Chapter One

Maxwell pulled his sword out of the last brigand, and the man fell to his knees. His face planted in the soil, unmoving, and his hand was still gripping his chipped sword. Maxwell withdrew his bloody sword, the bright red liquid sliding off.

As weapons kept clashing between men below, a cloud, like a fluffy plate, wafted past the late afternoon sun. The air was warm despite a whistling wind that was too weak to swirl the molten red leaves off the forest floor but promised a comforting chill later after the sunset.

The battle between his band, the Red Hawk scouts, and a common group of outlaws ended, and they had triumphantly won. He knew he had to praise their skills because they were too small of a group to outnumber them. Usually, Maxwell and his scouts didn’t want any of this, but the outlaws couldn’t help but push. They were notoriously fueled by greed.  He knew it would be their downfall.

Maxwell turned to the rest of his band; none were gravely injured, only a few scratches and nicks here and there. As he opened his mouth to speak, he caught sight of something moving amongst the pile of bodies. The other members saw it as well. A brigand was still alive.

“Seize him.” Maxwell ordered fast enough.

The order was acted on immediately. Two of his scouts rushed over to the moving body, who tried to scramble away after realizing he had been caught. A kick to the legs did the trick, and the man fell to his side with a low groan, face scrunched up in pain. He was held down with a foot on his chest and another dangerously hovering over his throat. He was old, Maxwell noticed. The gray hair on his head, the sagging on his face, he was old enough to be a grandfather.

“Please! Please spare me. Do nae kill me. I have a family!” This earned snickers from the rest of the scouts as Maxwell closed in on the man, unsheathing his sword. He almost felt pity for the unfortunate man because he was now alone. Yet, he had a duty to protect his group.

“We have families to return to as well. I am sure ye did nae think of that when ye attacked us, did ye?” Maxwell pressed the tip of his sword to the trembling man’s forehead.

“I beg yer forgiveness! Please, I can pay ye.” This caught Maxwell’s interest. “Aye, I can pay ye. Look.” The man fumbled with his breeches before taking out a gold pendant enclosed around a red gem. Maxwell narrowed his eyes at the man before snatching the pendant from his hands. The rest of his scouts quickly gathered around him, each wanting to catch a glance at the payment.

Maxwell sheathed his sword as he flipped the pendant over, and surely behind the pendant was a familiar crest. The crest of the Macmillan clan. Eyeing the brigand on the floor, Maxwell tossed the pendant back at him. “Ye want to pay us with stolen goods?”

“Nae! They are nae stolen, I promise ye.” The man pleaded, but his words caused Maxwell to raise a sharp brow at him.

“They? Ye have more?” Upon realizing his mistakes, the man went wide-eyed, head shaking just the slightest, but Maxwell did not need to hear any more from him. “Search their wagon. Every bag, every sack, and every box. Find those gems.” The scouts set to work on the wagon, emptying whatever they could get their hands on. As predicted, the scouts dragged off a fur bag from the wagon, setting it down before Maxwell, who pried it open to be met with not just gems but gold and silver as well.

“Let him go.” Maxwell turned to his men and beckoned for them to allow the brigand to get to his feet. “If I am nae mistaken, ye got this from the Macmillan clan? The pendant has a crest on the back of it.”

“Aye, but I swear, I didnae steal from them. They made me stay back and watch the wagon. Please dinnae kill me.” Maxwell tossed the bag to one of his men with a low chuckle before stretching out his hand to the brigand. The man reached out to touch the hand but was slapped away.

“Dinnae touch me. Give me the pendant. What else did ye steal with yer group? Give it all to me.” The old man nodded, dipping his hands in his breeches to pull out a handful of necklaces as well as the pendant from the ground, handing it over as fast as he could.

“Is this all?” Maxwell asked, not trusting the man.

“Aye, I swear, that is all I took. I wanted to-”

“I didnae ask ye what ye wanted to do with it. Ye are old, way past yer youth. Even if I kill ye, it will make nae difference.” The older man let out a whimper as he inched away.”So, I’ll spare ye.” Maxwell dipped his hand in his breeches, taking out a gold coin and tossing it at the old man. ” But, if I ever see ye in these forests again, I won’t pardon ye.”

The man stuttered out his gratitude as he hurried over to one of the three horses that pulled the wagon, galloping away as fast as he could.

“What will we do with the bodies?” Maxwell turned to Kenzie MacDonald, a great warrior amongst them who had asked the question, and found him kicking lightly at one of the bodies. Maxwell sent a disapproving frown towards the massive, dark-haired man, and Kenzie backed off.

“Leave them. They would have done the same fer us. We can bring the horses along. They’ll die if we leave them here.” Eon chuckled at his leader.

“Ye worry about horses after we killed men. What runs through yer head, Maxwell?” Maxwell paid the man no heed as he turned to the rest of his men with a sigh.

Running into the brigands was entirely out of his prediction. He had hoped they could get to the next village without a hassle until they showed up. They were thieves, and Maxwell had no idea what havoc they might have caused in the village they were coming from. However, it would be a wise move if he avoided going there entirely for the time being. They also had new tasks to carry out. His eyes darted to the bag of jewels. They had to return that.

Surely, he could let the scouts keep it, but it would go against their honor. It would still be considered stealing if they were caught with it. It did not matter if they were not the ones who carried out the first theft. Some of the items were marked. Selling it would be almost impossible, but of course, Maxwell had to listen to what his group was thinking.

He knew that some called the Red Hawks mercenaries, some called them thieves, some called them a merry band of men, but what could not be disputed was the strength and skill of each member. He wasn’t a stranger to the absurd rumors about him and his men. He even had a few good laughs about them. It even made him proud of the members he had gathered.

“Sir, what will we do with the bag?” Kenzie piped up, and the rest of the scouts turned to him. While Kenzie was an excellent archer, rarely missing his aim, his frequent complaints about anything he deemed a bad idea had earned him an unfavourable alias; the nagging wife.

“We have to return it, of course,” Freya replied almost immediately though her attention was mostly with the bloody sword she was trying to clean. “Why dae ye even have to ask what we are to do with it, Kenzie?” she raised her eyebrows questioningly, while Maxwell watched the encounter between them.

Freya Docherty was the only woman amongst the scouts, and she had done well in earning her spot. Frankly, she was the only woman Maxwell had ever met that could hold out for a good time in a duel with him.

“But this is a lot, and winter is almost here. We need a comfortable inn to stay till spring.” Kenzie said almost under his voice, trying to avoid Maxwell’s face. “I am nae saying we should take it all.” He added gently.

“I understand ye, Kenzie. Yer worries are genuine, and I understand that this is a lot, enough to ensure a warm winter. Winter will come and go, but if we take even a wee bit of this, we would have become thieves ourselves.” Maxwell turned to fave the others as he continued, “A stain in our robe, is it nae? We have just enough resources to last us through the winter, a job is most likely to surface soon, and if ye are still worried, we can stay the winter at me clan.”

Maxwell added the pieces that the thieve had handed over into the bag. “But the rest of ye might nae feel the same way, so why don’t we take a vote. If ye want us to keep the jewels, ye may step aside.”

Everyone always got a say in whether to stay for the night somewhere or about what job to take. This led to counting heads, as Eon, the oldest of the members, had put it. They always went with what the majority wanted, which meant no actual leader existed. But even though Maxwell continually mentioned it, his men still regarded him as the one, even refusing to call him by name except for Eon.

Maxwell watched as Archie, another scout, and Kenzie stepped aside while the others stayed put. In the band of four men and one woman, they were outvoted.

“Dinnae take that to heart, men. Look on the bright side. We could get rewarded by the Macmillan clan. They might let us stay the winter. Dinnae fret, Kenzie. We will be just fine.”

A new adventure awaited them, a new task to complete. Yet, they could also suffer a harsh winter that might turn the others against Maxwell, and it was a risk he had to take. Since he left his clan, Maxwell only lived for his men. He thrived amongst them more than he would have beside his older brothers. His father made that painfully clear while growing up.

Maxwell was first to rise and enter the courts when he was at his clan, but he was only asked to stand guard outside when the time came for important meetings. All it took was a look from his father for Maxwell to know his presence was no longer needed.

However, he did love the thrills and benefits that came with life outside his clan. It was satisfying but only up to a point. He did not know what he longed for; but, he obviously needed something else. Something unique to add to all he already had.

The Red Hawks set towards the south for the Macmillan clan late that afternoon. As they guarded the sack of jewels, they hoped Laird Macmillan was generous enough to offer them a reward of some sort. However, what lay ahead proved otherwise.

***

It was quiet in the Macmillan clan. A little too quiet considering that yet another theft had occurred. Their treasury had been looted two days ago. The day before had been full of ruckus, guards scrambling on the orders of the head guard and Laird Macmillan to find the thieves. Lady Olivia Macmillan stared out of her window at the top of the reddish trees behind her bedroom chambers that the high walls did not obstruct. She waited for a call, a cry even, anything to alert her of the current situation of their stolen jewels.

