Chapter 1

May didn’t care how loud her boots sounded as they pounded on the stone of the hallway. The castle was alive with activity in the peak of the summer daylight, but the buzz of the place only left May with a heavy feeling of dread.

She rushed through the halls of the castle, hugging her arms close to her chest despite the warmth of the day. May could feel her heart racing in her chest and swallowed thickly as she turned the corridor quickly, making sure not to crash into any of the rushing servants that were coming the other way.

“Sorry,” she muttered, as she walked even faster and bumped the shoulder of a maid.

May could hear the whispers of servants following her down the hall, they were all gossiping about what she could possibly be in so much of a rush for.

It was no secret that her father was ill. May knew that the news had traveled amongst the staff of the castle without stopping, like a river that had nothing to halt its current.

“Is the news true?” May asked, as she burst into the room.

The scene in front of her came to a halt as soon as she entered. May glanced around to see that there was a healer by the bedside of her father and several servants around the room.

“Leave us,” Alistair said, and held his hand up feebly. She winced at how weak her father had become, but it wasn’t enough to cloud over her anger.

May waited for the click of the door before speaking again.

“I want to ken if it’s true.”

“Is what true, May?” he questioned, and sat up slowly, painfully slowly.

“I heard the news. Ye are going to marry me to a stranger and decided to tell the entire kingdom before ye told me?” May snapped.

“I am doin’ what is best for our clan,” Alistair responded.

“I ken that the finances are bad. I just dinnae think that ye would marry me off so soon, I was surprised to find that out from others.”

“I’m sorry that ye had to hear from others, but ye ken that this would happen one day. A marriage of convenience will keep our clan alive.”

May knew that it was her destiny, but that didn’t make it any easier to process.

“I cannae dae that, not with the current situation that we find ourselves in,” her father shook his head.

“And by doing this, I will save the clan?” May asked in a quieter tone.

“Aye, me child. Ye will be doin’ something that will help us all, I promise. Our funds are running low, and I cannae raise the taxes again, it will ruin our people.”

“Father, ye are too sick to be making such decisions. Have ye consulted with your advisors about any of this?”

“Aye, and they tell me to have ye matched in a strong marriage. One that will fund our lands and will allow us to prosper once more,” Alistair coughed as he spoke.

May nodded at her father’s words, she knew that a time like this was bound to happen, however, she wasn’t ready for it at all.

“I wish that there was another way,” she sighed.

May noticed that her father’s cough wouldn’t go away. The coughing persisted and the sound grated around the room, cutting through their conversation with no mercy. His brows were furrowed, skin slightly more pale than usual, and there was a definitive amount of sweat on his brow.

“Healer! We need a healer in here!” May called back toward the door.

Almost instantly, the healer was brought back into the room, the kind of service that was to be expected for a sick Laird.

May watched while biting at the nails on her right hand, and she knew that it wasn’t proper for a lady like herself to do so, but she needed some way to control her stress. Seeing her father so ill was something that she had never imagined would come to be. Her mother and brother had died when she was so young, the sickness had been relentless, passing through the land like a ravaging fire. She dreaded to think that she was going to see her father succumb to a similar fate.

May thought of the moment six years ago when she had broken Iain out of the cell that her father had imprisoned him in. It had been so thrilling, yet so devastating. It had broken her heart at the time, and still to this day, she could feel the dull ache in her chest from where her feelings had been shattered.

She thought often of the man with dark hair who had her heart. He had been right all of those years ago; she wouldn’t ever find a love like theirs, it seemed that she was doomed to live out that prophesy. Especially now that she was to marry a man from a clan that she knew little about, a stranger that could be the worst decision her sick father had ever made. The thought of living out the rest of her life unhappy was devastating to May.

She could see that her father was slowly slipping into sleep, his head lulled forward slightly, and he was struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Will he be all right?” May dared to ask. However, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the answer after all.

“He needs to rest,” the healer said with pursed lips. May didn’t feel as though he was finished with speaking though, and her fear was realized when he continued. “I’m sorry, but if his coughing continues like this… I’m nae sure how much longer he has left.”

May let the words sink like a stone in her mind. She was terrified of the outcome that had been laid out for her, she was going to have to marry whoever her father said, even if it was his dying wish.

She blinked away her tears and tried not to think about how different her life would have been if she had run away with Iain all those years ago. May didn’t want to even wonder if she would have been happier because she knew that she would have been.

“I see,” May nodded. Inside she felt like a piece of herself was dying, but she knew that she needed to remain strong in front of the people that she might soon be in charge of. In reality, she wanted to fall to the floor and cry until she felt better.

She glanced over at her father, wishing that she could touch him. All she wanted was to feel his embrace and comfort. However, the sickness drew her away. She was the last healthy member of her family, and May knew that she couldn’t jeopardize that by seeking comfort.

May sat in the room while her father slept for some time. She needed the quiet of the room to organize her thoughts and better understand what was the best way for her to accept her fate. Every time that he turned in his turbulent sleep, May winced, hoping that her father wasn’t in too much pain and would be all right. She shuddered and hugged her arms to try and make herself feel any kind of comfort.

