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

Chapter 1

The constant, almost maddening pitter-patter of rain was nothing unusual for Knapdale, which saw more rainy days than sunny ones. So, when Angus woke up in his chambers that morning, dreading the day that followed and the responsibilities that came with it, the rain didn’t stop him from deciding that perhaps it would be better to spend the better part of his day away from the castle.

He had to sneak out, ensure that none of his guards would see him, as he had no desire to be questioned by them or to have them insist on escorting him. For a Laird, Angus sure had to answer to many other people when it came to his whereabouts and his plans, something that he had never grown to tolerate.

Sneaking out of the castle was easy enough, as he had been doing that exact same thing ever since he was a little boy. He knew the ins and outs of the building, the paths that he could take to avoid being seen, and the not-so-secret door that led to the back of the castle.

From there, all Angus had to do was go to the stables and grab his horse, and he could do so without worrying about being found out; the stable boy was used to seeing him there in the past few years, and often, he even knew when to have his horse ready.

Angus didn’t know what it was that gave away the fact that he would be looking for a temporary escape; perhaps there was a pattern there that he couldn’t see, but the stable boy could, and Angus didn’t want to think about what that would say about him as a man.

“M’lord.”

The voice came from behind him just as Angus entered the stables, and he froze, worried that he had been caught. The childlike terror that he felt at being found out prevented him from recognizing the voice that he knew so well until the stable boy walked around and faced him, and only then could Angus take a deep breath and relax.

“Ach, Roddy . . . ye almost scared me to death, lad,” Angus said, a hand coming up to lie over his chest.

“Forgive me, m’lord,” Roddy said sincerely, bowing his head a little. “Are ye on yer way out? I have the mare ready for ye.”

There it was again, Angus thought. Once more, Roddy had been anticipating him, and he had the horse ready. Angus couldn’t help but ask, needing to know.

“Roddy . . . how do ye ken that I’ll be coming here?” Angus asked. “How is the mare always prepared?”

Roddy looked at Angus with a frown, blinking a few times in surprise. “I see ye leave the castle, and I prepare the mare . . . by the time ye come here, I have her ready.”

Angus hummed, sounding almost disappointed. He had been expecting some sort of different explanation, perhaps something more exciting. He would have much rather have been told that Roddy was psychic, or that he was at least very good at anticipating Angus’ needs, but the answer, as usual, was much simpler than that.

“Here, m’lord,” Roddy said, as he handed Angus the reins to the horse. “Will ye be away for long?”

“Not too long,” Angus said as he mounted the horse. “Dinnae tell anyone about this.”

“Of course not, m’lord.”

With that promise, Angus began to ride towards the edge of the castle’s land, and then kept riding, further and further. The rain had turned into a drizzle, and though it wasn’t enough to soak his clothes, thankfully, it was more than enough to turn his brown mop of hair into a flat, tangled mess, something that he would have to deal with later. Besides, the more unlike a Laird he looked, the better it would be for him.

Every time he decided to leave the castle for the day, Angus would head to one of the villages at the edge of the MacMillan lands. Many of the people had seen their Laird, but not many cared in those villages, and Angus had soon realized that the locals there forgot about his face easily. They lived too far away from the castle to be concerned with him or anything that had to do with their rulers, and he was virtually a stranger, blending in easily with the crowd.

It helped that he kept his dirtiest, most unkempt clothes just for those trips to the villages, putting them on every time that he visited for anything other than official business.

The village that Angus decided to visit that day was at the very edge of his lands, one that he had never visited before, as it was so far away from the castle. The sky was clearer there, and the rain stopped a little ways away from it. The grey clouds persisted, falling like a blanket over the village, but some sunrays managed to push their way through, illuminating the few buildings that were there with their golden light.

The market was buzzing with people, merchants, and locals alike. Angus left his horse aside and then began to walk, roaming around the stalls and looking at all the different things that the merchants were selling.

Most of it was food, naturally. There wasn’t much that those villagers needed other than food and necessities, and so there was no profit in selling much else.

Angus didn’t visit the market for the goods, though. No, he visited because he enjoyed watching the people walk around him, talking to each other. He enjoyed overhearing their conversations, and he enjoyed seeing how they acted around him when they weren’t aware of his true identity.

People were utterly fascinating to him, and they were the sole reason why he visited those villages.