Stretched out on her bed, her younger sister, Blaire, unfurled yet another sealed envelope before her face scrunched up. “Such horrid handwriting.” She tossed the letter aside, joining the growing pile on the wooden floor before she picked another one from the stack before her. “Ye are awfully quiet.”

“Well, I have nothing to talk about. Have ye heard anything all day? Anything at all?” Olivia inched closer to her sister, who shook her head, with her brown eyes scanning the letter in her hands.

“Oh, this one is quite poetic. Read it.” The letter was thrust towards her, but Olivia tossed it with the other opened ones, caring for one thing only.

“Blaire, the keep is very still. It has been all day. Do ye think they caught the thieves?”

“I doubt it. Those jewels are gone.” Blaire picked up another envelope. Olivia resumed her position by the window with a sigh as she looked below to see if the guards had any luck. She would not consider the content of any suitor’s envelope now, she would rather focus on the jewels. That was a problem for another time, one she hoped wasn’t near. A knock on her door caused both girls to sit straight, only relaxing when their father slipped into the room. Laird Macmillan raked a hand through his thinning red hair, taking a deep breath before he started.

“We still cannae find them, but the jewels are nothing to be worried about.” Olivia almost knew what would follow. “But we have to be able to strengthen our defense. If common thieves can get in, who knows what else could pay us a nae so friendly visit. In the meantime, we must discuss the matter of your marriage.” He added sternly.

“Father, I will nae marry someone I dinnae ken just because-” Olivia started, but her father raised a hand to silence her.

“Ye need to understand, Olivia. Most marriages between people of our position are planned, and it always ends fine. Yer mother and I were arranged to wed, and we came to love each other over the years. We had ye and yer sister, is that nae enough proof that this will lead to happiness?”

“Father, I can nae marry someone I do nae even know. I have never even seen some of these men in me life.” Olivia gestured towards the pile of letters on the ground. “I want to be able to make me own decision, and I have decided I do nae want any of them.” She tried to sound as determined as she felt, hoping that this time she would convince him.

“And should the clan continue to suffer because of that decision? The more ye neglect this marriage issue, the weaker our defenses become. The villagers are getting terrified, the settlers have even gone as far as packing up and leaving. Our numbers are falling. Please, Olivia, ye are a beautiful lass at her prime. This is the best age fer ye to find a suitable husband from a strong clan. The stronger his clan is, the stronger this clan will be. We will be able to protect the keep and the villagers. We are already suffering so badly from terrible people like thieves. If a larger clan raids us, we will be done fer.” Her father became even more persistent by the minute.

Olivia knew the risk of her refusals. Her clan would continue to suffer, weakening with each attack. For all she knew, a larger, rival clan could be behind the thieves, waiting till they were on their knees before they struck.

The aftermath of a raid was not something Olivia ever wanted to befall her clan. Women and children would be carted off. Men slaughtered like animals. Her clan would be reduced to nothing but ashes. She knew all this, but she was disgusted by the fact that she had to be married off to a complete stranger just for protection.

“And as much as I hate to do this, Olivia, if ye do not choose a man by spring, I will be forced to choose one fer ye meself.” This received a cry of protest from the girls, but Laird Macmillan only shook his head at them.

“And if ye refuse to marry him, I will have to marry yer sister off before ye.” Olivia turned to her sister, then her father, mouth agape at his solution. Never had she thought her father would say that. Blaire was still too young to be married away. It would be pure wickedness.

“Father, ye want to sell us off like livestock? Blaire is too young to be married! I refuse to let ye do this to her.” Olivia stepped up to her father, and her brows were pulled further downwards as the fury stirred within her.

“It is what I must do. I have a clan to protect!” He growled.

“At the expense of yer own daughters?” Olivia snapped back. “Ye are willing to marry off one of us to any man as long as it will add to yer defense.” She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Think about it, Olivia. Do nae force me to give yer hand. I expect yer answer during supper.” As fast as he had slipped on, Laird Macmillan excused himself, leaving behind one furious daughter and the other with clothes drenched in tears.

Chapter Two

Brittle leaves flew past Maxwell’s blond head, landing on the ground behind him. The loud crunching of them beneath their horses’ hooves was the only sound for miles other than the occasional grunts from the Red Hawk’s horses. The sun had only started to climb up to its highest position in the sky. They had been on the road for almost a day with no sight of the clan.

“Shall we look at the map again?” Freya asked one of the scouts as he raised the map in his hand. “Perhaps we’ve made a wrong turn somewhere.”

“Ye looked at it a while ago, so unless routes have picked themselves up and changed, I think that’s unnecessary.” Archie countered, earning a small smack in the face that almost made Frey lose her balance on her horse because of her movement.

“Stop it, the both of ye!” Eon snapped at the grumbling men. “The less noise we make, the fewer enemies we are sure to attract. Dinnae forget what we are carrying. We should arrive at the clan soon, right, Maxwell?”

Maxwell shrugged. “Hopefully.”

“Hopefully? My goodness, we’re lost, are we nae?” Kenzie asked as he hastened his horse to ride next to Maxwell.

However, as Maxwell had assured them, they caught sight of the clan’s walls just ahead of the reddening trees. The sun had started to scorch down on them by the time they reached the clan’s walls. As expected of a small clan, their gates were not opened to just anyone. A handful of guards protected the entrance, armed to the teeth as if headed for war. Their spears crossed over the gates, shielding them from going through.

“Who are ye and state yer reason of arrival.” One of the guards on the right asked as he stepped up to them, with his hand going to the sword by his side.

“We come in peace. We only request a meeting with yer laird.” Maxwell spoke for the group confidently, and the guard eyed him. “We happened to find something of his and would like to return it.”

“What is it?” The guard asked suspiciously now.

“As I said, I request an audience with yer laird only.”

“Laird Macmillan’s time is too precious to be wasted on unknown affairs. Leave.” The guard unsheathed his sword, and behind Maxwell, his men were about to do the same but were stopped by his order.

“Stand down.” Maxwell ordered his group, then faced the guards, “We mean ye and yer clan nae harm. If ye want us to leave, then we will. We have more jewels than ye could even pay us with.” This caused the guard to relax, his stance dissolving immediately.

“Ah, now ye want to hear me out?” Maxwell said mockingly.

“Explain yerself.” The guard on the right stepped forward and the previous guard reclined with a bow. It seemed the man was of higher authority to Maxwell, perhaps even the head guard, judging from his clothes.

“Who are ye?” The second guard asked.

“I am Maxwell Murphy, a member of the Red Hawks. I only come to return what belongs to ye. Me men and I stumbled upon a group of unruly men this time yesterday. We retrieved some precious items from them and the information that they had come from yer clan. We only mean to give them back.”

The man nodded, a bad combing through his beard. “I see. And ye wish to speak directly to Laird Macmillan? Well, that is nae issue. Pardon me subordinate, the clan has been on edge after that horrible experience. I am Harold Robinson, the head guard of the Macmillan Clan. At this time, we dae nae and cannae trust anyone. Ye have to hand those to me, and I will give it to Laird Macmillan. Even if ye seek rewards, I can give ye a few things to thank ye.”

The man was probably as old as his eldest brother, his face almost flawless if not for the slight drooping at the corner of his lips. He stood tall, head held high to stand as tall as Maxwell himself.

“It would, but I’d rather hand it to Laird Macmillan himself. That should really be no issue, should it?” Maxwell raised a brow at the head guard. They were being protective of their laird, a little too defensive. This led Maxwell to think that the clan was temporary without a laird. The absence of a laird meant an easier clan to raid. “Or is yer laird nae on the seat?”

“T’is nothing like that. I will take ye to him.” The head guard guided them past the clan’s walls into the village. Although it was known the Macmillan clan was not very dominant, he had heard his father speak of it perhaps a few times. However, nothing significant could be said about it.

The village itself was small, not as populated as he had hoped, even the market when they rode past what should have been a colorful scene. The buildings were well kept, the children looked well-fed. Maxwell could tell their laird was kind to them. He could easily pick up things like that from the years he spent in his clan but still, he was inclined to ask. “Why are there are only a few people outside?

“Maxwell, was it nae?” The head guard said as he glanced back momentarily at Maxwell, who nodded.

“Laird Macmillan has instructed a curfew. T’is almost time fer them to return home.”

“I suppose the curfew was to catch thieves?”

“At least to keep the people safe.” The guard responded, and Maxwell nodded, looking back at his men and locking eyes with Eon, who rode up to meet his pace.

“I feel uneasy. Perhaps we should just hand the bag to the head guard and leave. This place is unsettling.” Eon whispered just loud enough for Maxwell to hear.

“I do feel something is off about the guard’s explanation but listen to me carefully. Even if they become hostile, do nae draw yer sword. Do nae fight.” Maxwell replied as they soon started to approach a walled fortress.

“Are ye sure, Maxwell?”