After a while, she allowed her heavy eyes to close. Overcome with emotion, May felt exhausted by the day, even before she had found out the news throughout the town. She had felt foolish to have not known of this news before other members of the town. It had been a surprise, one that she hadn’t welcomed either.

Closing her eyes had been a mistake. May knew that instantly, despite the fact that she was so tired. Behind her eyes flashed images of Iain in his youth. She wondered how he would look after six years apart. However, there was no hope anymore.

She pictured him smiling, laughing, and holding on to her hand as though it were a lifeline. He really had loved her, and May couldn’t get over the fact that she had thrown it away for the very purpose that she now found herself in.

When she awoke, May realized that the wetness on her cheeks were tears that she had shed for her lover. She had not cried over him for a very long time, but the new prospect of marriage meant that she was going to truly never be able to see him again.

“May? Are ye there?” her father spoke through his wheezing.

“Aye, father, I’m here,” May said groggily while rubbing her eyes. She moved off of the uncomfortable wooden chair in the corner over to his bedside. May hadn’t kept track of when the healer had left, but it was evident that a couple of servants had come and gone since she had fallen asleep.

As though kept at bay by a wall that she couldn’t see, May stayed back as far as she could bear, but it was incredibly difficult while her father was so ill.

“Ah, me child,” Alistair breathed out weakly. He settled back into his bed with the knowledge that his daughter was close by.

“Father, I will marry whoever ye say I should. I will do it, I promise,” May nodded eagerly.

She wanted to put his mind at ease during such a sickness.

“Ye are too good to me, child,” he breathed out, “Ye will dae good for this clan, I always knew that ye would.”

May smiled and felt her heart warming at her father’s praise. She couldn’t help but feel a tinge of sadness following the welcomed moment.

“I will make the arrangements soon,” Alistair whispered, “I will send off the letter of agreement to the proposal and we will have all of the official arrangements made quickly. Trust me, I’m sure that ye will find the arrangement interesting, Diabhal has quite the reputation.”

May felt dizzy as she finally left the room. She felt as though she had been in there for a small eternity. She didn’t know much of this Diabhal, but she didn’t welcome the idea of becoming his wife either way. May wanted to find out more about him and this reputation that her father spoke about and quickly decided that she would use her remaining time in the castle to do so.

Everything was going to happen so quickly after that day, she just knew that things were going to slowly slip out of her control. Her father was going to make all of the plans, and she was soon going to be traveling off to a different land to marry a man that she had never met before.

“Is everything all right, ma’am?” one of the servants asked, as she passed them in the hall.

“I’m fine,” May muttered without looking up. She quickly made her way back down the corridor that she had previously stalked up to reach her father and toward her chambers. These were going to be the last days that she spent around the castle before she was moved off to be with a Laird. May suddenly found herself filled with a stony reverence for the walls around her.

It was where she had grown up and it was where she had shared so many memories that had made her the woman that she was that day.

Those were the very halls that she had once walked with Iain, a time that had been filled with so much happiness and joy that she couldn’t help but feel bitter at her circumstance. She wondered where in the land Iain had gone to, what he was doing with his life. But most of all, May wondered if he was happy.

Chapter 2

“I dinnae ken what more we can dae to make them see,” Bruce sighed as he rubbed his eyes with his hand. As the leader of the McAlister clan, it was his job to make sure that his neighbors were paying their debts and that he wasn’t losing out on any deals that were negotiated.

Iain glanced across the table at Bruce. He clenched his jaw, offering no possible solution that would help the cause.

“We have not received any news?” he questioned in response.

“Nae yet, but we haven’t received any messengers yet today. Perhaps we will be lucky and will receive something that can help us.”

“They owe a lot to the clan,” Iain spoke in a bitter tone, “We have given them lots of support, I thought that it would have been an easy decision for them to accept this proposal.”

“I hear that Alistair is very ill,” Bruce responded with a slight shrug.

Iain couldn’t deny that he felt a small pang of justice at this news. The man who had once imprisoned Iain within a cell just for loving his daughter. He didn’t like to admit the way that he felt as though he was now equal with May’s father, knowing that he was so sick. His feelings did extend to May, as he thought about how hard it must be for her with her father falling ill.

“Any word on how serious it is?” Iain questioned, trying his best to sound as though it was simply a way to make conversation.

“I have heard that there is a possibility that it could be quite serious,” Bruce nodded.

Their conversation was cut off by the sound of the doors opening to the great hall. Outside, the noise of rain pelting into the castle walls was growing louder as the storm drew nearer over the nearby Glen.

“Yes?” Bruce spoke up, his voice booming and bouncing off of the stone walls around them. A servant scuttled into the room holding a lone piece of parchment in his hands. His hair was wet from the weather and his boots squelched against the floors.

Bruce quickly took the message from the servant, dismissing him without a second look. Iain watched in anticipation as his adopted father read through the message. His expression didn’t give too much away as to what the letter contained.

However, Iain couldn’t help but hope that it was an acceptance of his proposal to marry the only heir of the McIver clan.

“Well?” Iain asked impatiently, as he watched Bruce place the parchment on the table and sit back in his chair.

