Chapter 1

Mid-June, 1623

At least the dungeons were peaceful. Cold, and a bit damp, to be sure, but quiet. Here, Arguen had endless time to think, with no one to interrupt her. Down in this dark, deep cell, no one glanced at her and shuddered, hurrying along the corridor to get away from her. Even the dungeon rats were kinder than the humans.

Arguen turned her head to let whatever little sliver of sunlight there was shine on her face through the aperture in the stone. From what she could tell, it was a lovely day out, with no sign of rain–quite the change for a Scottish midsummer. She closed her eyes and imagined what it would be like to be out, to feel the wind on her face, rippling her petticoat as she looked out across the sea. If Arguen was anything, she was patient, and she would bide her time. Douglas had promised to free her, after all. And then she could stand at the edge of the sea for as long as she wanted.

***

Late May, 1623

Arguen hurried along the dimly lit corridor to Lady Marianne’s chambers. The poor woman had been complaining of pains for some time, but as she had just begun increasing, it could not possibly be time for her to give birth. Arguen had assisted with enough births to know when the time was right. The basket of herbs and vials bumped against her hip as she walked briskly, weaving through the stone corridors until she reached her destination. The walk had been strangely quiet–it seemed most people were still downstairs enjoying the festivities. For that, she was thankful. These Highland men could get crude and handsy with enough drink, and a young, unmarried woman such as herself could be a prime target.

Lady Marianne bade her to enter as soon as she knocked, and Arguen was surprised to see her in such a state of undress and disarray. Marianne’s golden hair was loose with no cap to cover it, and sweat plastered small strands to her forehead. She had evidently attempted to remove her own bodice and overskirt, as both hung unlaced on her small frame. Her green eyes were wild with fright, glistening with unshed tears, and her delicate hands clasped and unclasped her shift.

“I thought perhaps it was time. I felt such a pain, and I was told the midwife is assisting someone else.” Her usually even, authoritative English voice was fragile, reminding Arguen of a piece of fabric fraying at the edges. For a moment, Arguen felt sympathy for Marianne. The lady of the castle was clearly upset and frightened, desperate enough to call upon the healer she so despised.

“Nae, lady. Ye said it yersel–too early for the bairn to arrive. ‘Tis likely the quickening. Rest and a good hot tea should do it,” Arguen answered as evenly as she could. Though Lady Marianne had made known her dislike for Arguen, the healer knew it was best to work hard with her head down. That was the best way to honor her mother–work hard and share her gifts with those who needed help.

“How can I rest? The babe is coming; I know it!”

“M’lady, ‘tis impossible. Let me help ye undress and lay down.”

Marianne said nothing, but nodded, allowing Arguen to help her unlace the rest of her bodice and overskirt. The lady of the house laid down on the imposing four poster bed, propped up against the pillows, and rubbed her growing belly. Arguen busied herself with her ingredients. Soon the pot hanging above the fire in the hearth would be boiling, and the remedy to soothe the lady’s discomfort would be ready. Arguen was silent as she worked, adding the herbs–mainly peppermint to ease the pain and chamomile to aid sleep–as Marianne occasionally groaned from her place on the bed.

“Arguen, I’m deeply sorry,” the lady said after a few moments.

The healer halfway turned from her place at the hearth to address the lady. “I beg your pardon, mistress?”

Marianne heaved a deep sigh, rubbing a hand over her stomach. “I know that I have treated you abysmally. I could have been kinder to you, and now that you offer me help, I…” her voice faltered as she winced, “I see I was wrong. You are very gracious to assist me now.”

Arguen stirred the boiling water and herbs thoughtfully. “Nae, lady. Yer the new mistress of the castle. Cannae be easy tae travel from yer home and marry someone ye barely ken. Besides, ‘tis a healer’s duty. We help all, no matter who they be.”

“A noble calling indeed,” whispered Marianne.

A few more relatively silent minutes passed, the only sound being the crackling of the fire and the muffled voices from deep down in the great hall. After a great whine from Marianne, Arguen strained the water and herbs and poured it into a tankard.

“Here, drink this. It should help ease the pain so ye can sleep. Both ye an’ the bairn will be grateful,” Arguen said, gently holding Marianne up off the pillows so she could drink properly.

After a few timid sips, Marianne groaned. “I want this babe out.”

“Careful what ye wish for,” Arguen advised. “Fate has a funny way o’ twistin’ things.”

“Is that a threat, Arguen?” There was a playful lilt to her tone, but as Arguen looked up, she saw that the usual cold edge in Marianne’s eyes had returned.

Arguen gave a half-feigned soft laugh. “Nay. Willnae do good. ‘Tis a mere observation.”

“A wise one.”

“Well, when ye’re born wi’ silver hair, ye’re just that much wiser.”

Marianne snickered at that, but pain flashed across her face, quickly chasing away any amusement. Arguen bade her drink the rest of the tea, and cleaned up around the chamber while she did so.

“Oh, dear, you musn’t trouble yourself,” Marianne urged between sips, “Do we not have chamber maids for that purpose?”

Arguen gave a wry smile as she folded Marianne’s overskirt and placed it in the trunk at the foot of the bed. “Aye, we do, but ‘tis a night of merriment. I think all maids will be movin’ slowly come morning.”

Marianne smiled and looked into her cup. Was that amusement Arguen saw? Arguen had managed to melt the lady’s heart enough to crack a smile?

“You must be pleased to have your brother back home.”

“Aye, I am. Douglas is all the family I have since the incident.”

“I am so very sorry for your loss. Please accept my condolences,” Marianne said. It sounded almost sincere, and Arguen was genuinely surprised, though she tried not to show it.

“I thank ye, mistress. I do miss them terribly.”

“Can you not count Malcolm and I as family now?”

Hearing his name from her mouth like that–simpering, dripping with poison–made Arguen’s blood boil, but she had to stay her temper. Where else would she go if she could not stay here at Bruckstone Castle?

“Aye, mistress. I can do that.”

Marianne nodded and set the mug on the table beside the bed. “Thank you for your assistance tonight. May I call on your services again, should I need them?”

Arguen nodded as she gathered up her herbs and vials by the hearth. “Of course. As I told ye earlier, healers help all. No matter who they be.”

Lady Marianne gave one last thank you before dismissing Arguen, who was grateful to be gone. When Malcolm had married her, everything at Bruckstone Castle had changed. It was as if a draft of cold air had crept into the castle and never left. All the laird’s guards seemed to be walking on eggshells, not to mention the various servants, even the tenants on nearby land. Lady Marianne had made it known that she was the new authority and would not be questioned. A fine thing, to be sure, since Malcolm’s father was still technically the laird of Bruckstone, but even he would not dare defy Marianne.

English bastards, Arguen thought to herself. As long as she never said it aloud, she could think whatever she pleased, could she not? She was so busy in her own thoughts that she didn’t notice Malcolm until she nearly ran into him head-on.

“Ye best watch yer step, Miss. If ye keep yer head in the clouds, ye’ll float away,” he offered. Even he had changed. Once merry and witty, he now seemed a shell of his former self. The wit in his words was hollow.

“Och, no chance. I prefer the view from above.”

“Careful. Ye sound a heretic.”

“Malcolm, no one’s a Catholic anymore,” she jested, though rather unsure whether he was teasing or not..

“I ken, I try to poke fun. My wife, is she…” his voice trailed off, his hazel eyes wide and full of hope. Hope for her life or her death? Arguen secretly wondered.

“Too early for the babe. ‘Tis likely she felt the quickening. Both she and midwife Joan say ‘tis too early.”

Malcolm nodded, his face unreadable. Arguen supposed the son of a laird needed to be that way–stoic and unbothered. Neither quickness to anger nor slowness to action were desirable traits for a future laird. He seemed to know the responsibility he carried.

“Braw, that’s very fine. The Lord did say be fruitful and multiply.”

At the mention of such intimacy, Arguen blushed and tried to change the conversation. “I think these next months will be quick, and ye’ll have a bonnie little bairn soon enough.”

“Aye, thanks tae ye and midwife Joan. I dinnae ken what we’d do without ye.”

“Och, ye’d get on. There’ll always be healers.”

“But none such as ye,” Malcolm added, looking sincerely at her, holding her gaze for longer than was comfortable.

Arguen cleared her throat and took a half step back. “I oughtta be goin. And yer wife’ll want tae see ye.”

“Aye. I bid ye good night then.”

Arguen nodded and curtsied before scurrying away to the chamber that she shared with one of the maids. That had been another provision when Marianne took control. One look at Arguen’s silver hair and curious blue eyes made the new mistress decide the healer could not be trusted, and she made up some story about how Arguen’s chamber needed to be converted to a proper withdrawing room.

But she couldn’t complain. If she was to properly honor her mother’s memory, she could not soil it by slandering the future mistress of the castle.

The other maids were not yet back from the party, from the looks of it. Arguen sighed and put her basket with herbs and vials in the trunk at the foot of the bed before undressing herself and taking down her hair. Long ago, she’d learned to twist it up into a bun to avoid the suspicious looks she received from other people. But she couldn’t blame them. A child with silvery hair was a rarity indeed, and many wondered if perhaps she was not of this world. Stories of the fair folk, curious sightings at the abandoned kirk, and heavy fog rolling in from the sea made for fantastical stories around the fire at night. Arguen was no fae or witch. Her blue eyes came from her mother, and although she didn’t know where the silver hair came from, she knew it had to be ancestral. Within minutes of her head hitting the pillow, she was asleep, too tired even for dreams.