“Aye. Act ignorant. We are almost at the keep. Spread the word to the others. Do nae fight unless I give ye the order.” Eon nodded before falling behind. Maxwell could hear them whispering behind him, but it went silent when they reached the fortress, the gates slamming down behind them.

“Come with me. I can take ye to the hall to meet Laird Macmillan.” Harold Robinson motioned with his head.

Maxwell took a look at his surroundings, guards posted at every corner of the entrance, the door that led into the fortress was wide open, and he could see a guard and a few maids hurry past it.

“Nae. Me men and I have places to be. Have him come to us.” Maxwell quickly took notice of the head guard’s change in demeanor. Going further into the keep would put his men in danger, a risk he didn’t want to take, so he strengthened his resolve.

“Ye ask Laird Macmillan to come to see ye instead? Such audacity.” Harold stepped up to Maxwell’s horse, hand on the weapon’s hilt by his side.

“I wouldnae do that in front of a horse—especially nae in front of a horse that has seen enough bloodshed to associate a blade with death. And besides, I trust me horse to protect me if the need arises. All I ask fer is yer laird. Let him come to us, we’ll hand over the bag to him, and leave.”

“And why can ye nae give it to me?” Harold asked, retracting his hand from his weapon.” I am the head guard. I can go to Laird Macmillan directly.”

“Aye, that is because I do nae trust ye. I have seen yer defense. Even if the thieves came into the clan under the pretense of merchants, there should nae be an easy way fer them to make their way into a keep such as this. Yer walls are almost as tall as the trees in the forest, there is only one visible entrance, and they guard that,” Maxwell gestured to the four-armed guards similar to the ones at the gates of the clan, “and I do nae think ye had any event of some sort that would require ye to leave yer gates wide open. Other than that, there are guards in every corner of the yard and more inside the keep. I can nae think of any way a thief could make his way in to steal something like this, let alone a whole band of them.”

“So are ye saying I let them in?” Harold crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes flashing angrily, “That I helped them.”

“Nae, I have said nae such thing. On the contrary, ye said it yerself.” Maxwell replied casually. Stoking his anger was of no use to him.

Harold huffed, shaking his head with a sigh as he motioned for them to wait before disappearing into the keep.

Maxwell’s men quickly surrounded him, Kenzie muffling his laughter with a hand clamped over his mouth.

“Are ye sure ye should be taunting him like that?” Archie asked as Kenzie’s laugh died down into snickers. “We are gravely outnumbered, and Eon said ye didnae want us to fight. Why?”

“If they become hostile towards us, the most they can do is turn us away, chase us off, but if we fight, we risk getting injured. I ken each of ye are strong in yer own way, but we cannae possibly take on an entire army.”

“We can. We’ve fought more experienced men. These ones look like they would collapse under the weight of full armor.” Eon scoffed as he cracked his knuckles.

“Eon, we had fought bigger groups because we were hired to. Let us just be nice, listen to Sir Maxwell and trust his judgment.” Kenzie countered. “And besides, we have to find a place to stay fer the winter.”

“Why are ye so worried about finding a place fer the winter? Will ye hibernate during this time, and ye do nae want us to ken?” Eon teased right back, earning a scoff and a grumble from Kenzie.

Eon opened his mouth to talk when Maxwell noticed Harold returning, and behind him was an older man. The guards immediately bowed at his arrival, Maxwell knew he was facing Laird Macmillan. The man was not what Maxwell was expecting. A young laird at most or at least someone younger.

“Get down from yer horse. Ye are in the presence of Laird Macmillan!” Harold snapped at them, and the scouts turned to look at him. Maxwell nodded, sliding off his horse, and his men did the same, copying his every move as he bowed before Laird Macmillan.

“Forgive us, me laird. It has been quite a while since we have been in front of a laird.”

“I see. Me head guard told me ye have something of ours, but ye refused to give it to him.” Although he wasn’t young, Laird Macmillan spoke firmly.

Maxwell rose to retrieve the sack of jewels from Kenzie and placed it carefully in front of Laird Macmillan. Then again, he crouched.

“Where did ye find this?” The laird asked with suspicion in his voice.

“Our paths crossed with that of the thieves, and they attacked us. This is what we took from them along with the information that they belonged to ye from the last one of them.” Maxwell replied immediately as Laird Macmillan handed the bag to his head guard.

“So ye want me to believe that ye found this many jewels, and ye returned it without taking anything?” Maxwell did not need to raise his head at Laird Macmillan to know he was sneering. “That seems a little far-fetched.”

“Me men and I never take things that do nae belong to us. We each have our honor as a man and as a group.” Maxwell said proudly, trying to convince the man.

“And I say ye lie.” Laird Macmillan stepped up to Maxwell, who rose back to his feet, towering over Laird Macmillan.

“Maxwell Murphy, was that nae what ye told me guard? I say ye were the ones that stole it in the first place.”

“If we were, then why would we return with it?” Maxwell was caught off-guard by Laird Macmillan’s faithless reasoning, but he knew he had to control his irritation.

“Our items are marked. Nae merchants would be stupid enough to buy marked items even if they would be sold overseas. Ye couldnae dump them; they would have nae meaning to anyone that finds it. Even if ye had told me ye accidentally found this, I wouldnae have believed ye. Ye could’ve tooled some of it and planned to return the rest for reward money, from what I can see. Yer plan is to rub us twice! “Laird Macmillan’s words stiffened the guards around him, and they slowly gathered into an attacking formation behind him.

Before Maxwell could say a word, Eon spoke up, “Perhaps the thieves had taken a little out of it; we wouldnae ken. We did notice some were marked, but we have nae gone through the whole bag. We have only returned yer items to ye, and we will nae stand here and be insulted!” Eon stepped forward, and the rest of the scouts joined.

“If ye can nae be grateful, that is fine, but do nae insult us any longer lest we lose our temper.” He continued angrily.

Laird Macmillan scoffed, stepping in front of Eon. “Watch how ye speak to me, lad. I am Laird Macmillan of-”

“We frankly do nae care who ye are. Ye are nae our leader, and we will nae let ye speak to him like that. Ye have yer jewels. We will be taking our leave now.” Kenzie cut Laird Macmillan off before turning towards their horses, leaving Maxwell still in front of Laird Macmillan.

Maxwell gave a deep bow to Laird Macmillan. “Forgive me men. If ye won’t have us, then we must leave.” Speaking with a dampened spirit, Maxwell gently raised his head and began to turn away.

Unblinking, arms folded, and legs spread, Laird Macmillan spoke again, “Nae, nae. Nae so fast.” As he started to talk, the guards moved past him and towards the paused Maxwell.

“Ye stole from me, and when ye have taken what ye need, ye return the branded ones to me. Ye are still thieves. Ye disrespect me, calling me out to see ye and even insult me to me face. Do ye think I will simply let ye go that easily? Without producing what ye have stolen?”

“Me laird, ye have nae proof that we are actually the thieves who stole from ye, and I can nae tell if yer rash conclusions are due to yer anger or yer frustration. I had a feeling ye might act this way. If ye arrest us, ye can nae hold us fer long and I will nae let ye insult me or me men…” Maxwell said as the guards in the yard started to circle him, and his men with spears pointed with intent.

Laird Macmillan cut in before he could finish, “Oh, we will just have to see about that, won’t we?” Laird Macmillan turned to head guard.

“Seize them and throw them in the dungeons. I will address their punishments when I am ready.” He said dismissively.

Maxwell looked at his men. They looked back, awaiting an order to attack. But Maxwell laid down his sword, and so did they, albeit begrudgingly.

He was starting to feel afraid of what was to become of his band, but one thing was sure; they would find a way out.

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

Prologue

19^th October 1579

MacAilpein Lands, Argyll, Scotland

Ralf McAlpine paced outside of his wife’s bedchamber, listening to her screams tear the wooden door and echo down the stone corridor. A deep pain-filled moan followed the scream, accompanied by a whimpering in broken English, “I will surely perish.”

Hearing his wife’s proclamation, Ralf barged through the door and stood glaring at the midwife. “She will nae die, nor the bairn, do ye hear me, witch!” he shouted in the elder woman’s face. “She dies, then so shall ye.”

The midwife’s face blanched white in fear, but she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath to steady herself. “If my lady does survive, she will nae e’er be able tae bear another bairn, or she and the bairn will indeed die.”

Ralf stifled a roar, clenching his teeth. “Then ye had better pray that it is a son.” Turning, he moved to stand beside the fireplace, opting not to leave the room again. Whatever was to happen, he would be there to witness it. The smell of blood and shite filled the air nearly making him lose his wame. He was all too familiar with the smells of battle and slaughter, but this was different. Fear clutched at his heart. He fisted his hands so tightly that his knuckles popped and turned white.