“We have received news from the McIver clan,” he began with pursed lips. Iain was really finding it difficult to fathom even a guess to the outcome of what had been said. “We have an acceptance to the proposal.”

*

Iain paced through the castle and thought about the news that had been announced the day before. He knew that Bruce was eager to make sure that the contract was seen through, however, there was still an obvious reluctance in his eyes.

It stemmed from the fact that Bruce would be losing his only son, and even though they weren’t related, their bond was strong. Iain could see that Bruce was still hesitant about being left alone after spending so many years with him.

“Ye need to keep yer priorities in check, lad,” Bruce said from the window, causing the young Laird to look up from his seat in his chambers. Iain’s eyes narrowed and filled with a darkness that even concerned his guardian.

“Aye, I will be, I ken what I’m doin’.”

“I just dinnae think it’s wise to be so focused on the past, so focused on an event that occurred so many years ago. The past can haunt ye, but many times it can only dae so if ye let it.” Bruce spoke on the back of his many years of experience.

Iain wanted to roll his eyes at the comments, however, he had been taught better than that and knew that it would not sit well with the older man. He wanted to teach May a lesson and show her that she made a huge mistake all those years ago.

“It will still be a smart match,” Bruce continued. “The girl is after all of noble blood, and so it will dae ye some good to have a proper connection to a laird than simply being a ward.”

Iain felt his nostrils flare involuntarily at Bruce’s words. He had once been nothing but a soldier in the army that belonged to May’s father, he had served with all that he had and still couldn’t garner the respect of many people. But once Bruce had taken him in, things started to change.

He distanced himself from the young soldier who had fallen in love with the Laird’s daughter, Iain pushed that man to the boundaries of his being. His time as a sell-sword had once shamed him, now they were times that he reflected on often, times that he could use to guide his journey into the future.

“I ken that it will dae me good,” Iain nodded to Bruce, “When will we be leaving?”

“We can make haste as soon as possible,” Bruce sniffed, and sat up in his seat, “We will want to get on the road in the morning so that we will reach MacIver’s land by the afternoon. It will be a long day of riding, but now that we’ve got confirmation, it will only be a matter of time.”

Bruce had made his thoughts clear; Iain wasn’t to lose sight of the reason for this marriage, it would be to strengthen claims of nobility, Iain recited in his head. However, he couldn’t help but anticipate the look that would fall over May’s face when he saw her again.

He hoped that it would be similar to the way he had felt when May told him she would not run away with him. It was a sharp cutting sensation that had torn through his chest, allowing a heavy and jagged weight to sink into his gut. It was like being wounded in battle, a sensation that Iain could never forget.

“Ye seem troubled, lad,” Bruce called, as servants started to slowly and tentatively return to the room.

“Nae, I’m just pensive. I want to get the formalities of this affair over with,” Iain sighed. He knew that it would do him no good to reveal everything that he was thinking to his guardian, although something told him that Bruce understood exactly what he was thinking about.

“Aye, I remember when my marriage contract had been confirmed, that week went by in such a haze.”

Iain nodded slowly, the last thing that he wanted were any rumors to leak from the walls in the form of slimy gossip.

He pushed a hand through his hair, chestnut strands catching the light coming through the window and projecting the illusion that he was almost blonde. Iain followed his guardian’s glance out of the window and to the scenery that stared back at them.

“As of late, do ye feel that the rain has been as constant as the sun setting every day?” Iain sighed. He was no stranger to the highland weather, he knew it like a second skin after all of the time that he had spent up there. However, he couldn’t help but think of the world he had merely glimpsed when he was a mercenary. It had been thrilling for him to not know the ground underneath his feet for the first time, to discover for himself already discovered land.

“Lad, I have always held yer council close in my decision making, but I ken that yer thoughts are nae aligned if ye are goin’ to talk about the weather like this,” Bruce said while chuckling.

He slowly pushed away from the wall, prompting the servants around the room to flinch and stand to attention like pretend soldiers. It would be futile to get in the way of the Laird, for he was not known for being reasonable all of the time.

Iain looked down at his lap at the comment his guardian had made in front of the many servants. A dull heat was moving up into his cheeks and fueling a sense of embarrassment even more.

He only looked up at the feeling of a gloved hand on his shoulder.

“I ken that this is goin’ to be difficult for ye, but just remember how necessary this will be for ye to secure yer claim to this Lairdship.”

Bruce could be soft with him when he wanted to be, however, Iain didn’t appreciate it that day. He clenched his jaw and shifted in his seat until the familial hand moved off of his shoulder. Iain felt his reputation was like a stone wall that was constantly under siege and he was the only one there to fight and keep it standing.

Iain remained in the great hall for a moment longer before rising from his own chair and stalking out of the large room, his brisk footsteps echoing like a warning against approaching him.

*

Iain paced about the castle like a restless animal that had been caged. His jaw was perpetually clenched and he didn’t feel at all like engaging with any of the servants. Instead, his thoughts drifted back to the castle that awaited him at the end of their journey, a place that had once been familiar and welcoming. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of reception awaited his return. It had been six years, after all.