***

It wasn’t the thunderclap or the bolt of lightning right outside Arguen’s window that woke her, although it certainly helped. No–the entirety of Bruckstone Castle awoke to blood-curdling shrieks coming from one of the towers. The chambermaid with whom she shared the room, Fiona, looked at Arguen with sheer panic.

“What d’ye think that is?” she asked, her voice small.

Every nerve in Arguen’s body was alert, and a sinister chill crept up her spine. “Lady Marianne,” she answered automatically.

Just then, a heavy knock sounded at the door, but the person on the other side didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, Douglas burst in, his face drawn and paler than normal.

Fiona yelped at the sudden entrance and covered herself with her quilt, but Douglas and Arguen paid her no mind.

“Douglas, what be the meanin’ o’ this?” Arguen asked.

Douglas swallowed nervously. “‘Tis Lady Marianne. She’s in a bad way and the midwife is still gone.”

Arguen felt her heart race. She hadn’t given anything bad to Marianne–peppermint and chamomile were completely harmless. Had she mixed up the herbs by accident? She shuddered. That wasn’t like her. She’d always been able to keep a cool head and treat her patients accordingly.

“She needs yer help,” Douglas continued.

Arguen shook her head. “I’m no midwife, Douglas.”

“Och, it doesnae matter. She thinks it’s time, and she needs help.”

Arguen took a deep breath and threw on her robe and slippers before hastily packing her basket with the supplies. Douglas led her through the winding corridors of the castle with his lantern. Castle residents opened their chamber doors and looked out, confused, whispering to one another at the strange shrieking noises. Arguen was mostly able to ignore them. She needed to focus on the task at hand, and figure out how to help the mistress.

When they arrived at Lady Marianne’s chamber, Malcolm was outside, his chestnut hair strewn about wildly as he paced, wringing his hands. “Thank heavens ye’re here. Marianne thinks ‘tis time.”

Arguen opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by another shriek beyond the door.

“Malcolm, we both ken ‘tis impossible,” she said as gently as she could.

Malcolm ran a hand through his hair and huffed. “Och, I ken. But she’s convinced.”

“Can ye do naething ta help?” Douglas asked.

Arguen’s jaw tightened involuntarily. “I’ll do me best. I promise naething.”

That was confirmation enough for Malcolm, who opened the door to the horrific sight that was Lady Marianne and her bewildered lady’s maid.

“I tried to help her, miss! She complains of pains in the belly and says she thinks the babe is coming. I was not entirely sure what to do!” Marianne’s English lady’s maid said. The poor girl’s eyes were wide like a wild animal’s. Her ladyship writhed on the bed, holding both hands on her stomach, gritting her teeth as if to keep the pain at bay.

Arguen was rather afraid herself. She’d seen this sort of ailment before, and she knew what came next…it was a stillbirth, only so much earlier than most, and the babe would be much smaller. Sometimes, it would not even resemble a babe. Marianne had just started showing, so Arguen wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. But she couldn’t let that be known. There is naething more alarming than an unkempt healer, her mother would have said. And that was true. Even if she had no control over a situation, she had to feign it, for the sake of her patients.

Arguen took a deep breath, mustering as much confidence as she could. If there was one thing she was good at, it was feigning coolness under pressure with no real basis. “Boil some water on the hearth. Fetch me fresh linens, quick as ye can. An’ remain calm. We dinnae ken what’s amiss, but we cannae lose our heads,” Arguen said to the English maid, who nodded and skittered away. Douglas and Malcolm left as well, perhaps thinking it was best to leave the healer to her work. Arguen approached Marianne’s bed, steeling herself for whatever it was she was about to see.

Instead, Marianne snarled and grasped Arguen by the front of her shift. Her grip was surprisingly strong for a woman in distress, and it threw the healer off balance. “What did you give me?” the lady hissed.

“Peppermint to soothe an’ chamomile to help ye sleep,” Arguen answered as calmly as she could manage, holding up her hands in surrender.

“Do I look to be asleep?” Marianne snarled again, letting go and falling back against the pillows when a particularly terrible cramp hit her.

“Nae, mistress. But I think what is happenin’ to ye is beyond the power of a healer,” she offered.

Marianne glared daggers at Arguen. Usually those emerald green eyes were stony and rather cold, but tonight they simmered with molten anger. The lady gritted her teeth to deal with her pain, but all Arguen could picture was a wild animal caught in a snare, gnashing its teeth.

“So you knew this would happen?” Marianne asked, though it sounded more rhetorical.

Arguen shook her head vigorously. “Nae. I thought it might be the quickening. Many women feel such pains at this time, but yers are too severe for something as simple as that.”

Marianne groaned again and threw off the quilt covering her body. Arguen tried not to audibly gasp when she saw the linens and Marianne’s mess of a shift. Blood stained the white linens like a cardinal in the snow. The red was so stark against the white that Arguen had trouble focusing on anything else for a few seconds. What was more; the blood seemed to have come from Marianne’s most intimate parts.

“Move. I have to piss,” Marianne snarled. Arguen snapped into action at that moment, and took the chamber pot out from under the bed so the lady could easily access it.

“I’ll…I’ll fetch ye some fresh linens. But Lady Marianne, listen tae me–”

Marianne squatted to relieve herself and let out a pained gasp. “Why should I listen to you? Your potions caused this.”

Oh no, thought Arguen. When people spat out that word, and blamed the healer for medicinal abnormalities beyond their control, good never followed. “Nae, I simply tried to comfort ye. Listen to me–when ye…” Arguen hesitated to find the right words for a moment, “when ye try to–” she motioned down at her own intimate parts, “ye may see some blood. Clusters of it. And it’s likely that…” she took a deep breath.

Marianne was still squatting over the chamber pot. “Likely that what?” she hissed, that icy English accent enunciating every syllable.

Arguen swallowed again. “That…ye may not…have a bairn this autumn after all.”

Marianne’s lower lip trembled, and her green eyes became glossy with unshed tears. “I’ll not…have a child?”

The healer inhaled a deep breath through her nose to calm herself. “If this is what I think, then nae.”

It didn’t seem to register in Marianne’s mind. For a few moments following Arguen’s assessment, nothing happened. The air was terribly still, and the tension between the two women was so thick, a knife would have trouble cutting through it.

Then, everything happened at once. Marianne let loose a gut-wrenching sob, accompanied by the blood that the healer had warned her about. Arguen rushed to her side and cast one of Marianne’s arms about her shoulder, and held her by the waist with the other arm so that Marianne was supported. Arguen began to pray to whoever in the heavens was listening as Marianne sobbed and gasped.

Almost as quickly as it started, it stopped. Arguen could feel the relief in the room, but she knew it wouldn’t last for long.

“Mistress?” she asked, as Marianne’s chest heaved with the effort. “Mistress, I need to heal ye.”

The lady of the house nodded absentmindedly as Arguen helped her into bed, the side without bloody linens. The healer began to clean up the area, but stopped dead in her tracks when she caught a glimpse of what was in the chamber pot. A small red blob, almost humanoid looking, lay at the bottom among the other fluids. Arguen’s stomach turned, and she held a hand over her mouth to keep from retching.

“I want to see it,” Marianne said, her voice hollow as she looked over at Arguen.

Arguen felt her heart drop to her stomach. “Nae, mistress. ‘Twill only hurt ye tae see.”

“Bring it to me,” Marianne commanded, uncaring.

“Mistress, I beg ye tae–”

“I am not asking again.”

Arguen heaved a deep sigh and brought the pot over to her. Marianne struggled to turn, but peered in. One, two seconds was all she needed. Afterward, her already rather pale complexion blanched, and she promptly turned to the side and retched over the bed. The healer waited for Marianne to say something–anything–to scream at her or cry over her loss–but all she did was lay there and fix her gaze on the ceiling.

At that moment, a knock sounded at the door, and Arguen rushed over to let the person in. It was Marianne’s English lady’s maid with the fresh linen scraps. “I have what you need–took me some time to find them,” she said weakly.

“Thank ye. D’ye have a strong stomach?” Arguen asked, fixing the girl with her most authoritative look.

The maid nodded.

“Braw. Mistress is very unwell. Her bed linens an’ her shift need changing, an’ I need tae clean up the mess. Can ye handle that?”

Marianne’s maid nodded and went about her duties quietly and quickly. When Arguen took the pot for disposal, Marianne stopped her.

“I want to keep it.”

Arguen looked on the lady with pity. “Lady Marianne, ‘tis best tae let yersel heal. Keepin’ it helps naething.”

“Did you not hear what I said? I want to keep it,” she ordered, each word staccato.

Arguen and the maid stole a skeptic, furtive glance at one another.

“As ye wish, mistress,” Arguen conceded, and left the pot on the windowsill. The water on the hearth was boiling well now, and she knelt down to make her tea and poultice. Yarrow root tea to ease the inflammation; and a witch hazel poultice to apply to Marianne’s sensitive areas to stop any more bleeding that may occur. To heal her heart, however, would be another matter entirely, something mere herbs could not accomplish. Arguen smashed the witch hazel in her mortar and pestle, almost mesmerized by the stringy yellow buds. With a little water, it would make a poultice to help with any bleeding. Arguen worked silently as she wrapped the mixture in the linen scraps that the maid had brought. The yarrow root steeped in the hot water as she worked on the poultice. Soon enough, Marianne would be able to feel some relief. Arguen had made damn sure that she used the right herbs. Not that she hadn’t earlier this evening–but Marianne’s words about her “potions” earlier had her questioning even her own work ethic.

She pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind as she approached Marianne’s bedside with strips of linen, the poultice, and a steaming cup of yarrow tea.

“Mistress, if possible, I need ye to spread yer legs. This poultice will help ye wi’ the bleeding.”

Marianne simply laid there, looking at the ceiling. Arguen looked over at the maid, whose bewildered expression matched her own.

“Yer ladyship? I need tae heal ye,” Arguen coaxed.

Marianne let out a low chuckle, one that sent unpleasant shivers up Arguen’s spine. “Careful what you wish for,” she said icily. “You said that to me earlier this evening. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say it was a curse.”

Arguen gritted her teeth. She was treading dangerous waters here. She suspected this might happen, but she couldn’t let Marianne see her trepidation or annoyance. “Sweet one, I told ye. Some things are beyond the power of a healer. I am deeply sorry for yer loss, but right now, I need tae make sure yer body is taken care of.”

“I never wish for you to touch me again,” Marianne snarled.

Arguen froze on the spot, unsure of what to do. Marianne was her patient, but also acting mistress of the house and Lady of Bruckstone Castle, if proper titles were in order.

“Mistress…” Arguen began again, desperate to make Marianne see reason, but the lady wouldn’t have it.

“My maid will tend to me,” she said in that hollow voice, and turned her head so she was staring at the ceiling again.

Arguen looked over at the maid, who looked frightened as ever, but nodded silently and gestured to the table by the bed. The healer left the tea and poultice there, then gathered up her items strewn about the hearth. When that was clean, she left without a word.

Malcolm and Douglas were waiting in the corridor beyond the chamber. Both looked at her with pleading eyes.

“My wife?” Malcolm asked, looking more like a frightened little boy than the battle-hardened son of a powerful laird.

Arguen heaved a deep sigh, trying hard as she could to hold back tears of her own. “Yer wife is alive. Her maid is tendin’ tae her now. But…” her voice trailed off, unsure of how to break the news to him.

Malcolm’s hazel eyes searched her face. “But…” he prompted.

Douglas seemed to understand, and put a friendly, comforting arm around Malcolm’s shoulders.

“Ye’ll no have a bairn this autumn.”

Malcolm clenched his jaw and nodded. “Can I see her?” he asked, his voice even.

Arguen shrugged. “I’m sure ye can, but whether or not she wants tae see anyone is up tae her.”

Malcolm’s tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip in nervous anticipation. Douglas clapped him on the back, and Malcolm gave them both a doleful look as he walked away.

Arguen and Douglas walked back to the maids’ chambers together. “What happened?” her brother asked.

Arguen shook her head. “Marianne lost the babe. I dinnae ken how. I did all I could.” She related the story to her brother, wiping away stray tears as they walked quickly through the winding corridors of Bruckstone Castle.

“Wasnae yer fault,” Douglas assured her.

“I doubt she’ll see it that way,” Arguen said glumly.

“Ye dinnae ken that. Get some sleep. We’ll reckon wi’ it in the morn.” Douglas tried to hug his sister, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“Nae, Douglas. I’ll just cry more.”

Her brother nodded, gave her a pitiful look, and bade her goodnight once more.

When Arguen was back in her shared chamber, Fiona was fast asleep. As far as Arguen could tell, dawn would be breaking in an hour or so. She set her basket on the windowsill, threw her robe to the floor, and drifted off to sleep without so much as a second thought.

Chapter 2

Dawn’s rosy fingers crept across the sky not long after Arguen had fallen asleep. But no one came to wake her, not even Fiona. It wasn’t until well into the morning that Arguen finally awoke on her own. Birds were chirping outside of her window, and she could smell bread baking from the kitchens nearby. One would hardly know something terrible had transpired in the castle the night before. She rose, stiffly, and began to dress herself. She’d learned to tie her own stays long ago and could make quick work of it now. Her under-petticoat followed with her pocket, then her dark green overskirt and blue jacket. She braided her long, silvery hair on the side and twisted it into a bun, pinning it in place before placing her cap over it, for modesty, and so no one could see her hair and judge her for it.

She was ready to start her day of gathering various plants and herbs in the meadow and forest when a knock sounded at her door. When she opened it, she was surprised to see Douglas standing there, haggard, a forlorn look on his face.

“Douglas, what be the matter?” she asked, genuinely concerned for his health. “D’ye need a poultice? Ye look pale.”

Douglas swallowed. “I…” he stuttered.

Arguen regarded him with pity, then suspicion, then horror. Her heart beat faster, and her stomach lurched. “Douglas, what’s happening?”

Douglas clenched his jaw and closed his eyes before speaking. He didn’t even look at her; his gaze fixed firmly to the stone floor. “Ye…ye are under arrest,” he said feebly.

“Arrest?” Arguen repeated in disbelief. Suddenly she felt rather dizzy, and had to sit on the edge of her bed for fear of fainting.

Her brother swallowed, attempting to hold back his own tears. “Aye. Lady Marianne…accuses ye of witchcraft.”

“Witchcraft?” Arguen repeated, dumbfounded.

“Aye. She thinks…ye purposely gave her a potion to kill the bairn.”

“Douglas, ‘tis impossible. I tried tae help her, tae heal her. Ye ken this tae be true,” she said, although it was more of a plea for her brother to recognize her innocence.

“Och, I ken, sister. But I…I have tae arrest ye. Take ye tae the dungeons. Lady Marianne willnae rest until ye’re in a cell.”

“Nae, Douglas. Ye dinnae have to do this,” Arguen pleaded, growing desperate.

“I do, Arguen. I’m sorry. I am Chief of the laird’s guard, I cannae disobey him.”

At that moment, another guard appeared at the doorway with Douglas, holding the irons.

“Arguen, I’m sorry. I have tae.”

She considered her options. She could not outrun them, nor could she physically overpower them, no matter what. Douglas had trained her, for goodness’s sakes. He’d be able to predict her every move.

“‘Tis only ‘til the trial.”

Arguen’s stomach lurched again. “Trial?”

“Aye. The laird sent fer a magistrate this mornin’. Could take some time, but he insisted on a trial. He had tae convince Marianne ‘twas the right thing tae do.”

Arguen’s head was swimming. Trial? For witchcraft?

“I dinnae want this,” Arguen said weakly, more to herself than anything.

“Arguen, please. Marianne already wants yer head on a spike. ‘Tis the best we can do now,” Douglas pleaded with her.

Death, or rot in a cold cell? Supposing life was better than an unfair death, she rose. The other guard held out the irons, but she waved them away. “I willnae try tae escape,” she promised. The other guard seemed to understand, and Arguen could swear she saw sympathy in his eyes as well.

The walk to the dungeons was humiliating. Like the night before, servants, highlanders, and castle residents watched as the two guards escorted the odd woman to her cell. Arguen could hear the hushed tones and harsh whispers. High time, always knew she was a witch, would never trust someone like her, she heard some of them say. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she was determined not to let them fall. It would only add to their satisfaction, and she would cling to any dignity she had left.

Arguen entered the cell willingly, and the other guard locked it behind her, leaving her and Douglas alone for a few moments.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, when he was satisfied that the other guard was out of earshot. He began to cry himself, and Arguen held his hand through the bars.

“Nae, Douglas. Ye’re doin’ yer duty. ‘Tis not for me to stop ye.” Now she was crying too, even though she’d fought so hard to keep her composure.

“I’ll get ye out of here, I promise. I’ve a friend who owes me a favor. If I can get word tae him, he’ll keep watch over ye.”

“Douglas, nae. I can bide my time here ‘til the trial.”

“Nae, Arguen. When mama passed, I promised her I’d look out for ye. Ye’re in a cell. I’m doin’ a right muck-up job,” he tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob. “I promise, I’ll get ye out, and ye can escape. I’ll be as quick as I can about it.”

Arguen wanted to believe him, but she also knew the power Marianne held. As the daughter of an English baron, married to a Scottish laird’s son, the alliance was tenuous at best. Neither side could afford to make grievous mistakes. Her own belief in her brother to get her out was almost non-existent, knowing the delicate balance of her position, but she said nothing. She didn’t want to dampen his spirit, already so downtrodden.

“Go,” she whispered. “They’ll think we conspire.”

Douglas nodded. “I promise. Ye’ll be out of here soon.” With one last squeeze of her hand, he left. Arguen took a deep breath and slumped to the floor, finally able to cry freely. No one else was around, as far as she could tell, and no one would hear her. She cried until she fell asleep, but no dreams came. Her mind was black, cold, hopeless. Not even dreams could help her now .

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Chapter 1

The perpetual sound of rain pattering out on the road bled through the thin glass windows of the old inn and mingled with the muted sounds of the drunkards below. Allie sniffed and wiped her brow as she continued to flatten down the freshly dried sheets on the bed.

The day was already darkening, despite the early hour of the afternoon, but Allie was used to it. The dark clouds were customary as they hung low, even in the highlands. Yet down in the Lowlands, where they shared weather with the English, it was just as common.