As he was watching the locals around him, Angus’ gaze fell on two children, a boy, and a girl, who were apparently not a part of the little group of boys and girls who were running around, playing, and laughing. The two of them were quieter, talking only to each other, and Angus could see the smudges of dirt on their faces and the holes in the fabric of their clothes.

He looked around the market, at least as far as his eyes could see, and he couldn’t spot anyone who looked as though they were the children’s parents, though the two of them looked alike, and so Angus concluded that they were siblings. No one seemed to be looking for them or even paying them any mind, and Angus felt his stomach drop as he watched them approach a stall and try to steal some bread.

The moment that the boy’s hand reached for the bread, the merchant behind the stall roared furiously at him and grabbed the child by the arm roughly, shaking him as he shouted obscenities at the two of them. Angus’ blood boiled in his veins as he listened to the words that came out of the man’s mouth, but before he could intervene, another person beat him to it.

There was a flash of rosy lips pursed together in displeasure, a small, slightly upturned nose, and a familiar jawline, and Angus froze on the spot, unable to do anything but stare at her. He could feel his stomach revolt at the sight of her, and he instantly began to break into a cold sweat, beads of it running down his temple and making him shiver.

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be her.

Angus kept repeating that to himself, reassuring himself that there was nothing to fear, but his mind was filled with images of Vika smiling at him, laughing with him, and in the end, betraying him. He could almost see her in front of him just as she was when he had last seen her, her mocking expression and the cruel twist of her lips.

But it couldn’t be her.

The young woman in front of him had auburn hair and brown eyes, unlike Vika’s lighter colors, and besides, Vika was still in the monastery, where Angus had left her after she had ruined his life.

The resemblance, though striking, was nothing more than that. Still, Angus had to admit that seeing the young woman left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Just as Angus came back to reality, his thoughts and worry about Vika dissipating slowly, he heard the merchant shout at the young woman.

“I dinnae care who did what. I want my money.”

“I told you, I was the one who asked them to steal the bread,” the young woman said, and Angus immediately knew that it was a lie. The woman was dressed in nice, clean clothes, and she even wore a necklace around her neck. She wasn’t poor; if anything, she was one of the richest people in the village. “I . . . I don’t have money on me, but you must let them go, please.”

“How do ye not have money, lass?” the merchant asked. “I’ve seen you here . . . I ken weel who ye are, I ken who yer uncle is.”

“I have it at home,” the woman said, clasping her hands together as she pleaded with the other man. “If you only let me go and—”

“The necklace, then,” the merchant interrupted, putting his hand out as a request.

The woman clutched onto the chain around her neck protectively, shaking her head, and Angus couldn’t blame her. A necklace for a loaf of bread hardly seemed like a fair trade.

“Do ye ken what we do with thieves where I come from?” the merchant said, finally letting go of the boy’s hand, but walking towards the woman instead. “We cut their hands off. Do ye want that, little lass?”

Angus had had enough. He pushed himself off the wall where he had been leaning against, and he walked up to the merchant, pulling some coins out of his pocket and throwing them to his face.

“Here,” Angus said. “This is more than enough for the bread, so I think that the bairns can choose anything they want from yer cart, aye?”

Angus watched as the man scrambled to grab all the coins, his greedy fingers wrapping tightly around them. For a moment, when the merchant looked at him, he seemed as though he was going to refuse, but when he saw the sword that was strapped onto Angus’ belt, as well as the look on his face, he simply nodded.

“Fine,” he said. “But do it quick.”

The children glanced at Angus, as though they were waiting for his permission, and he gave it to them with a sweeping gesture. It was all that they needed before they squealed in delight and began to stuff their pockets and fill their hands with food.

Then, Angus turned to look at the young woman who had so selflessly put herself in danger for the sake of those two children. As the Laird of the clan MacMillan, Angus had met many people before. He had met people who were rich and could afford to help the poor but didn’t, he had met people who were poor and shared their food with others, and he had met people who were good and kind, but he didn’t think he had ever met a person who would have ever taken the blame for a crime so that they could save someone else.

He couldn’t help but wonder about the woman, who she was and what had prompted her to intervene when she did and the way that she did; he couldn’t help but wonder why she looked so much like Vika.

Perhaps it was his brain playing tricks on him, Angus thought. Vika had never left his thoughts, after all, not even after he married his now-deceased wife, not even after he planned a future with her, one that was never meant to be.