He walked past the walls of the castle and out into the woodlands that surrounded the land. It was to be his land soon, however, Iain was patient. He paced through the trees and stalked into the shadows to avoid anyone who he might encounter. Iain wanted to be completely alone and with his thoughts; there was still the inner conflict that he lived with as to how he should act around May. The boyish, vulnerable side of him wanted nothing more than to go to her and embrace her, he wanted to promise her that he would never leave and that they could finally be together. But the other side, the side who had seen more of the world, still felt anger towards her. He wanted nothing more than to show her that she would pay for the way that she had betrayed him.

Iain’s nostrils flared and he tried his hardest to contain his anger, however, he ended up taking it out on a nearby tree. With both hands gripping his sword, he swung ferociously until the sharp blade found purchase against the bark with a dull thud. The noise reverberated around the quiet forest and was only followed with his heavy panting. Iain realized at that moment that he was more confused than ever on how he felt about May.

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

Prologue

“Lord in Heaven!”

Evanna peered out her window at the ground below. She bit her lower lip, and a frown creased her brow as she considered the fall. The owl that lived in the tree across her window bent its head to the side and hooted skepticism too. Evanna sighed and stepped back inside her room. This complicated things.

Evanna MacLeod was running away from home, and it was all father’s fault. He was being obstinate and completely dismissive of her feelings. Of course, he didn’t understand. How could he? He had been to London once in his life and had never expressed the desire to go there again. The green hills and deep pools of Glenlivet were all anyone ever needed as far as he was concerned, and he felt no need to leave it. Nor did he understand Evanna’s need to see the world and be part of London society.

“It’s naught but posh English bastards with long sticks up their arses,” her father had laughed when she had told him she wanted to visit. “They’ll lay rot to yer sweet nature.”

“But Clara said the balls are heaps of fun,” Evanna had protested. “Imagine the gowns, the jewels, the people! Oh, Da, please let me go.”

“That Clara has nae a lickspittle of sense between her ears, and I will nae have ye learnin’ her foolish ways. I love her father like a brother, but he is much too lax with her upbringing.”

“But, Da-”

“I said nae! There’s naught in London that Glenlivet does nae do better. Write to Clara and ask her to come to visit if ye miss the lass, but yer nae going, and that’s the end of that! Here, have some berries with cream and wipe that frown off yer bonny brow, eh?”

And that had been the end of the argument as far as Laird Julius MacLeod was concerned. Slap her wrist then take away the sting from the punishment by giving her a sweet treat or present – that had always been her father’s way. But it wasn’t going to work anymore. Evanna was seventeen now and had moved on from throwing tantrums. She had bitten the inside of her cheek and kept her own counsel. It wasn’t over. Not till she had her way.

Evanna couldn’t explain why she craved to see the outside world. The only child of the Laird, she had never felt the lack of a motherly figure until the day Lady Ashby had come to visit in her fancy carriage. Tall, dark, and statuesque, Lady Ashby had stood in their courtyard in wine-red silks, a picture of beauty and grace. Little Clara had hidden behind her mother’s skirts, a perfect copy of Lady Ashby.

Evanna, seven at the time, had been mortified by her own dirty stockings and torn smock. But Lady Ashby hadn’t paid any mind. She had embraced Evanna with open arms—the heady scent of honey and wildflowers enveloping the little girl.

Though Evanna hadn’t learned much by way of comportment and ladylike manners in the ensuing years, she knew what she wanted to be when she grew up. She wanted to be just like Lady Ashby.

But that wasn’t the only reason she wanted to run away. Heartache was part and parcel of her desire to leave home for more hopeful lands. But she refused to think about that now. She had much more pressing matters that required her full attention.

Out the window wasn’t an option. She’d break her neck and die, or worse, break her leg and have to face the wrath of her father. Tucking the makeshift rope of tied bedsheets under the bed, Evanna straightened herself to consider her options. The only way out was through the annex that connected the main hall and the church. It was risky. She had a higher chance of getting caught. But she had no other choice.

The church doors were never locked. Something about keeping God’s house open at all hours to absolve the sins of the wicked. Evanna could just picture Father Gilmore, their priest, looking at her from under his bushy gray eyebrows, pinning her to the spot.

Dismissing the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, Evanna started preparing for her escape.

Would it be wicked to use God’s church as a means to disobey her father’s command and run off to a world of balls, gowns, and men in London?

Maybe.

All right! Very likely.

But she had to go.

Stripping down to her shift, Evanna pulled on a pair of riding breeches. She glanced in the mirror and cupped her breasts. They were full and filled both her palms easily. She frowned at their abundance. A length of cotton cloth was produced from her chest of drawers and she started binding her breasts. It hurt and restricted her breathing but there was nothing else for it. Once she was done, she pulled on a loose cotton shirt. These were her customary riding clothes, and though they would help her blend into the night, she feared recognition above all else.

Careful not to make any noise, she slipped on her riding boots before moving on to the most difficult task at hand.