His concern was not born out of love for his wife, as much as it was for what might become of his progeny. As he stood brooding, staring into the flames, he reflected upon how he had come to be in such a miserable state. His father had arranged the marriage, much to Ralf’s objections, to a wealthy young noblewoman from Luxembourg. It was not a usual match for a highland laird, but the clan needed money and the young woman’s family was anxious to have her wed. Anna Maria Weiss was a plain, pious woman who wanted nothing more than to become a nun. She had managed to chase away all other suitors with her proclamations that she was already married to God. Her family, growing desperate, sent her to live with an aunt and uncle in Scotland, in hopes that they might have better fortune in finding a suitable husband. In the end, she had been bartered like cattle in a business arrangement between two greedy men: Ralf’s father, and Anna Maria’s uncle. Ralf, disappointed in being bound to such a pitiful creature, had treated her very poorly as a matter of angry rebellion from day one of their forced marriage. Anna Maria suffered many miscarriages since then, and he knew without a doubt that this bairn was their last hope for a legitimate heir.

He was not certain how much time passed, it felt as if it had taken a great many hours, but after much screaming, a series of prayers to God, and exhaustive pushing, his wife finally collapsed against the pillows, spent. An infant’s wail broke the momentary stillness, and Ralf let out the breath that he had been holding. “Thanks be tae God,” he murmured as he came forward eagerly. “What is it?”

The midwife looked up at Ralf with somber eyes. “’Tis a lass, my laird. Ye have a bonnie wee daughter.”

Ralf’s heart stopped in his chest with a resounding thud of desolation before it began racing once more in fury. “I should have gone tae Edinburgh tae see the king take his rightful place upon the throne,” he announced, hoping to cause his wife as much pain as her failure to produce an heir had caused him, then turned and left the room. Out in the hall, he slammed his fist into the stone wall until a servant came scurrying from one of the nearby rooms to see what was happening.

“My laird,” a quiet feminine voice inquired, concerned, “is all well?”

Ralf, too heartbroken and angry for words, simply grabbed the young woman by the arm and hauled her back into the room that she had been cleaning. Throwing her onto the bed, he proceeded to lose himself inside of her in a blind fury. When he was done, having poured all his anger and grief into the poor lass, he arose, straightened his kilt, and glowered down at her. “Dinnae lay with any other man until ye have had yer courses. If ye come with bairn, ye will tell me immediately. Do ye ken what it is I am commandin’ ye?”

The young woman nodded in teary silence. Ralf glared at her until she found her voice. “Aye, my laird.”

Nodding, Ralf left the room and returned to his wife’s bedchamber. From the look on her face, he knew that she had heard the entire exchange. He stood staring down at her, sighing in resignation. “Ye have what ye have always wanted, wife. I will nae lay with ye e’er again.”

Anna Maria nodded, a look of serenity passing over her features. “Thank you, husband.”

Turning his gaze to the child at her breast, he grunted. “What have ye chosen tae name her?”

“Amelia,” she answered with a gentle smile at the child, “after the saint from my own land.”

Ralf grunted in disapproval but said nothing. He would allow it. Though she had failed to give him a son, she had at long last given him a living child, and for that he supposed he owed her some small courtesy. “Amelia, then.” Nodding, he turned and left the room, not bothering to return.

25^th July, 1603

MacAilpein Lands, Argyll, Scotland

Ralf McAlpine sat upon the raised dais within the hall of his highland stronghold, covered in blood and scowled in thought. The hall was festooned in decorations. Laughter accompanied by lively music filled the air, as the people under his care celebrated the ascension of the Scottish King James VI to the English throne as James I. A shouted toast went up from one of the men among the crowd, “The bitch English Queen Elizabeth Tudor is dead! Long live the King!”

A chorus of agreement followed, “Long live the King!” Ale cups were raised and downed in copious amounts by nearly all in attendance, except for the laird’s guards, who had to remain vigilant.

Instead of raising his own cup, Ralf continued to scowl in disapproval at his only child, Amelia. Even the lauded Virgin Queen has a male heir who shares her blood tae take the throne. All I have is a paltry lass who does nae command respect o’ any man. He and the other fighting men of the clan had returned from a skirmish along their borders with a raiding party. With rapidly declining health robbing him of his once commanding vigor, the enemies had already begun closing in.

He knew that any opportunity to create a legitimate male heir to protect the clan had long since passed. If he were being honest with himself, the chance of ever making an heir had met its end long before his wife had gone to be with God. They had not lain together for many years before her passing, while he had attempted to pup half the young lassies in the clan. Sighing, he belatedly lifted his cup and downed the ale within so as to calm the questioning glances he was receiving from his personal guard. Waving his hand, he summoned the clanswoman waiting with the pitcher to refill his cup.

“’Twas a good victory, my laird,” she praised him.

Grunting in disgust, he gulped down another cup of ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, as if to wipe away the memories with it. “More,” he commanded the clanswoman, and she obeyed.

“Is aught amiss, my laird?” his daughter’s guardsman Lucas McAlpine, inquired having seen the daggers of disapproval emanating from Ralf’s eyes toward Amelia.

“I should have had a son,” Ralf grumbled, piercing Lucas with a look that disallowed any form of argument. Lucas wisely chose not to reply. He heard it many times before, especially when Ralf was in his cups.

Ralf sat in stony silence, thinking about what to do. I could wed the lass tae one o’ the clan’s men. He looked at the marriageable men around the room, weighing the abilities of each one as a future leader. In his opinion, any man who was not himself would fall short. Snorting at the thought, he shook his head and attempted to consider each one with as open a mind as he could manage. It was not his strength. He tended to judge a person’s worth rather quickly and, once his mind was set, he seldom changed it. They were fighting men to be sure, skilled with the sword and bow, but not as skilled at diplomacy. He needed someone who could wield his brain as well as he wielded a blade. There was also the problem of an arranged marriage. He and his wife had suffered greatly because of just such an arrangement, and as rough a man as he was, he was not so heartless as to wish such misery on his own daughter. He loved her in his own way, and he did provide for her, but he did not respect her as a woman enough to make her his sole heir. She is a lass, and lassies cannae lead armies in tae battle. She must wed a warrior, and I will make her husband the laird when I am gone, and my grandson will be laird after that. There is nae other way tae secure the clan’s safety and see tae it that my line continues.

He thought over his plan for a time, considering all the possible factors and when he was satisfied that it was the best way, the only way, to move forward, he nodded and relaxed a bit more into his chair. He downed another cup of ale and grunted in satisfaction. Now, all he needed to do was tell Amelia. The slight smile that had begun to form on his face vanished into a frown. The lass will nae take the news well at all, but she will have nae choice in the matter. Not in any hurry to have such a negative discussion and bring about what he considered to be the shrill displeasure of a woman’s angry protests, he determined to put off the discussion until a later time. Perhaps on my death bed, he mused to himself with some small amount of humor at the thought of what his last words might be. Nae, he shook his head. It must be soon, afore ‘tis tae late tae enforce it. I will nae have my will overruled once I am gone. She will need tae wed afore I am tae meet my maker or there will be nae but conflict and chaos within the clan. I will nae have that as my legacy. Amelia will simply be forced tae accept her fate. For if she does nae, the clan will surely meet its end.

Chapter One

19th December 1603

MacAilpein Lands, Argyll, Scotland

Amelia McAlpine stared down at her father’s wizened gray face in disbelief. Surely, he had not said what she thought. “Faither?” she questioned, hoping her ears would hear something different the second time.

“Ye heard me, lass. Ye must wed, and ‘twill be yer husband who is laird, nae ye,” the laird repeated. “There is nae time tae wait any longer. Ye must choose a man tae wed that can lead this clan when I am gone, or I will choose one for ye. Ye must wed with all due haste, Amelia, afore ‘tis tae late and ye lose yer place. I want it tae be my grandson that is laird someday, nae the devil spawn o’ that theivin’ Michael Rossell.”

In battle, Michael Rossell was a neighboring laird whose father had stolen MacAilpein land from Amelia’s grandfather, Charles. The bastard born son of a Russell chieftain, Michael’s father, Hugh, had left the clan lands at Aberdeenshire, taken the old French name of de Rosel for himself and merged it with the more recent Russell spelling, and moved further west to claim territory in Argyll by any means necessary—including deception and bloodshed. Amelia’s grandfather had never gotten over it and instilled a great hatred for the Rossell family into his son, Ralf. Ralf, in turn, became such a fierce warrior and inspired terror into the hearts of all who attempted to cross him. It was this fear that had kept them safe for now, but that time was coming to a close.

“Ye ken that he is just waitin’ for me tae die, so that he can take advantage o’ ye bein’ nae but a weak lass who cannae defend her people. Ye need a warrior tae protect ye and the clan.”

A flash of hurt and anger filled Amelia’s breast, but she tamped it down. Her father had been nothing but terrible to her mother all their married lives. It should come as no surprise to her that he would continue the legacy by underestimating her at every turn. He knew naught of the person she was or the warrior’s heart that lay within. Instead, she asked, “How long have ye been plannin’ this?”

“Since our own King James was made king o’ England.”

Amelia nodded her head. He had taken a decided turn for the worse after that night of celebrations and had never fully recovered. “And ye say ‘tis my choice who tae wed?”