“Thank you,” the woman said before Angus could say anything to her. “You’re very kind, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t paid him. I’m so foolish . . . I forgot my coins at home, and I didn’t have time to get them. I thought that that man would hurt those children.”

Instead of speaking, Angus simply stared at the woman, tilting his head to the side a little as he did. She certainly didn’t sound like she was from Knapdale or the Highlands at all. In fact, she hardly sounded like anything, a medley of different accents, and the more Angus tried to figure out where she came from, the more he made his head hurt.

The woman must have been used to such a reaction, though, Angus thought, because she simply smiled at him, instead of demanding to know why he was staring at her like that.

“Thank you, again,” the woman said, as she turned her gaze to the two children, who had filled up their pockets with as much food as they could carry. She smiled at them, but it was a sad smile, and Angus couldn’t help but share her pain. “It’s no wonder that they are starving . . . when the Laird doesn’t care for his people, this is what happens. The people starve, and they fall ill, and they die.”

“The Laird?” Angus asked, rather dumbly. “Ye think that the Laird doesnae care about his people?”

“You think that he does?” the woman asked, instead of answering his question, but it was all the answer that Angus needed. “Look around . . . look at all the people who can’t afford to eat or have a roof over their heads, and then you’ll see that the Laird is no good. The people are suffering, and where is he? Does he care? It’s no wonder that everyone thinks he’s gone mad.”

Angus opened his mouth slightly, as though he was about to speak, but no words came out. What was he supposed to say to her, after all? Was he supposed to defend himself? Was he supposed to agree with her? Angus had never thought that there were people in his lands who couldn’t afford to eat or to have a proper house where they could live, and hearing that that was the case shook him to his core. If he had known earlier, he would have done his best to keep all his people safe and fed, he would have done anything to ensure that they wouldn’t fall ill or go hungry at nights. It gave him no pleasure, knowing that the very people that he had sworn to protect suffered under his rule.

Then there was the added insult to the wound. He had heard the rumors that everyone whispered about his back, claiming that he was a madman. He had even heard people whom he considered to be close to him, people that he thought he could trust, wonder if Angus harbored such hatred for his wife and their child that he was the cause of their death, rather than the childbirth. He had heard some of his own men swear that they had seen him kill his own new-born child, just because she was a girl.

Angus had tried to pay no attention to all the rumors, but they seemed to have reached the edges of his land, and the last thing he needed was for his subjects to think he was a deranged murderer.

Still, he could hardly defend himself without the woman and everyone around them, realizing who he was.

“What else do they say about the Laird?” Angus asked, unable to stop himself. He needed to know what people were saying about him, even if knowing would sting.

“Are you not from these lands?” the woman asked him, and Angus hesitated, but she didn’t seem to be waiting for an answer, thinking that her assumption was correct before she continued. “Well, some, like my uncle, insist that he’s a good man, but others . . . others say that he will ruin the clan. They don’t trust him.”

Angus hummed to himself, trying to show indifference, though judging by the fists that were clenched by his sides, he doubted he had any success.

“I canna say I ken the man, but a Laird is a Laird for a reason,” Angus said. “If people didnae trust him, then he wouldnae be their Laird.”

“Tayvallich is too far away from the castle,” the woman pointed out. “The people here are helpless. They can’t rise up against the Laird. Just his guards are enough to destroy this entire village.”

“And ye?” Angus asked. “What do ye think?”

The woman hesitated for a moment. She opened her mouth, but then closed it again, as though she changed her mind before she spoke.

“I trust my uncle,” she said. “He is a clever man, a wise man. If he believes in the Laird, then I’d like to believe in him, too.”

Angus’ chest felt tight, then, for a reason he couldn’t explain. Simply hearing the woman, a stranger, put her faith in him made the air leave his lungs, and it felt as though something invisible inside him was expanding, filling up his chest with pressure.

“Sometimes, it’s hard, though,” the woman added then, making Angus deflate once more. “When I see the people in this village go hungry and fall ill, knowing that the Laird does nothing for them, it’s hard to believe in him.”

Angus bit down hard on his bottom lip, and he clasped his hands behind his back to try and hide the fact that they were shaking ever so slightly. He had to do something. He had to save his people and ensure that they would never go hungry again, that they would not suffer under his rule.