Pulling out a pair of stockings, scissors, hairpins, and a brush, Evanna sat down in front of her mirror and began taming her mass of golden curls. They fell every which way and reached just below her buttocks. Many governesses had come and gone, each and every one had despaired of Evanna’s untamed spirit matched perfectly by her wild hair.

Evanna sat down to accomplish the impossible. She brushed her hair and pinned it to her head. Unruly strands poked out and she pinned them down too till her head resembled the raggedy mess of Stephen the scarecrow.

Throughout the laborious work, she eyed the scissors. As her arms tired, she considered chopping the whole mess off, but Lady Ashby’s reaction to her shorn head stayed her hand.

“Gah! If only Da would listen to reason. I would nae have to take such desperate measures.”

Biting her full lips, she cut up the pair of stockings and tied it around her head, trapping the wild wisps. Her high cheekbones and pointed chin made her look like a wastrel young boy from the docks. Her blue eyes flashed in determination; she swept her hand against the hearth and rubbed some ash across her brow, cheeks, and clothes. As disguises went, this was a very good one.

For the final touch, she fished out a dirty cap from the bottom drawer of her writing desk and pinned it securely on her head. She looked at herself in the mirror. No one would recognize her, not even her father. Evanna flashed herself a roguish smile and tipped her hat as she’d seen men do when the pretty maids passed by in the village.

Satisfied she got up and dug out the satchel she had packed two nights previously with money she had stolen from her father. Laird Julius MacLeod was rich enough not to miss a little gold and silver. His only child, on the other hand? She was sure he would miss her, but then he should have let her go with his blessings.

The day she had decided to run away, she had written a detailed note to her father explaining where she had gone and why. She placed that on top of her pillow for the maids to find in the morning.

“I’m sorry, Da, but ye left me no choice.”

Adjusting the satchel across her now diminished chest, she sent up a prayer and gently opened her bedroom door. Heart beating against her chest she tiptoed down the hall, making sure to avoid the creaking step halfway down the stairs.

During the day the castle was a cheerful place. High, narrow window alcoves bathed the hall in natural light and brought out the different hues of the many tapestries that hung there. Now, in the dead of night, with nary a candle to light her way, the same beloved castle was a dark, brooding place that hid shadows and potential discovery at each corner.

Throat suddenly dry, Evanna swallowed and covered the distance as quickly and quietly as she could. The annex door loomed like the door to the Otherworld with fairies and fauns waiting for her in the dark.

Evanna hesitated a moment then sprinted lightly down the annex. It was a short distance to the church, and the annex had been built to ensure safe, dry passage to and from the church in case of rain or storms. It was also discreet. Many Lairds had used the annex to smuggle in healers when they were trying to hide embarrassing ailments, or as places to discuss secret plots and exchange treasonous information.

There were no ornaments or decorative hangings here. People hardly noticed anything about the annex as they rushed through it as Evanna did now. She only slowed down when she reached the entrance to the church.

Lit candles in front of the altar shed a little light in the gloom. Evanna peered in to make sure no one was there. Her eyes landed on the large cross hanging at the far wall and guilt stabbed at her again. She was unruly, spoiled, uncouth, and unrefined, but she was still God-fearing.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” she mumbled under her breath as she crept forward.

A loud creak made her jump out of her skin. She scuttled back into the shadows of the annex. The church door opened. Moonlight spread on the floor like spilled milk. A large looming shadow stood in the doorway.

Evanna watched with bated breath as the tall, broad figure walked into the church, went right up to the altar, and knelt.

“O my God.” The person began to pray and Evanna gasped as she recognized the voice. “I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee. And I detest all my sins because I dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of Hell. But most of all because they have offended Thee, my God, who art all good and deserving of all my love.”

Aleck Bryce knelt and recited the Act of Contrition. Evanna watched as he prayed, his dark hair hiding his face. What sin could Aleck be asking forgiveness for?

Dear God, I pray whatever his sins may be, he is granted some peace. My God kens he has nae left me with any, Evanna thought with some bitterness.

Evanna fought back hot tears and considered her hands in the dimness of the passage.

Three years ago, when Clara had visited last, a troop of traveling performers had come to stay in Glenlivet. They had jugglers, fire eaters, and bears, but the gypsy woman had captured their imaginations.

She had been unlike anything Evanna had imagined. For one, she was young and beautiful. Her dark eyes flashed and danced as she spoke. The clothes she wore were conservative and there was nary a bead on her person. Finally, face-to-face with the gypsy, Clara had been too afraid to proffer her hand for a reading, but Evanna, in true MacLeod fashion, had thrown caution to the wind and extended her hand.

Immense wealth, honorable family… the reading had started by pointing out the obvious. Evanna was beginning to fear fraud when the gypsy frowned and traced a line on Evanna’s hand. Evanna had shivered as if a cold finger had slid down her spine.

“I see a great journey, many adventures. But – I also see great tragedy and heartache.” The gypsy had smiled apologetically and gently tucked Evanna’s fingers over her palm. “He who you desire will never be yours.”

Evanna MacLeod watched Aleck Bryce with longing. Truth be told she wasn’t running to London, as much as she was running away from Glenlivet. And Aleck Bryce was the reason for it.