“Aye.” Her father nodded his head, then coughed, the motion sending shudders through his body. It would not be long now. “Ye must choose a man and quickly, lass. I have given ye the gift o’ choice, a gift yer maither and I ne’er had, but it is a brief gift that if not acted upon will result in a similar fate for yerself and some other man o’ my choosing.” He caught her hand in his and held her eyes for a moment. “Ye must choose a fightin’ man, lass, for only a cleverly brutal man will be able tae save ye.”

Amelia, angry and unsettled, pulled her hand free. Turning away from the bed, she left her father’s bedchamber and descended the stairs to the great hall. The castle was abuzz with preparations for the coming Yuletide. The castle servants and clans people worked with anticipation of the festivities preparing all manner of food and cleaning every corner of the castle. It was a time of joy that brought a little warmth to the cold winter months. Entering the kitchen, she was greeted by the castle’s jovial cook, Maggie. Maggie had been a Campbell by birth but had fallen in love with a MacAilpein warrior and as a result, had spent most of her adult life working for Amelia’s father. She had been somewhat of a substitute mother for Amelia since Anna Maria’s passing.

“Och, there ye are, lass. I was beginnin’ tae think that ye had changed yer mind about goin’.” Maggie bustled over to Amelia with a basket filled with food. “I ken yer faither does nae approve o’ ye visitin’ the prison, but he did nae forbid ye, did he?”

“Nae, he did nae forbid me.” Amelia shook her head. Maggie’s husband had been arrested and died in prison for a crime that he had not committed. In his memory, Maggie and Amelia had gone at Yuletide over the years since his death to visit the Edinburgh prison to comfort any Highlanders that might be held there.

“I dinnae care about the English prisoners, ye ken, but I will nae have a good Highland man suffer any longer in this cold weather than is needed,” Maggie declared, straightening her dress. She grabbed her cloak from the wall and wrapped it around her ample girth. Amelia followed suit and donned her own cloak. Baskets in hand, and Amelia’s guardsman Lucas on their heels, the two women made their way to the stables.

The clan’s priest, Father Jacob, greeted them at the stable doors. “’Tis a fine mornin’ for it,” he called out with a smile.

Lucas scowled in disapproval of their errand, but Amelia and Maggie nodded in agreement. “’Tis indeed, Faither,” Maggie replied, allowing the priest to take her basket. “My apologies for keepin’ ye waitin’.”

“Och, think nothing o’ it.” The priest waved her concerns away as he helped her up onto the waiting horse.

“’Twas my fault, Faither,” Amelia admitted, accepting Lucas’ hand up onto her favorite highland pony. “I was visiting with the laird.”

Father Jacob nodded his head gravely. “’Tis sorry I am for the laird’s ill health. He is e’er in my prayers.”

“And mine.” Amelia nodded in acknowledgment, not quite able to bring herself to speak further on the matter. Everything her father said was still playing havoc with her emotions and she was doing her best not to cry or start yelling out her frustrations.

Once they were all mounted and out upon the road, Father Jacob pulled his horse up beside Amelia’s and met her gaze. “Tell me what it is that troubles ye so, lass. I can see it in yer eyes that ye are greatly displeased. Is there something more with yer faither?”

Amelia looked around her at her fellow riding companions and could see in their eyes that they all wished to know the answer to the priest’s question. All except for Lucas who already knew having been present in the room at the time. “Faither has decided that I am tae wed and has chosen tae leave the clan tae my future husband, and nae tae me.”

Maggie frowned but nodded. She was not at all surprised, having known the laird a very long time. “I was afeared he would make such demands o’ ye.”

“Who has he chosen for ye, lass?” Father Jacob asked kindly, reaching out to lay a reassuring hand on her arm.

“He is allowing me tae choose, but only if I do so with all haste. If I delay in any way, he will make the choice for me.” Amelia nearly choked on the words. Either way, she was going to be forced into a loveless marriage of convenience just as her mother had been. Her heart ached at the thought.

“That is good.” The priest nodded. “Most generous o’ him, I would say, as many faithers would nae be so thoughtful.”

Amelia sighed knowing that he was right. “I ken that, but it does nae make it any less difficult to bear.”

“Do ye have a lad in mind?” Maggie asked, a glint of the matchmaker coming out in her eyes and tone.

“Nae, I dinnae,” Amelia answered, shaking her head regretfully. She had never felt anything more than a sense of family loyalty to any of the men within the clan. It would have been easier had she at least been attracted to one of them. “Please keep this tae yerselves. I dinnae want every unwed man in the clan attemptin’ tae win my hand by some foolish attempt at bravery or worse.”

“Aye,” they all agreed, nodding. It was not hard for them to imagine just how terribly such a scene could go. It was a thing such as this that could tear the clan apart if not handled properly.

“Perhaps someone from another clan?” Maggie offered helpfully. “I was a Campbell, ye ken, when I wed my dear Fergus.”

Amelia smiled warmly at the older woman but shook her head. “Nae, I have nae attachments tae any lad from any clan.”

Lucas snorted. “And a good thing tae. We cannae have another clan comin’ in and takin’ everythin’ that we have worked for.”

Maggie frowned and swatted Lucas’ arm for the insult. “Haud yer wheesht, man, ye dinnae ken what ye speak.”

“Lucas has a point, Maggie. Nae every highlander would be as loving and loyal tae our clan as ye have been,” Amelia remarked. “The same could be said o’ marryin’ within the clan; however, as there are many who would take advantage o’ the power afforded the laird. We dinnae have time for infighting while we sort ourselves out, men competing for my hand. Any sign o’ weakness and Michael Rossell will be at our gates with an army.”

The group fell silent in thought, each attempting to come up with a solution to the problem that would be best for the clan and for Amelia as well. None of them wanted to see her endure the same sorrow that her mother had endured. “Who could ye wed that would be the least risk tae ye and the clan?” Maggie finally pondered aloud. “Could ye lie and say ye were wed?”

Father Jacob grunted in disapproval. “You would risk her immortal soul?”

“Nae, I would nae.” Maggie shook her head sheepishly. “Forgive me, Faither, for speaking it.”

The priest nodded and made the sign of the cross. “Even if ye did attempt such a lie, I would nae be able tae lie. ’Twould be I who performed the ceremony, ye ken.”

“Aye.” Maggie nodded, her cheeks reddening with embarrassment at the thought of asking a priest to lie.

“It cannae be a lowlander. ‘Twould hardly be better than a sassenach,” he bit out this last with a tone of disgust. While much of lowland Scotland had converted to Protestantism, Catholicism still had a stronghold in the highlands. To have a Protestant laird was unfathomable to the guardsman’s staunchly Catholic heart.

“Aye, agreed.” Father Jacob nodded emphatically.

“I would never wed either a lowlander or a sassenach. I will wed a highlander or nae man at all,” Amelia reassured them.

The group once more nodded in unison, glad to at least have that small assurance. As they rode along, they went through the list of unwed men within the clan. Some were too mean or abusive to even be considered as candidates, but most were simply either too old, too young, or lacked the leadership skills required to be laird. The clan had some very good warriors, but not all warriors were meant to be leaders. Leadership took a special kind of mental strength, a ruthlessness against one’s enemies combined with a compassion for humanity, in general, that was difficult to master, along with a strategic mind and fortitude of spirit that would outlast all of mankind and nature who might try and tear them down. Not all lairds had these qualities, but Amelia knew her father expected her to choose the very best man for the position.

They stopped overnight at a roadside inn where the two women shared a room, with the priest in the room next door. Lucas slept in the hallway outside of Amelia’s room as was his duty. Amelia did not envy him such an uncomfortable position, but should anything happen to her on the journey, her father would have the guardsman killed. “Edinburgh will be somewhat different without the king in residence, I should think,” she mused as the women settled into bed for the night.

“I expect it will be little changed. The king does nae affect the daily life o’ folks much, ye ken,” Maggie replied, her features already relaxing into sleep. Each year the ride was getting harder for the older woman. Soon she would not be able to make the trip at all. The laird was displeased to be without his cook so close to Yuletide, but Fergus had been a good warrior and so he let Maggie go to honor her husband’s memory. It took them about two days of hard riding to get to Edinburgh, they would stay a day to visit the prison, then ride the two days back, arriving back at the castle just in time to put the final arrangements together for the festivities.

“’Tis nae much like havin’ a laird then is it,” Amelia observed.

“In some ways it is, but ye are right. In many ways, a laird does much more for his people than a king, but dinnae let the king’s men hear ye say it. The king needs the lairds, he kens that well enough I would suppose, but the lairds need the king too. ‘Tis he that protects us from the English.”

Amelia understood that, but she could not help wondering about how the king being the ruler of both Scotland and England, would affect his loyalties towards his own people. “Let us pray that he loves his Scottish subjects as much as a laird loves his own clan.”

“Aye,” Maggie murmured, then drifted off to sleep leaving Amelia alone with her thoughts.