“Weel . . . I ken one thing,” he told the woman. “Everything will be better soon.”

The woman looked at him then, a small, curious yet fond smile on her lips.

“I hope it will.”, the woman said, and then, she leaned closer and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek, leaving him flustered and blushing, the blood rushing immediately to his head.

With that, she was gone, and Angus was left alone, watching her as she walked away. Then, he decided to leave, too, and head back to the castle. He didn’t want to avoid his responsibilities anymore, and he didn’t wish to waste more time, whether that meant roaming around the market in Tayvallich or doing anything else that took time away from helping his people.

If he was going to save the people who called his land their home, he needed to get to work.

Chapter 2

Ishbel kept thinking about the stranger at the market on the way to the cottage, where she lived with her uncle. He was not from the village, that much she knew, and she couldn’t help but wonder what had brought him there and whether she would see him again.

She had to admit that his kind gestured had warmed up her heart. Ishbel relied heavily on first impressions, and the man had made a very strong one on her, one that made her want to see him again, and perhaps talk to him a little more.

She had had to leave, though, a little sooner than she would have liked. She had to return and grab some money if she were to purchase food for the week.

When she got to the cottage, she was greeted by her uncle, who was carrying firewood inside the house.

“Yer back already, lass?” Cormag asked as he kicked the front door of the house open so that they could both go inside. “I didnae expect ye so soon. Where is the food?”

Ishbel closed the door behind them and followed Cormag to the fireplace, where she helped him with the wooden logs. “I forgot the money, uncle,” she said. “I’ll hurry back, and I’ll bring everything that we need.”

“Ach, ye’d lose yer head if it weren’t on yer shoulders,” Cormag said, though he sounded fond rather than upset. He smiled at Ishbel, reaching over to ruffle her hair, much to her dismay. Her frustrated grunts of disapproval always made him laugh. “So . . . did ye find yer way around the market?”

“It’s not that hard, uncle,” Ishbel pointed out. “Clermont is much bigger than Tayvallich.”

Ishbel spoke the name of her hometown with a soft sigh, one that Cormag didn’t seem to miss. He dusted off the dirt from the logs off his hands, and then placed one on Ishbel’s shoulder, making her look at him.

“You miss it,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. Still, Ishbel nodded, confirming Cormag’s suspicions. “Lass . . . if ye dinnae like living in Tayvallich—”

“Don’t say any more,” Ishbel interrupted him, shaking her head. “Tayvallich is my favorite place in the world, and do you know why? Because you’re here, uncle. Yes, I love France, and sometimes I miss home more than I think I can handle, but I would never dream of leaving you here alone.”

“I’m not alone,” Cormag said.

Ishbel didn’t need to inquire to know what Cormag meant. Sure, Vika was staying at a monastery close to Tayvallich, but Cormag hadn’t seen her ever since Laird MacMillan had placed her there after she had broken his heart and conspired against his childhood friends. As her father, it was no wonder that Cormag wanted to stay near her, even though Ishbel knew that he felt guilty on her behalf.

Besides, he still had another daughter; he still had Vanora, and he could have gone to live with her when she married Laird Cameron, but he was too stubborn to admit that he needed the company.

Cormag had refused to follow Vanora to the Cameron clan, simply because he wanted to be close to Vika, as well as to Laird MacMillan, even though he was not the clan’s General anymore.

It was the guilt that didn’t allow him to move on, Ishbel thought, but if it was enough to keep Cormag there, then he was enough for Ishbel to stay there, too.

“Uncle . . . after mama died, all I wanted was for someone to be with me,” Ishbel said. “I had no one but you. I may have only arrived in Tayvallich, but you’ve already done more than enough for me. Now let me help you, without telling me that I should go back to France, non? I like it here, I promise. Perhaps I’ll even grow to love it.”

Ishbel knew her uncle well enough to know that he was still worried about her, but he didn’t try to push her any further, and for that, Ishbel was grateful. She hated talking about Clermont, because it brought her to tears more often than not, and the last thing she wanted was for Cormag to see her cry.

“Alright, alright . . . as long as yer happy,” Cormag said. “But ye’ll let me ken if yer ever unhappy here, aye?”