Aleck was the son of Callum Bryce, Laird Julius MacLeod’s most trusted noble, and his right-hand man. When Callum Bryce had died from a gangrenous wound sustained when protecting the castle from raiders, he had bestowed his second son Aleck, only thirteen at the time, to the Laird as a sworn sword. Aleck had been part of the household ever since and Evanna’s heart’s desire.

Tall, dark, and brooding, Aleck had never had a way with words, but Evanna had been smitten at first sight. She was his shadow; following him wherever he went, eating from the same bowl, and insisting on training with him as well. She would have slept in the same bed too if her governess hadn’t complained to the Laird.

Aleck Bryce had been the love of her short life. Her whole day was planned around him: when to wake up, when to train, when to ride, when to eat. She would spend hours in the courtyard watching him train with a broadsword, musket, and flintlocks. Her heart would skip a beat as she observed sunlight glisten off his sweating skin, the muscles rippling like taut waves underneath. His broad back narrowed down to compact hips and extended to long legs. Evanna worshipped him.

And what did she get in return? Cold indifference. It was like she didn’t exist for him, or if she did, she was no more than an annoying fly buzzing around a great horse’s mane.

Now here he was, bent on his knees. Part of her wanted to go to him, tuck his dark hair behind his ears and kiss his brow smooth of all worry. She wanted to just imagine his limpid green eyes widening in shock. But she couldn’t. Aleck Bryce didn’t want her. He had made that quite plain.

Shaking the distracting thoughts out of her head, she considered what to do. Here she was running away, and who should come in her path but the very man who she was running away from. Evanna began to pray.

Dear God, I ken I have nae been regular with my prayers, she muttered under her breath. Please forgive me and let me go to London. I will bring ye a golden cross for the altar when I return. Please, God!

Father Gilmore would be horrified if he knew she was bribing God, but she was out of ideas.

Speaking of Father Gilmore! As if her thoughts had conjured the man, he came gliding through the back chambers, head bent and brooding.

“Aleck?” he said. “Are ye alright, son?”

“Nae, Father,” Aleck stood up. “I am troubled by dreams.”

Evanna listened fascinated. What kind of dreams could make a giant like Aleck cower in church?

“The same?” Father Gilmore inquired.

“Aye.”

“Come. A confession should lighten yer heart.”

He guided Aleck to the confessional. Evanna couldn’t believe her luck. God did listen to her prayers! She waited for both men to enter the confessional and the curtains to slide into place. Then she tiptoed to the open door. The night was bathed in moonlight, a slight breeze swung the tall grass to-and-fro, creating enough noise for her to slip out of the house and away. With one fleeting glance of gratitude to the altar, she ran out into the glowing night.

The cold air grasped at her cheeks like icy fingers, the last remaining bite of winter still in its embrace, but she didn’t care. She ran off down the hill to the dirt road that emerged through the fields. Once she reached the road, she began walking west towards the village where a horse was waiting for her. She had arranged it a week ago. Evanna was nothing if not thorough.

“London, here I come!” she whooped as she jumped into the air in excitement. Childhood behind her, she had the world opening up in front of her, and she couldn’t wait to see it all.

Chapter 1

Aleck felt tainted.

He sat on the grassy knoll not far from the stables watching the sunrise above the horizon. The yellow rays chased the darkness away, but his mind was still full of gloom as he recalled last night’s confession.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” he had begun. “It has been three days since my confession. I have sinned against my Laird.” Aleck had hesitated, as he always did.

“And what is the nature of yer sin?” Father Gilmore prompted.

It was the same every time. Aleck would begin and Father Gilmore would guide him. Aleck often wondered how Father Gilmore could still show him kindness after hearing his confessions. But then Father Gilmore was a man of God, and Aleck was steeped in sin.

“I dreamt that I stole from my Laird, I corrupted his wells with poison, and I coveted his seat.” Aleck drummed them off quickly, hoping that if they came out in a rush, he could be rid of them faster. But the taint remained. Like always.

“The Devil is wicked, but he is also clever,” Father Gilmore had spoken through the partition, his words measured and reassuring. “He kens ye harbor nothing but love and loyalty for yer Laird. He kens yer fear of disappointing MacLeod and uses it as a tool against ye.”

It was well-meant but Aleck wasn’t convinced.

The dreams left him feeling like he was covered in a thin layer of corruption and filth. No amount of scrubbing in the bath or washing himself rubbed it off.

Nasty dreams. Filthy dreams. Punishable dreams if anyone found out.

They mustn’t! They wouldn’t. Aleck made sure of that. Even in confession he never told too much. He would mention the betrayal, the poisoned wells, the coveted seat but never what came after – the main event. Maybe that’s why he felt polluted – he had made no proper confession of his sin to God.

The early morning sun beat down the soft winter mist, forcing it to disperse. Aleck was glad of it. Winter had been exceedingly harsh this year, and he looked forward to the spring. He got up, brushed the grass and dew off the seat of his breeches, and walked towards the training yard on the other side of the castle.