She had been giving a great deal of thought to the responsibilities of leaders in all their many forms of late. Since her father’s ailing health had taken a steep turn for the worse, she had been studying and preparing to take her place as lairdess. Her father’s announcement before she departed that morning came as quite a shock in some ways, but not so much in the fact that she knew her father did not respect her abilities. He considered her to be too tenderhearted and compassionate for the role. Her father also did not believe that women should be in positions of power over men. She had sat through more than one tirade of his complaining about the Scottish and English cousin queens. He staunchly believed that all difficulties would have been solved had both parties been men.

Amelia just as staunchly disagreed citing all the many kings who had failed to achieve peace between the two kingdoms; however, her father saw King James as proof of his beliefs coming to fruition. Amelia argued that such a pass was more an issue of blood than sex. Her father had argued that a king would not have remained a virgin and risked the throne as the English queen had, but he conceded that such actions had led to the combining of crowns and kingdoms when James became king. No matter how many times they discussed the subject, Amelia had never been able to change her father’s mind toward women leaders.

Amelia spent a restless night tossing and turning, thinking of what she would do in response to her father’s demands. She knew that the clan needed protection from Michael Rossell and his men, but at what personal cost to her? She feared the worst. Come the dawn, she had very little sleep but arose and prepared herself the best that she could for the day ahead. When they arrived in Edinburgh, they first stopped at the prison so that Father Jacob might arrange their visit on the morrow with the warden, then retired to a nearby inn for the night. Once again Maggie fell asleep quickly leaving Amelia alone with her thoughts. Exhausted beyond measure, Amelia fell into a fitful sleep filled with dreams of abusive husbands and enemies at the gates.

Chapter Two

When morning arrived once more, Amelia arose and put on the nice clothes that she brought to bring some cheer to the prisoners. “Ye look like a right lady, lass.” Maggie beamed with pride. “Those lads will think an angel has come tae visit.”

Amelia smiled and kissed the older woman on the cheek. “Are ye well?” she inquired, worrying about the older woman’s emotions on such a difficult day of remembrance. The prison was the last place she had ever laid eyes upon her husband.

“Aye, lass. Fergus is nae here, ye ken. He is in a far better place now.”

The two women exchanged a warm reassuring smile, then left the room to meet Lucas and Father Jacob in the hallway. They went down to the tavern below, broke the fast, then walked the short distance to the prison. The Old Tolbooth Prison was well known for its mistreatment of prisoners. The men within lived in terrible conditions, many becoming quite ill, if not dead. Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, had ordered the old building to be repaired, but that had not alleviated the suffering from within. As they passed St. Giles’ Cathedral, Amelia said a prayer for the poor doomed men.

Passing through the gates, Lucas spat upon the threshold, eyeing the guards with suspicion. The guards did nothing. Amelia was not certain whether it was Father Jacob’s presence that kept them safe, or whether the guards truly cared not what they did. Once they reached the interior, the warden came out to greet them. “Father.” He nodded to the priest. “Lady McAlpine, it is good tae see ye once again. Ye are a bright light tae my year.” He bowed over her hand. The warden was a man that Amelia had never quite been able to figure out. She had heard of the cruel things done within the prison, had seen some of the effects in the prisoners, and yet he had always treated her with the utmost courtesy. She assumed that it was her station as a Scottish lady that earned her such regard compared to the thieves and murderers that he was used to dealing with, but she could not help wondering if his courtesy was genuine or all an act. She could not fathom a man who could do what he did to his fellow men, no matter how low they might be, and still have any kind of a soul remaining to him.

Removing her hand from his grasp, Amelia acknowledged his greeting with as much charm as she could manage given the way he made her skin crawl. “I am pleased tae be o’ service. Might we deliver our gifts o’ food and cheer tae the prisoners now?”

“Aye, o’ course.” The warden nodded and motioned for two of his guards to accompany them. “My men will see that ye are unharmed.”

“Our thanks.” Amelia nodded in gratitude, then turned away from him as quickly as courtesy would allow. She did not like visiting the prison, but she knew how much it meant to Maggie, so she put on her most lady like face and walked into the darkened corridor ahead.

The guard led them down the length of one stone corridor, descended a set of stairs, down to another. When they reached the desired level, the guards unlocked the door and stepped inside, bellowing for the prisoners to get in line and to behave themselves. The corridor filled with the sounds of men groaning and coughing, as well as the occasional clinking of chains. The men gathered at the doors to their cells, too many men to a room for any comfort to be had. The air smelled of fetid flesh and putrid waste. It was enough to make a person gag, but Amelia somehow managed to hold on to the contents of her stomach. Every year the smell was intolerable, no matter how many times she had requested that the warden do something about it. Maggie and Father Jacob entered the first cell, while Amelia and Lucas went on to the next one passing out bannocks and small bags of oats. Most of the prisoners were Lowlanders, some Borderers, with the occasional Englishman.

“Have ye any highlanders here?” Amelia asked, not wanting to neglect one of her own kind.

“Aye, we have one, but he is a murderer and is certain tae be hanged,” the guard assigned to them answered. “A fine lady such as yerself does nae need tae be concerned with the likes o’ him.”

“Nevertheless,” Amelia replied sternly, “I wish tae see him.” She knew that it was important to Maggie to tend to any Highland prisoners, and Amelia preferred that it be she who faced a murderer and not her elder clanswoman.

“I dinnae like this, lass,” Lucas protested at her side.

“All will be well, Lucas. Fear nae. I have ye tae protect me, do I nae?”

“Aye, ye ken that ye do, but I still dinnae like it,” Lucas grumbled. “If he lays a hand on ye, he will nae need a noose.” His hand reached for the blade at his belt to punctuate the threat.

Amelia reached out a hand to steady her clansman. “There will be nae need for violence.” Standing to her full height, Amelia nodded for the guard to open the cell door. What she saw within, she would never forget. The man had been poorly treated, beaten, bruised, bloodied, dirty and stinking, but in spite of all of that, the man stood tall towering over her, a fierce pride emanating from bright blue eyes peering out at her behind filthy blond strands of hair. The man was taller than most, slender of form due to the poor nutrition of his current home but had somehow managed to remain well-muscled. His features were strong, chiseled, firm. Even in the disgusting environs to which he had been condemned, he was stunningly handsome. There was an air of danger to the man to be certain, but that only added to his charisma. Amelia took a step forward and handed the man a bannock.

“They say that ye are a highlander?” she asked.

“Aye.” The man nodded in confirmation.

“What is yer name?” she asked, intrigued by him.

“Who wishes tae ken it?” he inquired, causing the guard to bark at him to answer.

Amelia ignored the guard and answered, “My name is Amelia McAlpine. I am the daughter o’ Laird McAlpine.”

“A lady, is it?” the man noted, eyeing her up and down. “Well, aren’t I the lucky lad?” He chuckled at her mockingly with an edge of salaciousness to his manner. Bowing with the smooth lines and gestures of a practiced gentleman, he introduced himself, “Cameron Kyall, my lady, but you may call me Ron.” The familiar air in which he spoke to her made Amelia feel most uncomfortable, while her pulse quickened in excitement.

Blushing, Amelia attempted to hold herself together. Standing ramrod straight, her brow furrowed in question. “Kyall? That is a lass’ name. I dinnae ken any clan o’ such a surname.”

“’Tis my maither’s name. She belonged tae the Clan Cameron. I have nae clan o’ my own.”

“A bastard,” Lucus grunted under his breath.

“Aye.” Ron nodded. “Do ye have a problem with that, big man? Though I dinnae ken what business it is o’ yers.”

The men stood eyeing each other as if sizing up for a fight. As tall as the Highland prisoner was, Lucas was even taller and more broadly built. His red hair and beard glowing like the very flames of hell in comparison to the younger man’s pitifully unkempt state. Concerned, Amelia stepped between them. The last thing that she needed was for her guardsman, and captain of the clan’s fighters, to be imprisoned for killing an already condemned man.

Turning to the guard, Amelia asked, “Who is this man accused o’ murdering?”

“His own mother,” the guard answered spitting at the prisoner’s feet, “and for the attempted murder o’ a laird.”

“Which laird?”

“That is nae o’ yer affair,” the prisoner ground out. “And I did nae kill my maither!”

Amelia stood staring at him for a moment and found that she believed him. “Which laird?” she asked again.

“Rossell,” the guard answered.

“Michael Rossell?”

“Aye, that would be the one,” the guard nodded.

In that instant, the spark of an idea flared within Amelia’s mind. “He is condemned to hang for his crimes? There is nae chance o’ a reprieve?

“He will hang as surely as I am standin’ here,” the guard assured her.

Turning back toward the prisoner, Amelia took a step forward and met his blue eyes head-on. “Ron,” she began using his chosen moniker, “how would you like to marry me?” A stunned grunt sounded from behind her, and a second later, Lucas had ahold of her arm and was physically hauling her out of the prison cell.