Allie slowly stood and wiped her hands on her dress as she breathed out heavily. It had been a long day, but it wasn’t over yet since they were expecting rather opulent guests. She was pleased to have at least another hour to prepare herself before they would be receiving the Lady in question.

Allie surveyed the room, but something was missing… the light. She let her eyes close for a moment as her tired limbs almost groaned at the thought of working anymore. All she wanted was a good night of rest with a hearty meal beforehand.

The candles needed to be lit, the floor swept by the door, and Allie wanted to make sure that Duncan was in the front of the house to receive their guests. The thought of the new girl who worked in the kitchens being out at the front to welcome the Lady was worrying.

She could hear the wind picking up outside, and the old structure creaked and groaned. Allie shuddered and knew that the fire would need to be built up too, so that their guests would not experience any kind of discomfort during their stay.

“Ach, Duncan? Is that ye?” Allie called down the hallway as she heard the floorboards creak. She knew the place as though it was her own home; the way that certain pieces of wood make sounds when a person is walking the halls was something that she was all too familiar with. Allie narrowed her eyes when she received no response.

She did not have time for games. There was too much to be done and too short an amount of time to do it. The inn was very busy because of the incoming storm, although the locals were used to it, the weary travelers weren’t. Many were English and returning south of the border. Staying at The Blinde Man’s House was the last touch of Scottish hospitality before they would set off on their journey home.

“Duncan?” Allie called again, but still, there was no response.

She was in two minds about going and investigating; she wasn’t the innkeeper or his wife, but she still could assert some authority over a drunkard who may have wandered too far from the tavern downstairs. On the other hand, the room wasn’t going to clean itself, and she thought about how angry William, the innkeeper, would be if he saw that she was neglecting her duties.

Her distress was answered by another howl of the wind through the thin walls. The rain seemed only to intensify as it hit the pane of glass more frequently. Allie hugged her arms tightly to her chest – the thin and washed out cotton of her dress doing nothing to protect her body from the cold. Allie got down onto her knees and moved over to the fireplace where she could tend to it with the poker. She relaxed slightly as the amber hue of heat warmed her skin and made the job slightly more bearable. After placing another couple of logs onto the fire in the way that William had once shown her, Allie got to her feet and brushed the soot from her already ruined dress. Although Allie did not mind, she thought that it would at least show her employer just how hard she worked for her money.

Her mind was already jumping ahead of her, like a galloping horse runnin’ out of control, and she started to think about the next job that needed doing.

“Candles, the wee candles,” Allie muttered to herself as she spotted the burnt down wax by the bed. They were going to need replacing for the Lady coming to stay. Allie was certain that she would not appreciate candles that had been half-used already. She could tell that this Lady, wherever she was from, was going to cause a lot more trouble for them than the average guest. Many travelers were simply grateful for what they got, but Allie already knew that this woman was of the kind that would not settle for anything less than her impossible expectations.

“Ach, this must be me room down here.” A voice spoke out of nowhere and caused Allie’s heart to leap in her chest from the fright of it.

Allie gasped as she knew no female voice like that belonged to anyone from those parts. She started to panic as she realized that it must be the Lady whose arrival they had been anticipating.

Without turning around to see who had arrived, Allie quickly grabbed the unused spill from the table in the corner and let it hover over the fire to light it. She then had no choice but to light the candles that had already been used; the footsteps grew louder and would be upon her at any moment. Allie shuddered once more as the cold seemed to cling to the room with an iron vice, unrelenting and seemingly unphased by the growing fire.

Her hand was shaking, and she could feel the dread rising up inside of her at the thought of being scolded by William for not being ready in time.

“This room here? I suppose it is the biggest we’ve…who are you?”

“I-I’m sorry, My Lady. Yer room is almost ready, ye have me word.” Allie stammered her way through her words as though she was trying to walk with ease through a thick bog. She tried to calm herself and focus on lighting the small candles around the room, but her hand simply would not stop shaking.

“And this is supposed to be the best room at the inn?” The woman sniffed from behind her. Allie closed her eyes and felt as though the distaste in the Lady’s tone was directed straight at her.

“W-well, it’s the best that we could dae at such short notice. I’m s-sorry if it’s not up to yer usual standard…”

Allie did not dare to turn around after speaking, she closed her eyes and braced herself as her body tensed. She knew that she had been far too brave in her words while defending the inn. She had forgotten about the decorum that she had been taught from a young age.

“Please, let me apologize for talking to ye in such a way, My Lady. I should have made sure that the room was ready for yer arrival.”

Allie then busied herself by grabbing the broom that she had brought up with her after catching sight of the soot near the fireplace.

“Ye sound like a yappy dog. This will have to dae for now. Leave me.” The woman snapped as she said this, her voice curt and as cold as the wind outside.

“Aye, My Lady. S-sorry again, My Lady.”

Allie continued to nod and look around as she kept her gaze to the floor. She did not want to look up at the woman, afraid that she would turn her to stone with her gaze, or even worse, chop her down with her cutting words. She swallowed and set the broom down as she finally had no choice but to turn and walk in the direction of the Lady who stood in the doorway like a blockade.

“I hope yer journey wasnae too tirin,’ My Lady?” Allie muttered as she walked forward.

When no reply came from the woman, Allie groaned internally as she had no choice but to look up at the Lady who blocked her path of escape. Slowly, she tore her gaze from the old, wooden floor and up to meet the inquisitive blue eyes of the woman before her.

Allie opened her mouth to say something, but all words evaded her. The beauty of the woman shone through her pale skin as though she was radiating a light aura about her. Her dress, so finely articulated by many hands, was one that Allie had only ever witnessed once – it had been in the form of a painting. Jewels were encrusted onto the vibrant colored fabrics, but her eyes were the purest blue jewels that Allie had ever seen. Her attention shifted back to the dress and the way that it expanded out in many layers of opulence. Allie was suddenly very aware of how her beige dress must have been considered, to this Lady, a mere undergarment. The bodice of her dress was embroidered in the most beautiful, yet delicate patterns, and they continued all the way down her skirts.

However, what stood out the most, despite the beauty and expense in front of her, was the woman’s face. Underneath the scornful, yet shocked, expression, were features not too dissimilar to her own. Allie felt like she was looking into an enchanted mirror, a crude image of what her life could have been if she had been born into some form of nobility instead. Even her hair was the same color, length, and volume; and framed the lady’s face in the same way that Allie’s framed her face. The woman in front of her had her dark, brown hair styled so that half of it was pinned up in a well-crafted style. It appeared far too much work for the kind of activities that Allie carried out each day, but she admired the effort that had been put into it. The similarities were too obvious; even the woman in front of her had noticed.

“Who…who are ye?” The woman’s voice shook slightly as she put a jeweled hand to her chest. The rings on her fingers looked like they could buy the entire inn and still have money left over.

“Answer me, lass. What sorcery is this?”

Allie blinked and realized that she was still yet to answer the question that the woman had asked her. She was sure that the woman was much less pleased about this revelation since she was looking at what she would consider as a lesser version of herself.

“Me name is Allie.” She hesitated for a moment before attempting a small curtsey. Allie winced as she knew that the gesture must have come across as more comical than formal. “Allie Denniston.”

“And ye ken me name?” The woman’s voice boomed around the old room.

“Nay, My Lady.” Allie kept her gaze fixed back on the floor.

“Me name is Adamina, and I am the Lady of Clan Buchan. Have ye really nae heard of me or me clan?”

The Lady Adamina sounded amused as she spoke, as though she found this situation just as comical as Allie’s attempt at a curtsey.

“There are many clans in this land, My Lady. I cannae say that I ken them all…”

“Dinnae tell me what I already ken,” Adamina snapped. “Tell me what I dinnae ken.”

“My Lady?” Allie frowned as she looked up to see that Adamina was smirking.

“Tell me more about ye. Since ye now ken that ye’re talking to the Lady of a large clan, I wish to ken more about ye.”

Allie stood up straighter and bit her lip for a moment as she thought about Adamina’s question. Her heart deflated slightly when she realized that there really wasn’t that much to tell her.

“W-well, I live in a wee cottage just along the road from ‘ere.” Allie swallowed thickly and dared to look back up into the intimidating gaze of Lady Adamina. The well-dressed woman was almost hunched over her as Allie felt the urge to cower away. “I dinnae really have any family. Me parents died a very long time ago…”

Allie let her head fall again slightly, although she did not see the amused look on Adamina’s face drop. The woman appeared to be enjoying this, merely a story for her to tell at a grand dinner in the months to come.

Adamina coughed, but Allie wasn’t sure if she was just clearing her throat, or simply waiting for Allie to continue with her story.

“I dinnae ken what else to say, My Lady. I’ve worked at this inn all me life. The innkeeper has always been good to me.”

Allie winced at how dull her life sounded in comparison to the great Lady in front of her. She was from another world, a class that was leagues above her own, and Allie was only reminded of that further as Adamina started to laugh.

“Me apologies for laughing, lass.” Adamina shook her head. “I take pity on ye; really, I dae.”

Allie did not know how to respond to this, so she pursed her lips and nodded her head rather simply. She still did not understand why Lady Adamina looked so much like her. No explanation came to mind.

“Is that all, My Lady?” Allie dared to ask as she stole another glance at the familiar features of the foreign Lady.

“Aye, for now.” Adamina nodded curtly. “But I want to speak with ye more later on.”

“Aye, My Lady.”