Many of the Laird’s men-at-arms were already gathered there, loosening their limbs for the morning’s rigorous training. Aleck spotted Joseph Algee and Royce Glackin by the far wall, feasting on bannocks. They were second sons to minor nobles and Aleck’s friends. Joseph was tall and wiry and resembled a nanny goat. Royce was built like a barrel and just as short.

“Ye look a sight, Bryce,” Joseph nodded in greeting.

Royce threw a bannock to Aleck. He caught it gratefully. The bread was still hot and tasted of manna so early in the morning. It lightened his dark mood.

“Where were ye last night?” Joseph asked.

“Were ye worried for me, love?” Aleck teased, blowing him a kiss.

“Not on yer life.” Joseph grimaced.

“What do ye think Lockard’s got planned for today?” Royce asked.

“Mud, muck, and misery, no doubt,” Joseph mumbled through his full mouth. Flecks of semi-decimated bread flung out of his mouth like people jumping out of a castle on fire. “When do ye think we’ll get a turn on the muskets?”

“When yer aim with the bow and arrow gets better,” Aleck laughed.

“Muskets are nae the same as bows and arrows,” Joseph protested. He was taller than Aleck, with a spatter of dark freckles all over his pale body. Though twenty-one, he was a simple man without the graces of his station. “Lockard should ken we will nae get any good at it if we do nae practice.”

“He’s a right bastard,” Royce agreed. “There are only a few muskets to go about, and he’s made sure only his favorites get to practice.” He eyed Aleck with a mixture of resentment and admiration. Immensely competitive, he and Aleck shared a complicated relationship. Aleck knew he could count on Royce in trouble, but on the practice yard, they were always being pitted against each other.

“Gunpowder’s expensive.” Aleck shrugged.

Joseph continued as if he hadn’t heard Royce’s quip. “If he makes me work the lance one more time, I swear to Jesus, I’ll—”

“Ye’ll do what, lad?”

The three men turned around to find Lockard, an old man with more scars on him than the dummy standing in the practice yard. He was Laird MacLeod’s Master at Arms and had been with him when they fought the Seven Years’ War. Lockard was as old as sin and just as cruel on the training ground.

The bannock lost its taste. Aleck swallowed quickly and got up. Lockard would have them do unnecessary exercises now, just to prove a point. Might as well get ready for it.

“Ye accuse me of playing favorites, Glackin.” Lockard jabbed a crooked finger in Royce’s chest. “That’s an accusation I do nae take lightly. So, I’ll give ye a chance to prove yerself, eh? Why don’t ye try yerself out against my best man?”

“Sir, I-” Royce glanced nervously at Aleck.

“Nae Bryce, boy.” Lockard snarled. “Colin! Fergus! Davis! Come show these mewling kittens what real fighters are like!”

Aleck stared down at the old man. He was frail now, but you could tell he had been a formidable opponent not so long ago.

Nodding to Joseph and Royce he led them to the middle of the muddy practice yard where Colin, Fergus, and Davis stood flexing their considerable muscles. They were a few years older than Aleck, Joseph, and Royce and battle-scarred.

Aleck knew he could hold his own, but he wasn’t so sure about Joseph who was reed-thin, and Royce who let his emotions guide his actions.

The crowd parted and formed a parameter around the six men. Some of the men began calling out their favorites. It was a break from their usual morning exercises, and the men were enjoying themselves at the expense of the three in trouble. Aleck even saw Simon, a runty little rascal, take bets on the side where Lockard couldn’t spy him. By the looks Simon gave them, Aleck and his friends weren’t the favorites to win.

“Are ye sure ye’ve naught any gypsy blood in yer family, Jo?” Aleck asked, eyeing up their opponents.

“Nae. Why’d ye say?”

“Ye were right on all counts. Mud, muck, and misery. We just have to make sure it’s not us will be the miserable ones.”

“Ye have a plan, Bryce?” Royce asked, turning his head to get the crick out of his neck.

“The beginnings of one.” Aleck bit his lip as he considered their options. “Royce, ye take on Davis. He’s taller but ye can unbalance him. Once he’s in the mud make sure he gets an eye full.”

“Compromise his vision.” Royce nodded. “Got it.”

“Jo, Colin’s yer man. He fell off a horse recently, and his left leg is still bruised and sore. Strike it. Hard and without mercy. If ye do nae, ye’ll be begging for his.”

Joseph swallowed but nodded so his hair wobbled into his eyes.

That left Fergus, the most menacing of the three. Aleck knew him well. He knew everyone in the yard well. They were his friends, his brothers. And so, he knew that Fergus was the best fighter among them. He was also brutal and wouldn’t take it easy just because they were all loyal to Laird MacLeod.

“Are ye waiting for your mothers to clean yer dirty nappies?” Lockard snarled. “Get on with it.”

Aleck licked his lips and nodded to Fergus, acknowledging him as his opponent. The other two paired off with their opponents.

“Fergus,” Aleck greeted, as he walked closer to the hulking man.

“Aleck.” Fergus nodded back.

The two lunged at each other. Aleck managed to avoid the first few blows but the third hit him square across the jaw. A cheer went up in the crowd.

Laughing at Fergus as he rubbed his stinging cheek, Aleck feinted this way then that, making Fergus dance on his feet.