“Have ye lost yer mind, lass?” he practically roared as he hauled her down the corridor. “Offerin’ yer hand tae a murderer? I have ne’er seen the like.”

At hearing Lucas’ protestations, Father Jacob and Maggie came running out of the next cell. “What did ye just bellow?” Maggie asked, out of breath.

“This numpty just offered her hand in marriage to a condemned murderer,” Lucas informed them still yelling in anger and astonishment.

“Ye did nae, lass? Tell me it is nae so,” Maggie exclaimed, taking Amelia’s hand in hers.

“Aye, I did,” Amelia confirmed, but before she could open her mouth to explain further the little group of people had her out of the prison, across the street, and back at the inn pushing food and ale upon her as if she had fallen prey to a bout of lunacy brought on by malnutrition. Finally, Amelia had had enough, and she stood up forcefully from where they had placed her on a bench at a side table. “Enough! I am nae hungry, thirsty, or mad. What we need is a man who will keep Michael Rossell and his warriors at bay. Ron Kyall is the perfect man. The reputation of such a violent man would keep our enemies at bay and he will be executed soon, so there is nae risk o’ him e’er comin’ and leadin’ the clan. In every way that matters, I would be laird, and all would be forced tae accept it.”

Lucas shook his head. “’Twould ne’er work, lass. Yer faither would nae allow ye tae wed a condemned maither murderer, e’en if the lad did try tae kill his mortal enemy.”

“I dinnae believe that he killed his own maither. You can see it in his eyes that he was nae lyin’ about that,” Amelia argued.

“Yer faither would ne’er allow it,” he repeated firmly shaking his head.

“Aye, I ken yer faither well, lass, and Lucas is right. The laird would nae allow it,” Father Jacob confirmed, giving Amelia a pitying look. It was clear that he thought she had succumbed to hysterics.

Amelia growled low in her throat, “Faither need nae ken the truth o’ it. We could say that I married an army captain instead and that he is away tae the Americas for a time. Such a lie would stand until Faither…” She stopped speaking, unable to say the actual words.

“Until His Lairdship dies,” Maggie finished for her shaking her head in sympathy.

“Aye,” Amelia nodded, swallowing the tears that threatened to overtake her. “Then I would be free tae do as I wish concerning the truth o’ the matter. Ron Kyall could be wielded as a weapon against Rossell, his violent reputation against all other enemies, and nae one would e’er need tae ken that he had died until it was tae late tae do anythin’ about it. It would give me a chance tae show that I can lead the clan without question.”

“And if the clan disagrees?” Lucas asked, not yelling this time, but his voice was still quite gruff.

Amelia sighed and sank back down onto the bench. “Then I will marry another man and produce an heir.”

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

Chapter 1

The noise of the tavern thundered in his ears as Flynn dropped his empty cup on the wooden table. The taste of ale lingered in his throat as he peeked at the cards in his hands. It wasn’t looking good. The game of Maw was one with many rules, but it was a game that Flynn McGhee was familiar with and one that he had become good at winning.

“How’s it looking?” Adam asked from beside him. His best friend was always looking out for him, but he was still in the card game too, which made him an opponent.

Flynn glanced at his cards before speaking. “It’s all right.”

He was lying, of course, but his friend didn’t need to know that yet. Flynn narrowed his dark eyes. It wasn’t looking like he was going to win, but he didn’t want to be the first to lose.

“Are ye sure about that?” Adam cast him another glance of concern. “This is nae the kind of game that ye want to lose.”

“If ye talk about the ‘Lady With Nay Name’ again, I swear…” Flynn’s voice trailed off as he chuckled and shook his head. “I dinnae believe that she could be so bad.”

“I dinnae think that ye understand,” Adam sighed while rubbing his eyes. He had always been a good friend to him. “Ye should never accept contracts from her. She makes our kind do the most awful things.”

Our kind. Flynn hated how his friend referred to them as though they were some other kind of species. They were sell-swords or mercenaries; the term differed depending on the passersby where they looked for work. Despite the loud chorus of voices coming from the tavern, Flynn still cringed at the volume that his friend spoke at. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of what they had to do to stay alive, but he was ashamed of the way that Adam talked about them as though they were below everyone else.

He was aware of the way that some of the locals would stare at them in the tavern. They were the group mercenaries that wore dark clothes and gathered in the corners like insects. As long as they brought no trouble to the establishments, they were able to stay—as though it were some kind of unwritten agreement between them and the landlord.

“Aye, the Lady With Nay Name is nae someone ye want to work with,” one of the other men playing the card game sniffed. “That’s why nobody wants to lose.”

Flynn’s eyes glanced back to his cards. There were five trick cards within the pile, and a player would need three to win. They’d been playing for over an hour, but Flynn had yet to pick one up. With each round, he knew that his chances of avoiding being the first to lose were getting slimmer.

“She is a wealthy woman, and any one of us would be a fool to refuse the sums that she hands out to do her bidding,” another man said. He was much older than the rest of them, with white speckles in his beard and cracked lines across his weathered skin. The man was missing a few teeth, and yet he was still playing the game with the intention of finding work afterward.

“She is nothing but an old wives tale,” Flynn muttered as he took another card from the pile. This time, he wasn’t able to hide his disappointment at the card he’d drawn.

“A wives tale that ye might be meeting soon, lad,” the old man chuckled as he waited for Adam to take his turn. His friend cast him a worried look, but Flynn still wasn’t concerned. He needed work, and he was starting to need work a lot more than before. Flynn didn’t feel that he was in the position to be picky over what jobs he took.

“I’m nae a lad anymore. I’ve done things for a few coins that I’m nae exactly proud of,” Flynn grumbled as he watched the game continue to unfold.

“And ye would be willing to kill women and children if this woman asked ye?” one of the men asked.

Flynn had already received the same talk from Adam before they’d decided to enter the game. He didn’t like the sound of it, but he’d been confident in his chances that he wouldn’t be the first one to lose. He wasn’t sure what he would do if she asked him to kill someone innocent; it would be a decision that he wouldn’t be able to take as lightly as he would if it were a man who had wronged another man.

“We kill people for a living,” Flynn answered, leaving his words to be interpreted as the others at the table wanted to.

They continued with the game. Their cups of ale were refilled and drained as the stack of cards also dwindled in size. There was a point when silence descended on the table, and each of the men looked up from their cards. Flynn swallowed thickly while rolling his shoulders back. His dark hair was stuck to his forehead due to the heat of the filled room, but he wasn’t going to show his discomfort to his fellow sell-swords.

He swallowed thickly, the ale making his head buzz and stomach bloat, but he was still trying to keep his mind sharp. Adam was shuffling in his seat and making no attempt to keep his composure, but the nervous glances that he shot at Flynn were beginning to grate on him.

“I’ve got one trick card,” the old man sighed after understanding what the silence meant.

“I’ve got one too,” the other man said while laying his cards down.

“Me too.”

All eyes darted between Adam and Flynn, the final two to reveal their cards, but Flynn already understood the outcome.

“I suppose that means that I win,” Adam said while breathing out a sigh of relief. A smile ghosted over his lips for just a moment before it disappeared as his eyes met his friend’s.

“And then that means…” the older man’s voice trailed off as the realization spread like an infectious disease over the table. Flynn clenched his jaw and kept his eyes on the table. He didn’t like the attention, and he didn’t like the way that they were all looking at him.

“Ye dinnae have to dae this,” Adam turned to his friend as the other men started to gather up the cards.

“I really dinnae think that I have that kind of choice,” Flynn laughed it off. “I have to follow the rules of the game. We knew what we were getting into.”

“Aye, but if ye leave now, then I can hold them off,” Adam started, but his friend held up his hand.

“I’m nae running,” he said while shaking his head. “Adam, I need work. I need this job. Even if it’s nae going to be pretty, I dinnae have much of a choice.”

“What about going back to an old client? Surely someone must need other work soon and—”

“I told ye what happened with the last people. It’s…complicated, and they are nae too pleased with me. I really dinnae have the luxury to be choosing these days.”

In his mind, he had already made the decision that he would be taking the work, but he knew that it wasn’t going to be a popular decision with his friend.

“Ye see that man over there?” one of the men pointed over his shoulder. Flynn followed the man’s finger until he saw the hooded figure standing by the exit of the tavern. He quickly tried to hide the grimace that sprung to his face instinctively. Even if he didn’t want to do the job, the hooded man would not allow the loser to leave without taking the contract. “He’s got the note from the lady with him.”

Flynn could feel the attention return to him as he rose from the table; the last thing that he wanted to show was any fear in front of the other men.

“Flynn…”
“It’s all right, Adam,” he said as his friend stood up next to him. “It’s honestly all right.”

Adam pursed his lips before nodding finally, although Flynn could still see that he wasn’t happy about it.

He turned back to the hooded figure, took a quick deep breath, and started across the tavern. The room was filled with men and women laughing and drinking. Music was playing from one corner, and Flynn slipped effortlessly through the crowd without being noticed. He made his way over to the figure, his nerves rising as he let his hand hover over the handle of his sword.