“Aye,” Ishbel said, trying to imitate Cormag’s accent and earning a smile from him for her efforts. The two of them stayed quiet for a few moments before Cormag went back to fussing over the logs and the fire that he had lit in the fireplace. Ishbel watched him, and she had the unstoppable urge to ask a question that she knew she shouldn’t be asking.

“Do you miss her?”

Cormag froze, then, and Ishbel could see every muscle in his body tensing, as though he was prey that had just been spotted by a wild animal. It was a sensitive question, Ishbel knew, but she also knew that the less Cormag talked about it, the worse it would be for him in the long term.

There was no point in avoiding sorrow; it always caught up in the end.

“Which one?” Cormag asked, instead of answering the question. “Vanora? Vika? Their mother?”

“Any,” Ishbel said. “All.”

“All,” Cormag said with a heavy sigh, as though all the air left his body at once. “I miss them all verra much, but it is what it is, Ishbel. Vanora is happy, and that is all that matters to me. Their mother . . . weel, I’m an old man, it willnae be long until I meet her again, ye ken that.”

“And Vika?” Ishbel asked, unable to restrain herself.

Cormag stopped poking the fire and instead walked to the table, taking a seat. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, before his hand came to settle over his face, the pads of his fingers rubbing his eyes hard.

Cormag was rarely anything other than cheery, with an attitude to life that could make even the worst cynic smile, and yet there he was, looking like a broken man right in front of Ishbel’s eyes.

She wished she could take his pain away. She wished that she could carry the burden for him, that she could help him even a little, but she didn’t fool herself; there was nothing that she could do. She could only hope that her presence made Cormag’s days a little brighter, she could only hope that she could bring some cheer back to his life.

“Ye look verra much like her, ye ken,” Cormag said eventually. “Ye have yer father’s hair and his eyes, but ye got everything else from this side of the family. Sometimes I look at ye, and I think . . .”

Cormag’s voice trailed off, and he began to stare out of the window, at the horizon. It wasn’t the first time that Ishbel had been told about her resemblance to her cousin, as everyone used to tell her so when she was a child. It was the first time that she had heard about it ever since she had found out about Vika’s despicable actions, though, and so it was the first time that it bothered her that she resembled her.

She didn’t want anyone to think that she was like her cousin in any way. Just the thought of Vika and everything that she had done to Laird MacMillan and the people around him made her stomach churn, even though she wasn’t particularly fond of the man, much to her uncle’s displeasure.

Despite having given up his position as the General in his old age, Cormag would always stand by his Laird.

“Weel . . . it doesnae matter,” Cormag said, suddenly once again bright as a sunny day. It was a façade, but it was a good one, one that no one would see unless they knew Cormag as well as Ishbel did. “Didnae ye say that ye’ll go back to the market, lass? Off with ye, go and get what ye need for the week.”

Ishbel’s hand found its way on Cormag’s shoulder as she walked by him, and she gave him a quick pat before she made her way to the door. Before she could leave, though, she stopped and turned around to look at him once more.

“Uncle . . . do many strangers come here, to Tayvallich?” she asked. “It doesn’t seem like the kind of place that invites visitors.”

Cormag frowned, a hand coming up to scratch as his beard. “Visitors? No . . . no, we dinnae get visitors here. Sometimes, there’s a traveler that stops to rest, and sometimes there’s men that come here from the castle, but I havenae seen visitors in Tayvallich ever since I came here. Why?”

“I’m only curious.” Ishbel shrugged, her curiosity about the strange man piqued once more. “There was this man at the market . . . I know that he is not from here. I’ve already met everyone in Tayvallich, and he wasn’t one of them.”

“What man?” Cormag, protective as always of his niece, almost growled the question, as though he was preparing to fight the man before he even knew what he had done to capture Ishbel’s attention.

“Simply some man, uncle,” Ishbel said, giving the man a fond smile. “Don’t worry so much, or you’ll turn old before your time.”

“I’m already old, lass,” Cormag pointed out. “I was born with more hair than I have on my head the noo. Whoever the man was, he must have been a traveler. Perhaps he was going up to the castle, I dinnae ken. Why are ye asking?”

“He did a good deed,” Ishbel said, unwilling to give Cormag any more information. If he found out about how she had put herself at risk, he was certain to be furious at her, and Ishbel didn’t want to upset him. “I was simply wondering if I would see him again to thank him properly.”