Fergus threw punches that hit the air while Aleck danced around him like a fly buzzing about a cow’s head. Fergus did look like a dull ox grazing in the pasture with his wide-set eyes, and a large forehead. This wasn’t how Fergus usually fought. A big man, he was used to pummeling his opponent into the ground. But Aleck wouldn’t let him land a punch.

Frustrated beyond belief, Fergus roared and lunged in for a punch to the gut, but it was just the move Aleck had been waiting for. He stepped aside, easily avoiding the fist, planted a punch of his own in Fergus’s side, speeding Fergus’ descent into the mud face-first by landing a kick on his backside.

The crowd cheered. Aleck had enough time to grin at Lockard who was frowning darkly before he strode forward to help Joseph tackle Colin to the ground. Royce was roaring as he sat on Davis’s back, making sure he couldn’t get up.

Ruffling Joseph’s hair, Aleck walked over and held a hand out to Fergus. The man looked up at him, and for a moment Aleck thought he’d rip his arm out, but Fergus laughed, a sound similar to cannon fire, and took Aleck’s hand gratefully.

Lockard didn’t look amused, but he wasn’t scowling either, so Aleck thought the matter put to rest.

“That showed them, eh?” Joseph slapped Aleck on the back.

“Wipe that smile off yer face, if ye ken what’s good for ye,” Aleck muttered. Joseph had no sense. “Do ye want to give Lockard a chance to foist us with stable cleaning duties, do ye?”

Joseph looked suitably horrified.

Aleck was about to pick up his lance for practice when someone called his name.

“Aleck!” Margret, the chambermaid came running towards him, her cheeks flushed, eyes wide. “The Laird needs ye. Now!”

“What’s happened?”

“Come fast!” She didn’t wait for him to follow. She sprinted back across the yard and towards the kitchens, resembling a headless chicken.

Aleck looked at his friends, shrugged, and followed Margret at a leisurely pace. What could be the cause of so much commotion so early in the morning? Aleck wasn’t sure, but he had a very good idea who was responsible.

“I donnae care how many people find out, I need her brought home now! Evanna will nae step a foot out of her room, so help me God!”

Of course, Aleck sighed as he entered his Laird’s bedchamber. Evanna MacLeod. It’s like the lass was sent to cause nothing but grief to her poor father.

Laird MacLeod was a powerful man, not only in wealth and social stature but also physically. He was tall with a large gut and an even larger beard that he liked to fist when he was agitated or thinking on a grave matter. His hands were so firmly grasped around his beard at that moment that Aleck was sure he’d rip most of it out if he wasn’t careful.

“Ye asked for me, my Laird?” Aleck made his presence known.

“Ah! Aleck! Just the man I need. Read this.” Laird MacLeod thrust a note in Aleck’s face. “The foolish, insolent, stubborn girl!” Aleck read the note. It was brief, written in a spidery hand no proper lady would ever admit ownership to. But Evanna MacLeod was a law unto herself. She was the only lady Aleck knew who could out spit a street urchin and out drink many men, and burp just as loudly after.

Dear Da,

I’ve decided to go to London anyway. Clara has enough dresses for both of us, so you need not send any. I’ve borrowed sixteen gold pieces from your purse. I shall return them when I come back. 

Your devoted daughter,

Evanna.

“What makes her think she’s ready to be presented? Can nae tie her hair, will nae learn how to sing or speak like a lady, and she’s gone off to make a sorry fool of herself in London! What kind of men do ye think she’ll attract, eh? The kind that’ll take her down dark alleys and the path of sin. That damned fool!” The Laird raged on as Aleck read.

Aleck folded the note and handed it back to the Laird. “What would ye have me do?”

The Laird stopped his pacing and rested his hand on Aleck’s shoulder. The weight was grave, and the squeezing fingers emphasized the importance of the Laird’s next words.

“Yer the only man I can trust with my daughter, Aleck. Bring the fool back.”

“And if she refuses?”

The Laird’s nostrils flared, and his eyes shone with worry. “Then ye convince her in any way possible. I will nae have my only child out there in the wild fighting the unknown. I ken ye have little patience for her childish ways, and I suppose I am to blame for it. But, please, ye must find her and protect her.”

Aleck nodded solemnly and held the Laird’s hand. “Ye have my word. I’ll bring her back.”

“Go! Quickly. Might be ye can catch her on the road.”

Aleck didn’t stick around to hear more. There was nothing more to be said. He made one quick stop to his room where he packed spare clothes, his sword, a small dagger, and a little money. Once that was done, he ran towards the stables where a horse was waiting for him. Peter, the yard boy, handed him a sack full of food, and Aleck was on his way.

The day had started as ordinary, but now he was galloping down the country road, blowing up dust, the wind slapping his cheeks. Blood rushed to his temple when he thought of Evanna and her idiotic ways. She had gone and landed herself in hot soup again. How many times would she bring shame to her father, the man he had sworn to protect? Aleck wasn’t sure if he would find her on the road, or in London. One thing he knew for sure, he would keep his promise to the Laird—he would keep his promise to his father.

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