden to grimace and look around at his home as it burned down. The stones were blackened as some fell from their place, hitting the earth with the heaviest thuds that echoed through the ground, reaching where Hayden’s feet were planted.

“Who would do this to ye, Nathair?”

If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here