Allie turned to quickly snatch up the various tools that she had brought up with her only hours before. She jumped slightly at the sound of the wind battering against the outside walls and did not breathe properly until she was out of the room and in the safety of the hallway. Her chest rose and fell under her bodice, and she tried to control her breathing. She turned to walk back the way she had come but bumped into the rock hard chest of a man who one might mistake for a mountain upon impact.

“Oh!” she exclaimed and jumped back slightly.

“Is that Lady Adamina’s room?” The man spoke in a deep and gruff voice. Allie found it difficult to pick out his features in the dark. Fear had frozen her to the spot and closed up her throat so that no sound could escape. Instead, she nodded profusely and pointed a shaking hand out to the room.

“Thank ye.”

The man, clad in armor, stepped around her and walked over to the room. Before Allie could protest that he should not enter the Lady’s room without permission, he stepped inside and closed the door.

She waited a few moments for any sound or signal that Lady Adamina might be in distress, but none came. Allie felt rather faint as she staggered down the stairs and away from the intimidating Lady that looked so much like her.

Chapter 2

“Ah, Stuart, I’m glad ye’re here.” Adamina smiled as she reclined in the chair by the fire. Her body was tired from riding, and the cold chill had brought on a cough that refused to leave.

“How are ye feeling, My Lady?” Stuart asked after bowing to her.

“I feel weak and sick. I hate feeling this way. This is how commoners feel, not Ladies.” Adamina spoke with venom in her tone.

“It will pass, as will the storm.” Stuart walked with his hands clasped behind his back over to the window and peered out into the darkness.

“I hope ye’re right about that.” Adamina nodded and let out a labored sigh. “Did ye get a glimpse at that lass?”

“The servant girl who prepared yer room?” Stuart glanced over at his Lady with a frown already etched into his face. His tiredness made the wrinkles around his eyes more pronounced, and the dark shadows under his eyes were emphasized by the dim light of the room. His hair was speckled with grey flecks.

“Did ye see her?” Lady Adamina emphasized.

“I…saw her briefly in the hall, why My Lady?”

“If ye have to ask, then ye clearly didnae see her properly,” Adamina huffed in annoyance. She turned back to the fire and let it warm up her cold body. She sputtered slightly as the cough relented in her chest, although she could feel it causing her insides to rattle, and an ache had begun in her head.

“How much farther is it to the castle?”

“I would say that we have another day of ridin’ ahead of us, My Lady.”

Adamina groaned at the thought and shook her head.

“Nae, I will have to stay here for at least another day. I cannae ride to see the Colquhoun clan if I am sick. It wouldnae be received well.”

“As ye wish, My Lady,” Stuart spoke despite his clenched jaw.

He did not agree with the slow pace that Adamina had shown throughout the entire journey. Had it not been for her stubborn attitude about going so slow, Stuart was confident that they would have made it to her father’s castle at least two days ago. They had left Lady Adamina’s husband’s castle almost five days ago, and they were still on the road, much to Stuart’s vexation.

Nevertheless, he had always followed her word, wherever it happened to take them, or however long it took them. He was sworn to guard and protect her, even if she insisted on stopping in every small village along the way. Stuart knew of guards who had traveled down into England in quicker time than they were making. But he kept silent on the issue and simply nodded.

Lady Adamina trusted Stuart with her life. She allowed herself to let her guard down when he was present. He had protected her since she was merely a child. He had been much younger then, and Adamina felt privileged in getting to see how he had aged. Much the same, Stuart had been pleased to see the way that Adamina had grown into the woman she was, although her strong will was as unrelenting as it had always been.

“I need ye to dae somethin’ for me,” Adamina said but trailed off into another fit of coughing.

“Aye, My Lady?” Stuart stood up slightly straighter and prepared for her request.

“Will ye get the lass? Now that I am settled, I wish to talk to her.”

“The lass, My Lady?” Stuart blinked in confusion.

“Aye, the one that prepared this room.”

“Which lass would that be, My Lady?”

“She is called Allie, I cannae say that I remember what her last name is, nor dae I care. But bring her ‘ere.”

“Aye, My Lady. I will be right back.”

Stuart hesitated slightly at the thought of leaving Adamina without any kind of protection. But he swiftly shut the door behind him and willed the door not to open should any intruders come roaming through the narrow hallway.

*

“Duncan! Where are ye? I need to speak with ye!” Allie called as she walked into the back of the inn on the ground floor and over to where the staff that weren’t needed were waiting. “Ye, new lass, there are tables out there that will nae wipe themselves down.”

Allie watched as the younger girl quickly nodded and scurried off to get to work.

The sound of the muted chatter and drunken laughing still managed to pierce into the backroom, although it was much quieter. And the smell of spilled ale that had long since soaked into the wooden flooring had become a smell that the workers were used to. Allie remembered the first time that she had the strong alcohol spilled on her. It took her a week of washing to no longer feel sticky and get rid of the smell.

“Duncan! There ye are!” Allie groaned as she walked over to where he sat smoking a pipe.

“What’s up lass? Keep the heild, ye look terrible!”

Allie swatted off the older man’s attempts to tell her to calm down. How could she, with the strange encounter that she had just experienced?

“Who let the Lady Adamina up to her room before it was ready?” Allie snapped, trying out what her voice would sound like if she had the authority of the Lady upstairs.

“I dinnae ken.” Duncan shrugged nonchalantly.

Despite the fact that the man was only about ten years older than Allie, the wrinkles that spattered his face and hands spoke of relentless days working hard with little time to spare for himself. Duncan had worked at the inn before Allie joined. He was as customary to see in the building as smelling the ale in the air.

He wasn’t being very helpful, however, and only stirred up Allie’s frustration more.

“What? I dinnae ken! I can’t help ye! I was back ‘ere!”

“So, you didnae get a look at her?” Allie’s eyes narrowed.

“Nae! How could I if I’m telling you I was back ‘ere?”

“Ach, all right.” Allie groaned. “She is not happy with the quality of the place.”

She decided not to mention the likeness in their appearances. Duncan was already vexed, and he would only think that Allie was trying to trick him in some way.

“Ach, that’s not my concern, is it?” Duncan leaned back in his chair and jumped slightly at the sound of a clap of thunder. “This damned weather.”

“It’s always like this.” Allie chuckled as she made herself busy by tidying up some of the stock that had come in early because of the storm.

Admittedly, she enjoyed the fact that the Lord was clearly angry about something; it was a wild break from the perpetual dreary rain that fell and soaked you through. This was the kind of rain that landed with an energy in it that one might only consider as anger.

She thought of the Lady Adamina upstairs and winced at the thought of her having even more to complain about because of the storm.

The sudden sound of the door opening caused the two of them to startle once more. Allie held a hand up to her pounding chest, attempting to ease the rapid beating of her heart; however, it proved futile as her eyes locked with the dark figure in the doorway.

The open door allowed broken parts of conversations to waft into the room, followed by the heady smell of alcohol. Allie frowned as the man in front of them began to walk in.

“I’m sorry, kind sir, this is an area for the workers only.”

“Are ye Allie?”

She could feel her heart beating much faster.

“Aye, she is. Who are ye?” Duncan snapped from behind her as he craned his neck to see who had burst in. His stubbornness showed as he refused to rise from his seat, even with an armored intruder standing before them.

“I have come with orders of the Lady Adamina to take ye to her chamber.”

“‘Tisnae much of a chamber, only a wee room.” Duncan cackled as he rocked back on his chair. Allie winced at the way he spoke to a man who was clearly the protector of the lady in question, and no stranger to the decorum of the nobility, something that could not be found in a single bone of Duncan’s body.

Allie ignored the older man behind her and urged her feet to start moving so that she would not appear as weak as she felt on the inside.

She followed the tall and muscular looking man up the stairs and down the dark corridor to where the rooms were situated in the building.

The man knocked on the door and waited for the faint call of his Lady to respond.

“Enter!”

Allie held her breath as her body seemed to prepare on its own for being under the cold scrutiny of the lady once more.

“Ach, there ye are.”

Allie tried not to stare at Lady Adamina but busied herself with glancing around the room to look for anything that could possibly be wrong. The candles, she thought to herself. Dread rose up in her like dark shadows, Allie prepared herself to take the brunt of Adamina’s criticism, just as the exterior walls of the inn were taking the full force of the raging storm.

She took comfort that the room felt much warmer now that the fire had been going for a while. The fire, she suddenly thought to herself as she noticed how hungry it looked for another dry log.

“Ye wanted to see me?” Allie asked with a frown.

“Aye, come closer, I want to get a better look at ye.”

Allie stood still for a moment, but she felt the guard’s hand hovering behind her back, ready to urge her forward if she did not comply.

“Stuart, come ‘ere and look at her properly.”

Allie was closer to the fire now, but she knew it was the feeling of being picked apart by the gazes of two people that sent her cheeks alight in the color of a rose.

“Good God,” the man called Stuart muttered under his breath.

Adamina’s eyes lit up once more as she took in the sight in front of her. Allie herself was still shocked by her likeness to the noble Lady. She could not understand why they looked so similar.

Adamina maintained the stern expression that pulled down her almost identical features, the beginnings of a scowl hiding at the corners of her lips – ready to pounce should Allie say something that she did not agree with.

“Ye wanted to see me, My Lady?” Allie frowned as she locked eyes with Adamina. She could not understand what the Lady could want other than to be entertained by the likeness in their appearances.