“Ye work for the Lady With Nay Name?” Flynn asked after clearing his throat.

The figure finally turned to him, although he kept his head down, the shadow of his hood obscuring his features from view. Flynn tried to peer closer, but it was no use.

“She has a job for me?” he continued speaking, not liking the silence that came as a response.

Instead, the figure dug into his pocket with a dark, gloved hand and pulled out a pouch of money. Flynn felt his breath rise and hitch in his throat as he examined the bag of gold that the man held out to him. He took the pouch with some hesitation, for it came with a letter that he was a lot less inclined to look at.

“This is the job?”

The man nodded but said nothing.

“And if I dinnae want to do it?”

Flynn stared up at the figure as he pushed his cloak aside to reveal his sword. Flynn didn’t need the man to speak to understand that he really didn’t have a choice anymore. With a huff, he turned his attention to the piece of sealed parchment that was in his hand. With some slight reluctance, he opened it and started to read through the instructions.

At first, his eyebrows were knitted in concentration as he deciphered the cursive words on the parchment. However, his eyes quickly widened as the realization of what he had to do hit him.

Chapter 2

Leah walked through the town with purpose. Her green eyes were narrowed as she made sure to get to her destination without dawdling or taking any detours. She was determined to get the yeast that her mother had asked for, and she knew that she had to do it quickly, while she still had the courage to do so.

The baker was a tough man to negotiate with, but Leah knew he could be persuaded. She bit her lip and pulled her curls back so that they were out of the way. Her dark hair complimented her green eyes like a forest tree.

The town was bustling with people. It was market day for the local farmers, a good time to sell their produce of the week. But Leah knew that she and her mother wouldn’t be able to treat themselves from the contents of the stalls; they would be living on the bread that her mother would make.

As soon as the baker saw her, his pink face fell, and he shook his head quickly. The customer in front of Leah was just leaving, and Leah stepped up to the counter with a rather sheepish smile on her features.

“Nay,” he said simply.

“Ye have nae even heard what I have to say!” Leah said with a groan.

“I dinnae have to hear what ye have to say. The answer is nay, unless ye can pay for it right here and now.”

Leah could feel the heat rise in her cheeks, but she ignored it and clenched her fists.

“I just need some yeast. My mother and I can—”

“I’m nae getting into another one of yer negotiations, Leah,” the baker sighed and rubbed his face. “Ye and yer mother already have debts with me that ye are yet to pay off.”

“I ken, but we’re waiting for some money from a wealthy woman to come in,” Leah quickly said. “She is paying us for the seamstress work that we’ve already done. We just have to wait for the money to come in, but—”

“It’s nae happening!” the baker shouted.

Leah suddenly felt very small as she stood on the other side of the counter. She was hungry, her mother was hungry, and she felt like a fool for not fighting for what she needed.

“Ye have my word. I promise ye that I will pay as soon as—”

“Ye want me to trust ye?” the baker scoffed as he shook his head. “Ye think that the word of a bastard means anything to me?”

Leah stopped her pleas and stared at the man as her mouth closed. She could feel the lump in her throat forming, but she didn’t want the man to see her cry. Instead, she channeled how she was feeling into a glare while clenching her fists.
“Get out of my shop!” he said, watching as Leah’s eyes widened, and she swallowed thickly. She knew that there was nothing more she could do or say that would help her cause, and so Leah turned on her heels and headed for the door.

She put the hood of her cloak up as she stepped out into the cool morning air, not wanting to invite the attention of passersby who might wonder why she was causing a scene in the bakery.

Leah walked through the rest of the town on her way home with her head down. She was dreading having to tell her mother that they weren’t going to have good bread for their meal. All she had needed was the yeast, and she had been willing to pay him back as soon as she had the money.

She winced at the thought of how he’d shouted at her in front of other customers. Even people out on the streets had heard him.

She wished that there was another baker in town who was unaware of her past and would simply smile as she entered the shop and comply with her requests.

Leah felt foolish for even thinking that the baker would take pity on her and give her the yeast. However, she was also concerned as to how her mother would react to this. Sometimes her mother would tell her that it didn’t matter, that they could manage without whatever she had failed to bring. Yet other times, it was as though Leah’s words would trigger a storm within her.

She tried to push the dread away as it rose up within her and simply continue on her journey home—her arms much lighter than she had been anticipating.

The rest of the walk went by in a blur. Leah didn’t look at the townspeople around her and, instead, just stared down at the ground. Their house was a little farther out, but she still arrived back too quickly for her liking.

“Did ye get the yeast?” The sound of her mother’s voice as Leah stepped into their small house filled her with dread. She didn’t want to talk about it, but she knew that her mother was bound to push at learning why she hadn’t succeeded in getting it.

“Nay.” Leah shook her head and wiped her eyes. She winced, knowing that her mother would detect the way that her eyes were red and puffy.

“What did he have to say this time?” her mother, Rosie, asked in a softer voice.

“He did nae want to loan us anything else, even though I promised that we would pay him as soon as the money came in. But he…he said that he does nae trust someone like me.”

Leah knew that she didn’t have to say it for her mother to understand. Rosie’s face was a picture of realization as she nodded slowly.

“That baker has always been a petty man. He refuses to see any further than his own large belly. There is nay way that he would show compassion,” Rosie murmured while turning back to the dough on the worktop.

They would be having flatbread. Again.

Without the yeast, the bread didn’t rise and, therefore, didn’t reap enough to last for as long as she knew that her mother would have liked. She ignored her mother’s futile attempts at hiding her disappointment and instead turned back to the various sewing tasks that she still had to complete that day.
“It’s fine,” her mother said, but the tone of her voice sounded strained. Leah knew that she didn’t want to have to say those words. Her mother’s lips were pursed, and she braced herself. “We can find a way manage without his yeast…again.”

She did her best to ignore the comment, but Leah knew that it was all her fault. Her mother’s words were like tiny sharp points that cut into her resolve, whether she meant it to or not.

Leah could feel tears rising up again as she tried to push her feelings away. The last thing that she wanted was for her mother to see how much the situation really affected her.

If she was being honest with herself, Leah was tired of having to tolerate how the people in the town treated her and her mother. She was looked at by those who knew their history as though she were nothing more than a pariah. Her mother had given birth to her outside of wedlock. Leah never had a chance to meet her father, who had been involved in a passionate affair with her mother before he disappeared. Rosie didn’t talk openly about the subject, and Leah had worked for years to pry any detail that she could from her.

“We could always move to a new town,” Leah suggested as she stared down at the work table. She knew her mother’s answer before she could speak the words.

“What about the business?”

The seamstress business was starting to provide them with a bit more money, but Leah didn’t feel as though it was reason enough to stay.

“We can pick it up in a new location,” Leah said with a shrug.

“This property belonged to my family. I cannae just leave it,” Rosie said after a long pause.

“But we can take the business with us. We’re able to work, and we could start again somewhere where nobody would ken who we are,” Leah said while looking up from the table.

“Leah,” Rosie sighed as her shoulders sagged.

“Nobody would have to ken that ye were nae married when ye had me. We could make up a white lie about who my father was and why he is nae around. We would nay longer have to dread walking into town with the feeling that the people around us dinnae like us all the time,” she continued.

“Stop this nonsense now,” her mother said. “We’re nae leaving my family’s house, and we’re nae going to move to another town. We have work here, and that’s all that ye should focus on for now.”

“It’s hard to work for the same people that hate me,” Leah murmured.

“They dinnae hate ye. I just think that they dinnae understand,” Rosie’s voice was softer as she spoke to her daughter.

“They would nae have to understand if my father was here. Nobody would talk to us the way that the baker spoke to me today,” Leah said back to her mother.

Rosie was silent for a moment as she narrowed her eyes. Leah knew that she had perhaps overstepped with her words.

“Will ye go and wash yer hands so that we can have some food?” Rosie murmured as she quickly got to work in the kitchen.

Leah remained where she was by the worktable for a moment before leaving the room, her anger still built up within her. All she wished for was that she could speak to her father just once. All she wanted was the answers that her mother would not give her.

She wondered who he was, what he was doing at that very moment. Leah knew that he wasn’t worried about them, because if that was the case, she assumed that he would be there at their sides. Instead, they were left alone. But Leah’s mother had insisted that it wasn’t his fault. She’d told her that they’d been separated for another reason. Yet that still didn’t make it any easier on Leah, for the identity of her father was still a mystery to her, and she had no idea how she was going to learn more about him.

Part of her longed for a time when he would come back—that one day there would be a knock at the door, and the entirety of her past would be revealed to her. She often wondered if he would become curious and seek her out. But Leah tried to banish those thoughts quickly from her mind whenever they arose. They had plagued her ever since she was a child, and now that she was an adult, she knew that she was going to have to move on with her life.

Her father wasn’t coming for them. She was never going to learn about who he was, not ever, and there was nothing she could do about it.

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