Ishbel had already thanked the man, of course, but she couldn’t tell Cormag the real reason why she wanted to see him again. Tayvallich had several men, but none of them were as noble or as well-spoken as him. No one else had stood up for her, after all, when she had tried to help the children. All the other men in the market had simply watched, leaving Ishbel to her fate.

The man had been the only one who had managed to stir something deep inside her just with his looks and that simple act of kindness ever since Ishbel had gotten to the village, with his blue eyes and the day-old scruff on his face, the broad shoulders that he carried and that gentle heart of his.

Perhaps Ishbel should have talked to him a little more, in hindsight. Then again, if he truly was a traveler, then she could hardly allow herself to be with him, not when she had promised herself to be there for her uncle. The only way that she would leave Tayvallich was if Cormag left first.

Just as she was about to leave once more and head back to the market, Cormag stopped her.

“Dinnae forget the coins this time, lass,” he reminded her, and Ishbel cursed quietly under her breath –never loudly enough for Cormag to hear her –before she grabbed her little pouch full of coins and headed out.

The day seemed to be getting worse as the time passed, Ishbel noticed, looking up at the sky and seeing the storm that was over Knapdale rapidly approaching Tayvallich. It would be a cold night, but then again, ever since she had gotten to the village, she had never experienced any warmth other than the warmth of a fire.

It was what she missed the most about Clermont. She missed the sun on her skin, warm and comforting, she missed the bright days and the night sky that was unmarred by clouds, revealing all its stars and constellations to her. She missed walking without mud caking her shoes and soiling the hem of her dress, and she missed the buzzing of the bees around the flowers that lined the streets.

It was a train of thought that would get her nowhere, Ishbel thought. It was better to not think about such things, and instead focus on what was ahead of her. After her mother’s death, there was no debate in her mind about whether she should move to Tayvallich, as Cormag was the only family that she had left, save for her two cousins. A life in Clermont would be more exciting, perhaps, but what good was excitement if she had no one to care for and who would care for her?

As Ishbel walked through the village, heading to the market, she looked around and noticed things that she had missed before. Flowers were growing there, too; they were weeds, it seemed, but that didn’t make them any less beautiful. The people around her may have been simple peasants, but they were kind people, their eyes wrinkled by a lifetime of laughter. There was barely any sun, but the silvery grey above her was the same sky that was over Clermont. That night, she would see the same stars and the same moon, and perhaps it would feel a little more like home.

Ishbel grinned to herself as she walked by the merchant who had threatened her and the two children earlier, but she had no desire to taunt him. She simply bought all the goods that she needed, and then made her way back home, her arms full of flour and salt.

Once she was back home, she made supper for her and Cormag, just like she did every night, as even though Cormag was a more decent cook than she was, he insisted that she needed the practice. Then, the two of them played chess until Cormag simply could not keep his eyes open any longer. Ishbel retired to her own chambers, and then she looked up at the sky through her window.

It seemed to have cleared up during the night, and now she could see the moon shining brightly over the village. Ishbel pulled a chair by the window and sat there, letting the gentle breeze in as she gazed at the stars.

It was, indeed, the same sky.

Ishbel gazed at it, her thoughts wandering to the man that she had met earlier that day. There was something about him, something that drew her to him.

Something that made her decide to search for him.

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

Chapter 1

Jane Baxendale relaxed into the comfort of her carriage seat, choosing to disregard the glares of her governess. Mary Barton scoffed her displeasure, hands folded in her lap and back perfectly straight, as she shook her blonde head.

“You are off to be married, and yet you still disregard the simplest of my teachings. A lady never slouches!” Mary said, the displeasure evident in her voice.

Jane had seen the scolding coming but deserved to relax as her mind was swimming with questions and doubt.

“It is but the two of us in this carriage, Mary; besides, I fear I might be sick if I do not find myself some form of respite,” she responded, causing Mary to press her lips together but say nothing in retort.

As Mary had mentioned, she was off to be married, being sent by her father to her betrothed in the Highlands: Laird William of Clan Mackenzie. She was nervous and worried, despite her innate curiosity. She wanted to see the Highlands. She wasn’t going to see the sights, however, but marry a man she had never met.

She knew that he was not old, her father had been considerate enough about that, but she knew nothing of his character and wondered if he would be of calm countenance or if he would turn his face in anger to her. She worried her lip as she thought. Would she find him attractive? It was essential if there was to be an atom of romance between them. She couldn’t face a life devoid of romance.