“Aye, Allie. I have a… proposition for ye if ye’re interested in gettin’ out of this life.”

Allie blinked in confusion; she could feel it clouding her own features, but she had no idea what the Lady was talking about.

“My Lady?”

“Ye heard me. Would ye be interested in doing somethin’ else with yer life?”

Allie thought about this for a moment; she had never imagined that the opportunity would arise, and so her dreams had been stunted from a very early age. Presented with the possibility of not working at the inn anymore felt as though she were one of the King’s horses suddenly allowed to roam free up to the peaks of Glenn Coe.

“Aye, My Lady.”

“Good, then I propose to ye that since we happen to look so similar, how would ye feel about becoming Lady Adamina?”

Allie did not know what she had been expecting, but it was not the offer that had been laid in front of her. Even Adamina’s guard, Stuart, snapped his head in his Lady’s direction as though the wind had shaken her logic.

“My Lady? I’m afraid that I dinnae understand what ye mean. Ye are Adamina, the Lady of Clan Buchan. That cannae be my title as well?”

“Aye, I see yer point.” Adamina held her head up so high that she could only look down her nose at Allie in front of her. “That is why I’m proposing that when I am due to return to me husband’s castle, it will be ye that takes me place.”

“But, My Lady, what are-”

Adamina held a hand up to silence her guard. Her gaze never left Allie’s. She watched as the young girl toyed with the strange idea that had been thrown at her.

“Ye will have a good life. There will be nae trouble for ye at the castle. Think about it; ye will never have to work another day in yer life. Ye will have people that will take care of ye, like Stuart here.”

Allie listened to the Lady for as long as she could bear before shaking her head. She was breathing heavily once more, and the room suddenly felt a lot smaller and more constricting than she remembered.

“My Lady, I ken ‘tisnae my place to speak, but please, think about what ye’re saying.” Stuart tried again, causing Adamina to turn to him. Her eyes were blazing with anger, a look that was enough to cause the strong man to recoil and remember his place as someone that simply served her.

“I ken what I’m saying, and I understand the consequences, but it is the way out that I’ve been lookin’ for.” Adamina continued as she sat up straighter until her posture resembled that of a wooden board.

“I-I’m sorry, My Lady, but that is yer place, that is yer life. I ken that we look like each other for whatever reason, but my answer is nay. I cannae pretend to be someone that I am nae.”

Allie turned with her body back toward the door that she had entered through. Never in her life had she been so terrified of what the consequences to her actions held. Her cheeks were still stained with a pink hue, and Allie could feel two pairs of gazes on her as she almost reached the doorway.

“Come back here, Allie! I was trying to be nice by asking ye, but mark me words; I always get what I want.”

Adamina’s words boomed around the room, bouncing off the wooden beams as they pushed Allie out of the door much faster than she had been walking beforehand. She could hear the Lady coughing through the open door, but still, she carried on. Allie shuddered and crossed her arms over her chest as she made her way down the hall.

Adamina’s words played over in her mind as she made it back down to the main area of the inn. It was warmer due to the high volume of intoxicated bodies that filled the space, yet Allie had never wanted to be alone with just her thoughts so much in all of her life.

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

Chapter 1

If he lived to be a hundred years old, Ualan McCallum would always remember that night. But right then, in the fug of the tavern, with the Highland rain pelting down, he had no idea.

Beside him, his cousin looked into his lovelorn face and laughed.

“Och! An’ this is what happens when ye trust a woman, did I nae say!”

Ualan leaned his head against the window of the Sheep’s Heid Tavern and looked out to the windswept glen.

Above his head, a portrait of Queen Mary stared down, disapproving of the revelers on that rain-sodden Sunday night. It was supposed to be springtime, but from up here on the moor, it didn’t look – or feel like it.

Slowly, Ualan took a sip from his drink and sighed. Try as he might, the ­­deep gnawing in his heart and the grumble from his belly would not be silenced. The latter might have owed to the whisky Keith kept pouring for him. But no matter how much he drank, it couldn’t erase his heart.

Although Ualan didn’t look lovelorn, in his fine linen clothes, he was every inch the laird’s heir; a flowing léine of saffron offset his long rusty red hair to good effect. But deep inside, there was something missing.

At twenty-six, he was well built and handsome; his boyish youth still visible in his freckles and twinkling brown eyes. Tonight, they were misty and sad. Ualan’s wide eyes panned the room as if looking for someone there. But it was no use. She was not there. She had never been, not really.

Ualan’s hands went down to his pouch, fastened securely into his belt, and felt the large, heavy shape of the McLaughlin brooch. At least it was still there. Without looking, Ualan’s fingers felt for the four large rubies and six sapphires lining the edges of the trinket.

It was the most precious jewel in the whole of the clan, the highest prize anyone could wear—and yet, both it and he had been roundly rejected.

Ualan fastened the gleaming jewel back down into his pouch, vowing never again to offer either it, or his heart, to a woman as long as he lived.

“Och, laddie, it could have been worse!” opined Keith, seeing him open his pouch and study the brooch. “She could have kept the jewel an’ left ye!”

Ualan just shrugged. Right then, he wouldn’t have cared much if she did. But Keith just laughed, pouring them another dram, and continued chattering.

“It just goes to prove, as I said, that ye cannae trust a woman, lad,” said Keith. “An’ ye should ken!”

“Hum,” said Ualan, unable to argue with that. “But all the same, let us speak no more of it now, Keith,” he added, watching as the rain pounded harder past the window. “It’s nae for the whole world to hear!”

“Well, right ye are, an on that note, there’ll be no mair talk of women,” Keith McCallum said, seeing the discomfort in his cousin’s eyes and quickly changing tack. “So come, let’s toast to the fine laird that ye’ll surely be!”

“Och…one day…a long time off!” Ualan reminded him. “But aye, I do happen to have, as ye ken, some ambitious plans for the clan McCallum!”

“Go on, then, let’s hear them. Let the clan in on what ye have planned for them!” grinned Keith. His flushed cheeks betrayed the number of drams he had already enjoyed that evening.

But in the haze of drink, Ualan had quite forgotten what he was about to say.

“What happened to Ian again?” he asked in confusion. Ian was Ualan’s best friend. “Ye did ask him, didn’t ye…?”

“Aye,” said Keith. “Something came up at the last minute, I think. Anyhow, I’m more interested in yer plans for the keep… so put us poor wretches out of oor misery. Sae, laddie…what are yer plans?” Keith said jovially, downing another quaich. Ualan watched as his cousin’s pale eyes scanned the barroom quickly before turning back to him. “So, what’s it to be, cousin?” Keith said, his eyes eventually connecting with a young woman at the back of the room.

“Eh?” said Ualan. Following his cousin’s gaze, he also turned to look at her. Her platinum blonde mane was vaguely familiar from somewhere, but at the mere sight of Keith, she blushed and stuck her head down.

Next, Keith turned to the elderly landlord, his sharp blue eyes reaching into Ualan’s face.

“So, ye going to let them ken what dastardly plans ye have afoot for yer poor people?” Keith asked again.

Now the pair of them were staring at him, as well as most of the tavern regulars from across the room. Even the eyes of the wueen seemed to bore into him, as if anxious to hear what he had to say.

“Och, it’ll nae be anythin’ like that!” Ualan said, his memory returning as a flush of whisky came upon his cheeks. “But there’s so much opportunity out there, ye ken, to really connect wi’ folk an’ make this clan great!”

“Ye sayin’ it’s nae so great now, cousin?” asked Ualan slyly, with a wink to the landlord.

“Nae, nae, nae!” Ualan said, perhaps a little too loudly—without warning, there was now a drum banging inside his head. For a moment, Ualan paused, frowning. That was strange—it seemed he had only taken a few sips, and yet he was already dizzy.

Ualan quickly cast off the thick mantle fastened loosely around his waist as his face burned, and his core temperature rose abruptly.

Although cold when he had first come in, the single malt had quickly woven its magic, starting at his lips and reaching into the pit of his belly at speed. Right then, Ualan wanted nothing more than to stay there, lost in a haze of whisky, but he knew it wouldn’t help for long.

There was one place the firewater would never reach, and that was the cavern of his heart, still aching with the hurt that had been done.

“The clan’s braw, but I dinnae, it could be made bigger,” he asserted, his thick fingers fastening tightly around the wooden quaich. Ualan frowned; he didn’t remember it being refilled. Then he looked around to see literally everyone in the room watching him.

Never mind; he took a deep sip of the single malt. The fug in his head spread down into his lower limbs, rendering them comfortably numb.

“Like what?” Keith asked him.

“Och, I dinnae, just a wee idea,” started Ualan, noticing the watchful faces. But then, another glug of whisky hit him, and he threw caution to the wind. “Like, ye ken, that instead of fighting each other, we could try an’ unite the distant clans together, under one, an’ really be able to reach out an’ do something great!” he continued, warming to his theme.

“What, ye mean like conquer the neighbors an’ rule over them?” Keith said, his serious face pressed close against his hand and staring.

From behind him, Ualan was still vaguely aware of the others, listening in, but at that moment, he was too tired to care.

It had been a long day, with a hard ride and a heavy list of filial duties to attend to. Add that to the turmoil of everything that had happened at the McIver keep, and Ualan’s heart beat extra hard.

“Nae, nae, nae, I dinnae mean like that!” he said. “Yer nae listening. I mean we should unite, not fight!” he asserted. “Like Mairi’s clan…tried to…!”

Keith chuckled, casting his dark blond hair over his shoulders and laughing with the men behind.

“Och, an’ there, ladies an’ gentlemen, we have it. Mairi! I might have kent there would be a woman behind it somewhere!”

He slapped Ualan good-naturedly around the shoulders, continuing to smile. “I can tell ye right now, ye never listen to anything a woman ever tells ye, did I nae say that from the start?” Keith said. He was still smiling, but his eyes connected more seriously with Ualan’s. “An’ wasnae I right?” he added softly.

Ualan rubbed the side of his head as he felt his cheeks flush even more with the heat of the whisky.

“Aye,” said Ualan dejectedly. “But the plan’s still a good one! I’ll extend the lands beyond the glen side, an’ we can have access to the forests to the west. I’ll build new homes for all of the clan, an’ then…”

Just in speaking about it, Ualan’s spirits had picked up. Then again, that might have had something to do with the generous splash of whisky Keith was pouring for him again.

But almost in the same instance, Ualan felt himself crash back down again. “An’ by then I’ll be the most powerful laird in the land, an’ Mairi will be sorry she went an’ married an Englishman!” he said, trying to keep the sadness out of his voice.

“Och, hush, we’ll find a wee strumpet for ye to warm yer bed afore the night’s oot!” replied Keith. He looked over to the slight blonde woman in the crowd, who ducked her head. “Ye just need one or two more wee drams inside ye, an’…steady, laddie!”

Then, wham! Without warning, Ualan’s legs gave way, and in an instant, he was down on the muddied floor, languishing in dirt.

“Och, dinnae fash,” muttered Ualan, pulling himself up clumsily. But he only succeeded in knocking his head on the table leg.

For a few minutes, the whole world swam around him. Although it wasn’t exactly crowded on that damp Sunday evening, there were more than enough people watching the McCallum clan heir to very quickly make him want to sober up.

“Here,” said Keith, smiling. He offered his cousin a hand up. But in his inebriated state, Ualan was having none of it.

“Och, it’s nothing!” announced Ualan, finally pulling himself up from the floor and dusting himself down. With effort, he climbed back on top of the tall barstool – quite an accomplishment at the best of times – but the room still rotated with his every move.

Through his haze, he wondered how he had he even got into such a state after only a few wee drams.

But his thoughts were rudely interrupted by Keith slapping him heartily about the shoulder. “What say we have a couple more here an’ then head up to the King’s Arms in town? There’s going to be a cracking ceilidh there later!”

Ualan noticed Keith’s eyes going across the dull room, to the slight blonde woman at the back. But every time he looked, she dropped her head back down. Yet when Keith wasn’t looking, she glanced up at Ualan coyly.

Even from the distance, Ualan could sense something in her, as if she was trying to connect with him. For a minute, Ualan paused, wondering where he knew her from, but the whisky fog in his brain blanked out her name. Eventually, though he did remember her as a maid at the keep. When Keith noticed, he laughed out loud.

“So, ye’ve got yer eye on another lassie! Well, that’s the way to mend a broken heart!” he guffawed, thumping Ualan on the back with a heavy slap. “I cannae say I blame ye, I would have that one myself, but since it’s ye, I’ll let ye have her!”

“Och, nae!” protested Ualan, taken aback. “An’ I’m nae broken-hearted,” he lied.

This just made Keith laugh all the more. He motioned to the landlord to refill their quaich cups even faster.

As the old grey man poured their drinks, Ualan could sense an urgency in the maid’s face. Oblivious, Keith carried on.

“Och, ye are; Mairi this, Mairi that. Well, laddie, Mairi is gone now, but that lassie yonder is very much there, an’ hoo! Lassie!” Keith stood up, suddenly, shaking the unstable barstool and sending it flying across the floor.

The ancient landlord refilling their drinks had to duck fast as it almost hit him in the shin. Quickly, Ualan apologized and glared at his cousin, who was now beckoning to the maid to come forwards.

“Nae, dinnae,” muttered Ualan, embarrassed. He might have been slightly drunk, but he could see well enough the fear palpable on the maid’s face. “Maybe she just wants to be left alone,” he reasoned, taking Keith by the elbow and motioning him to sit down.

But Keith seemed very keen. “Och, Ualan, if that’s so, then why does she keep looking at ye? She seems awfu’ keen. Come on, what harm can a few drinks do?”

Ualan groaned; he knew all too well what Keith’s “few drinks” meant.

Usually lots of fighting and inappropriate women; not to mention a banging headache and quite often not waking up in the right bed – if any bed – the next morning. Briefly, he wondered again where his friend Ian had got to tonight. Either way, he didn’t feel up for an unmitigated night on the town.

“Nae, really, Keith, I think I’ll just go home,” Ualan began, but Keith shook his head hard.

“Nae, nae on my watch, cousin; ye’ve got a broken heart an’ it’s my job to do something about it. Starting with this quaich! McTavish!” he yelled, calling to the landlord to come back again with the whisky.

Ualan found himself relax back into his seat. He knew better than to challenge Keith when he got an idea in his head. And if there was one thing, he was serious about, it was merrymaking.

“Ye only live once, Ualan, so better make it a good one!” Keith said, with a smile to the blonde wench who was starting to come through the crowd. “I’ll make ye enjoy yersel’ whether ye like it or nae!” he joked.

Ualan was fond of his cousin, and grudgingly had to admit he knew how to rouse his spirits when he was down. So, despite everything, he found himself nodding along as he settled back into his stool.

“Och, well, maybe just a wee dram or two,” agreed Ualan as the drinks were poured. “An’ I’ll tell ye all about the grand farmhouse I’m going to build out there by the moors…”

“Och, the farm; aye, that’d be braw. In fact, why doesnae Uncle Roderick do something like that noo?” enquired Keith, with a quick look to Ualan.

“Och, I dinnae, something about it not being beneficial. But I am sure it could be made to work,” said Ualan, warming to his theme.

“Tis a pity ye cannae persuade him that it’d be grand for the clan,” agreed Keith. “It sure is a shame….” His voice trailed off as the young blonde woman who had been watching them from the back of the bar came nervously forward.

“Aye, t’is a pity Father willnae listen, but ye ken what he’s like when his mind is made up about something,” said Ualan sadly, but his voice was without rancor. “Like for ages now, I’ve been trying to persuade him to build a new keep, but he willnae have it!”

One or two eyes around the bar cast curiously over to them as he said that. Realizing the attention, he was causing, Ualan quickly dropped his voice. It wouldn’t do for a laird’s son to be heard publicly criticizing the laird, and anyway, they were only pipe dreams.

Then, from behind him, a voice interrupted their conversation.

“Sorry to bother ye, sir, but there is message from yer father, the laird—yer to come at once!”

Chapter 2

“The laird has sent a messenger, sir!”

The silver-haired man stood hesitantly before them. Both Ualan and his cousin turned their heads around to see the previously silent landlord, McTavish, his lined face etched with uncertainty.

“Och, what is it?” asked Ualan, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice. “Is everything alright?”

“Well, I dinnae have the full message; he sent the lass. She’s been trying to work up some way of coming to tell ye, but she didnae want to disturb ye,” McTavish said.

Now, almost the entire tavern turned around to stare at the small blonde lass standing uncertainly before them.

“Aye, lassie,” said Ualan kindly to the girl. “Go on.”

By the look on Keith’s face, he was going to say something, but Ualan elbowed him to keep quiet. Quickly, the maid unfastened something from about her person and handed it to him.

Ualan took the parchment from her and unfurled it. It was in his father’s handwriting. Ualan briefly scanned it, giving a sigh, then swiftly folded it away.

“Drink up, we have to go,” said Ualan to Keith, tucking the letter under his trews.

“Why?” said Keith, looking mildly annoyed. His eyes had reconnected with the girl in front of him. “The night is just getting started!” he said, grinning at her. The young woman dropped her eyes to the floor.

Ualan looked keenly at her. “I ken ye from the keep, dinnae I?” Ualan said as the maid nodded. “But I’ve nae seen ye in here afore,” he added. “An’, um, I’m afraid I dinnae ken yer name,” Ualan admitted, slightly embarrassed.

“It’s Teasag,” said the maid in a soft voice.

“Teasag, aye,” said Ualan, making a mental note not to forget it again. “An’ are ye the one the laird sent?” he asked incredulously.

The girl nodded again. Ualan looked concerned.

“Well dinnae tell me ye were the only person who could deliver this, ye didnae come alone did ye?” Ualan said, anxiously. “Is the laird alright?” he added.

Teasag nodded. “Aye, he didnae want to send me, but I volunteered as I was going to visit my sister nearby…ye ken we are shorthanded today,” she said reluctantly, “….an’ all the guards are out looking for ye, too, while doing their patrols…but I thought ye might be here…” her voice trailed off.

Now Keith eyed her curiously. “What is it that’s so urgent?” he demanded, then looked at Ualan.

“Ye have to come now, sir. The laird has sent out a search party across the clan, to find ye…” she blurted out.

A murmur went around the bar.

Ualan frowned. His father’s instructions had been precise, but not explicit. He was to go at once, but it didn’t say why. However, Ualan thought he had a pretty good idea why, and if so, he was in no huge rush to leave. The last thing he felt like right then was a fight with his father.