Her father, Captain John Baxendale, had left his station in Inveraray to meet at their manor, giving the news of her impending marriage. Her first emotion had been surprise. Her father was a very ambitious man, and she had known that the chances of a political marriage were rather high, but had not expected to be sent to the Highlands.

Scotland! – a foreign place, with different customs and people leading a different way of life. She felt as if she had been thrown into the deep sea, given that she knew nothing of what to expect. Slouching further in her seat, she glanced at Mary by force of habit but looked away when the woman stayed quiet. Mary seemed to understand her fears and was allowing her the slight indulgence to do as she pleased before being thrust unprepared into her duties.

Marriage to the Laird of the Mackenzie clan would help her father strengthen his position with the crown. Or at least, that was what he hoped to achieve with the union. She wanted to help her father, of course, and she had known for a long time that it would happen by marriage. It was not that she was attracted to any of the noblemen in England anyway, so perhaps a Highlander was best.

She had just finished reassuring herself when the carriage lurched to a stop, and in the absence of the noise from her party’s movement, she could hear the sound of steel clanging against steel. She sat up immediately, even as Mary’s face registered concern, and she met her gaze.

People are fighting outside, is it my men?

Her question was answered when Adam, the leader of her entourage, rode back to her carriage window. She moved the curtains aside so that she could see him properly.

“I am sorry for the disturbance, Miss, but there is a skirmish ahead with what appears to be bandits attacking three Scotsmen,” he explained, swaying slightly as his horse marched on the spot as though excited by the conflict.

Jane’s eyes widened at the news, even as the concern drained from Mary’s expression, and she went back to sitting stoically. She worried her lip, wondering if they should get involved. Bandits were a menace everywhere, and if it were her party in trouble, she would wish for help. However, it was unwise to get involved without thought.

Although I want to help, it could also be a ruse, and all the parties involved might be bandits waiting to attack a good Samaritan.

“The Scots are outnumbered, and I believe they bear the colors of the Mackenzie clan,” Adam added, causing her to raise her head to look at him again.

‘Mackenzie’ was the clan she was to be married into! Although she might have chosen to help out of the goodness of her heart, Adam’s words decided it.

“Do we try to go around them, or should we step in, Miss?” Adam asked, although her face probably gave her answer.

“Help them, Adam,” she ordered.

Immediately he gave a small bow and turning to the guards behind, gave a signal. Four guards rode past from behind them, but she knew that two would remain behind to protect the carriage. Adam gave another bow before leaving to join in the fray of the battle.

Her guards were some of the best, having been trained by her father for their purpose. They were loyal and treated well in her father’s household. She knew they would protect her and ably perform the task. Mary said nothing, and Jane wondered if the governess approved of her orders or not. It did not matter, as Mary held no sway in that respect, but she was sure that helping those with the colors of her soon-to-be husband’s clan was the right choice.

As she expected, it was not long before the sounds of battle died down, and Jane smiled to herself. Her party had subdued the enemy, and as the future Lady of the Mackenzie clan, she was already helping her people. The carriage moved forward a little before stopping again, and she was just in time to hear Adam yelling at the Scots.

“You ungrateful bastards! Is this how you speak to people who help you?!” she heard Adam’s angry voice. Her smile fell and contorted into a frown of confusion. Adam was a calm person, so he would not be incensed without good reason. What could have gone wrong?

“I dinnae remember askin’ fer help from ye English shites! What should I be grateful fer when ye stepped into our fight uninvited? Now ye want to make me lick yer feet in thanks? We would have been fine on our own if ye had gone on yer way.” An unfamiliar voice responded in the harsh accent of the Highlanders. Her expression frosted over as rage sparked in her chest from the stranger’s rudeness.

“We should have just left you to face your lot on your own! I only acted on the magnanimous order I was given, but if I knew what a waste it would be, we would have saved our energy.” Adam spat, causing the rude Scot to laugh derisively.

“Magnanimous, ye say? Och, ye English love to make yerselves feel righteous! As though yer Lord or whoever’s in that carriage cared about me truly. Let him come out here and tell me that he didnae simply dae it out o’ self-righteousness with the expectancy of some thankful bootlickin’,” the Scot retorted.

Furious, Jane stepped down from the carriage, surprising Adam, who had been standing beside his horse right in front of the carriage doors.