Setting his drink down on the table in front of him, Ualan muttered loudly, “Och, I have told him often enough that the answer’s is no!”

Looking uncertain, Teasag continued, but in a low voice that only Ualan could hear. “I dinnae ken what this is about, sir, but the laird has been awfu’ peaky, so whatever it is, it must be important…please, I implore ye to come soon.”

Now Ualan was concerned. His annoyance with the laird was laid to one side for the time being, and he moved to get his mantle. It was true his father had been rather off-color for a week or two.

“But he’s alright?” he quickly said to her.

“Aye, I… suppose,” she said, in a tone which did not fill Ualan with hope.

He wanted to ask more, but the prying eyes watching them stopped him. And by the look of things, Keith had his own plans for the night.

Completely oblivious, he eyed Teasag impetuously. “Well, whatever it is, surely it can wait a while for us to have a couple of wee drams. What do ye say, lass?” Keith said, his hand extending busily to the serving wench’s behind.

“Keith!” snapped Ualan defensively. But although Keith moved his hand, nothing seemed to dampen his appetite for merriment that evening.

“Och, come on, one wee dram, one wee dance!” he said, lifting the lass’s hands in the air as if to dance a reel.

Despite his foggy brain, sense pushed its way into Ualan’s head: all was not well. He frowned, wondering exactly what it was she meant about his father being ill.

“Nae, Keith, leave it. An’ we better do as my father says,” he said, setting the drink down and gently standing in front of the anxious-faced girl.

Keith didn’t mean harm, but he could get a little foolish after a couple of drinks. As the maid edged away, Keith reluctantly stepped backward.

“Och, alright,” he said with bad grace.

“Let’s get back this wee lassie back to the keep then, an’…” But by then, Teasag had already turned on her heel, ran the length of the bar to the door, and disappeared completely.

“Teasag?” enquired Ualan, looking around for the girl. “Och, I hope the lassie isnae upset,” he said as he refastened the mantle around his square shoulders. But she had gone.

“Doesnae matter, does it? If ye like I can sweeten her up for ye later on. After all, I ken whereabouts her room is, if ye ken what I mean!” slurred Keith.

“Tisnae that,” said Ualan, suddenly wondering how he was going to get Keith home in such a state. He looked toward the open tavern door, as wind blew a sharp blast of sobriety into his face. “I just dinnae think she should be alone out there…”

“Och, she’ll be alright. As tough as anything, that one,” asserted Keith—and then stopped abruptly as a long scream filled the night.

Immediately, Ualan was at the door.

“Teasag?” he cried.

###

The maid’s scream rang out, piercing the ears of the revelers in the Sheep’s Heid and reaching out into the glen side around it.

On that wild and rainy night, the taverners were not the only ones to hear the serving maid’s cries. Astride her horse, the woman on the hill could hear it all. And more than that – from her vantage point, she could see as well.

At that moment, a cloud scurried past the moon casting a shaft of silver upon the valley. From there, at the top of the billowing storm, the woman saw him – a lone rider, speeding into the tight country lanes which were cut into the glen side.

Although she couldn’t yet see his face, it was clear that this was no social call. And when she heard the maid’s terrified scream, it confirmed it.

She leaned back against the hills, pressed in against the wind, her dark hair billowing out as the high-pitched note rang around the mountainside.

It was a long way from the town, but instinctively, she knew to keep a good way back. The rider’s sudden appearance had shaken her to the core, and now her heart was beating intensely.

The woman checked herself, tightening the hood around her face and trying to get a grip of her fear.

Was he still after her? Were there more of them behind him?

Her heart exploded like a cannon as she watched him ride in, cross the river briskly, and follow her up the hill.

The woman on the horse froze, unsure of what to do next. She had ridden too long and too far to simply quit now. Perhaps if it had been daylight she could have ridden on into the neighboring village, but at this hour it was impossible.

Her horse was tired, and frankly, so was she. She had hoped to find lodgings in the village below, but now that plan was blown.

The sight of the rider hit her hard. There was no way she was going to go down there until he had gone. For all she knew he had brought others to hunt her down, it just wasn’t safe until daylight.

Pulling the cloak tighter as the rain lashed hard, the young woman decided to head for the hills. She would ride on through the storm and find an abandoned croft to bed down in. That would have to do for now.

The dark woman rode and rode, as fast and as hard as she could do, away from the valley, and away from the town.

Och! Wasn’t this just the perfect ending to a perfect day, she thought angrily. All day, she had ridden, alone across the glen, in search of someplace – any place – to go next. And now this!

One thing was certain. She couldn’t go back to where she came from.

Once a mission was complete, she couldn’t exactly hang about, and the last job had gotten particularly messy. And now the people she had exposed were at her heels.

Such was the life she had carved out for herself. She had money and independence, but nowhere to go and no place to be, with no one to miss her if she was not there. And most of the time, that suited her just fine. The woman had learned a long time ago that the only person she could really count on was herself.

Was it definitely the same man who had been chasing her? Or just another brigand?

As the cold rain tumbled down, the woman hesitated. For the first time in years, she felt completely alone. Reluctantly, she tugged the reins of her tired horse to direct her further along the hillside. She could tell the pretty dappled mare had about the same appetite for more travel as she did, but she had no choice.

She trotted up the rain-soaked hillside until she was nearly at the top. As she rode, the tiny town became less and less visible, until it shrank to a dot.

Now nearing the top, she gave a sigh, which turned into a sob. She tried to get a grip of herself, but it was impossible.

Finally away from the world’s gaze, she could free her wild head. After all, there was no one here to see her tears, as they fell into the cold night rain. And even if there was, who would care?

###

“Teasag!” Ualan yelled loudly as he shot out into the cold May night. “Where are ye?”

He looked desperately about for the young lass, but couldn’t find her. Tensely, he cast his head around to see where she had gone. But he couldn’t see past the broad oak growing in front of the tavern. Anxiously, he turned to his cousin, who had just about managed to stagger out of the tavern. “Where is she?”

“She could be anywhere by now!” Keith said in a drunken panic.

“I ken that!” hissed Ualan, annoyed. Then, without warning, he tripped over something on the ground. Teasag.

“Och, are ye alright, lassie?” he asked, helping her up and brushing the mud off her.

“Aye, I, I, ken,” said the scared woman. “But they took yer horses!” she said, her eyes darting about nervously.

Ualan, just getting to his feet looked at the serving lass unsurely. “They?” he asked, uncomprehending.

“Aye,” said the little maid, who was shaking, and on the edge of tears. “The men who were here afore. They bade me to be silent or else!”

“Men?” asked Keith limply, looking even more confused than Ualan.

But Ualan was sobering up fast. In panic, he darted around to the back of the tavern, where their horses had been tethered. Sure enough, they were gone.

“Kelpie!” cried Ualan in distress. He turned to Keith, his eyes opened wide. “My horse!” he sighed.

Ualan felt his heart plummet in his chest. Yes, it was only a horse, but he had been attached to Kelpie ever since he was a foal. The sudden loss of such a close friend affected him more than it should have.

From out of the tavern, McTavish the landlord came running. “Sir, we hear tell of some strange men in the area. We think they have got your horses,” he said, his blue eyes glittering in the moonlight.

“Och,” said Ualan, mildly, trying to keep his dismay concealed. “This sort of thing is getting worse around here. I really need to speak to my father about security,” he added. “That’s if I can ever get back to see what it was he needed me about so badly!”

He shared a look with Keith. “Ye dinnae think he’s in some kind of trouble at the keep?” he said, voicing his concerns out loud.

Keith looked at him unsurely. “I dinnae ken, Ualan, but perhaps yer right, an’ it wouldnae be a bad idea for us to get back up there an’ see!” he said.

Ualan looked around them carefully and sighed. The four of them were still on the doorstep to the tavern, facing out into the wild night.

“Aye,” Ualan said. “But I cannae get up there any time soon without a horse!” Then, from behind them, McTavish spoke.

“Ye can borrow a horse of mine, sir,” said the elderly landlord standing at the entrance to the tavern behind them.

Ualan jumped. “Och, that’d be braw,” said Ualan, patting the old man on the back.

“I’ll go an’ bring him to the front, but I’m afraid it’s only big enough for one of ye,” said McTavish apologetically.

“That’s alright, McTavish,” said Ualan, genuinely. But then he looked serious. “But do try an’ find another horse for Keith, an’…” He hesitated. “Perhaps a few of the men should go an’ check the town is safe of these brigands…”

“Aye sir,” said McTavish, leaving to prepare the horse for Ualan.

As he trotted the stumpy Highland pony over to the front of the tavern, Ualan faced Keith thoughtfully.

“Keith, I…,” Ualan began. And then he paused. He didn’t really like to leave Keith, but then again, the townsfolk might need some extra protection if these men were still on the prowl.

“Alright,” said Ualan reluctantly. “But here, take my bow. I ken ye probably dinnae need it an’ it’s just a false alarm but, ye ken, just in case!”

Ualan handed Keith his prized bow and quiver, one of his most treasured possessions. “It was Duncan’s, but ye need it more now, an’,” here he paused again. “Yer more of a brother than a cousin to me now!”

Keith hesitated a while before taking the large wooden bow from his cousin. “Thank ye cousin. All will be well. Now ye ride on noo, an’ check that uncle is alright!”

And with that, Ualan turned to face the wind and rode on into the night.

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