“Miss!” Adam exclaimed in surprise as she stepped around him, turning her furious gaze to the antagonists. The first man her eyes met did not seem to be the speaker as he looked sheepish and avoided her gaze. Out of the three men, it was the one in the middle who was the culprit. Despite her rage, her heart staggered at the sight of him. Being so used to the clean-cut handsomeness of English noblemen, she was unprepared for the wild ruggedness of the man that stood before her.

He was handsome enough to steal the breath from her lungs, standing a few inches taller than Adam, his frame large and full of brute strength. His long brown hair was flying untamed around his chiseled face, and his dark eyes were so deep that she would gladly lose herself in them, if not for the disdain in his gaze. She glared at him as her rage returned.

Who is this rude character?!

“It is not a Lord, but a Miss who now regrets extending such a generous hand of aid to a group of unscrupulous Scots. That you would be so boorish as to be rude to those who assist you is bad enough, but to think you would leave such a distasteful impression on foreigners is disgraceful. You are lower in moral standards than the bandits we just fended off,” she said haughtily, causing the Scot to look taken aback and gape like a fish at her onslaught. Satisfied, she turned to Adam, who gave her a bow.

“I apologize for making you and the men waste your efforts on such a miscreant,” she added, heading back into the carriage, leaving Adam wide-eyed and the annoying Scot standing aghast with his jaw open.

“Please, allow our party to continue the journey and forget this unfortunate incident,” she ordered. Adam gave another quick bow, rushing to carry out her orders as she settled back into her seat. Her heart was pounding with excitement, despite her anger. Perhaps it was that she was pleased to have wiped the disdain from his face and replaced it with shock.

Such a sour and unpleasant man.

She heard the sound of horses and peeked out through the carriage window to see the Scots riding off. She sneered at their retreating forms, wondering who they were. She had seen their colors, and they were undoubtedly men from the Mackenzie clan. She hoped that they were not all like that, although she wasted no time in putting that man in his place.

His face flashed in her mind again, and she leaned back in her seat as her heart pounded. Despite his horrible demeanor, he was quite handsome. She wondered if the Laird would be as attractive. The carriage began to move again, and she finally noticed the small smile on Mary’s face.

“What is it?” she asked, eyeing her governess out of the corner of her eye. Mary smiled wider.

“That was very eloquent. You put that man in his place quite well and also dismissed him. That was truly ladylike,” she praised, causing Jane’s brow to rise.

“Well, thank you, Mary, it is a product of your tutelage,” Jane said, praising Mary in turn and allowing them to fall into a comfortable silence for the rest of the ride.

Mary was to educate the children that Jane would eventually bear as well as keep her company. She had known Mary her whole life and felt the woman was something of a mother to her. Jane did not even remember her own mother, who had died when she was young, so all she knew was the governess. Although Mary could be strict and taciturn, she still gave Jane a feeling of warmth with her presence.

They arrived at the castle in the late afternoon, and Jane took a few deep breaths to calm herself while the footman opened the carriage doors for her. She glanced at Mary, finding strength in the gray eyes of her governess and lifted herself out of the carriage with all the grace she could muster.

She came face to face with her betrothed for the first time. He gave her a smile that seemed bittersweet and a bowed, taking her fingers and kissing them.

“Welcome to the Mackenzie clan castle, Miss Baxendale. I am William Abernethy, the Laird, and I am pleased to meet me betrothed.”

He was a very handsome man, Jane noted. His hair was blonde and looked softer than silk, the way it was tied loosely from his face, and his eyes were hazel with golden specs when the light hit them at a certain angle. He looked like an angel but did not make her breath stop as it had with the rude Scot. She bit back a confused frown and, instead, gave him a deep curtsy and smiled.

“It is an even greater pleasure to meet you, my Laird,” she answered as she straightened back up. For a few seconds, they exchanged pleasant smiles and looked each other over, before the maids appeared to retrieve her things.

“Ye will be taken to yer chambers, and the maids will help ye settle in. I ken I should take ye around meself, but please, bear with me. Today is the day of the feast fer the Clan Mackenzie’s one-hundredth anniversary to power,” he explained.

Jane nodded in understanding even before he finished. “Oh,” she said.

“Aye, ’tis a busy day fer the clan and me. I’m sorry to make this meetin’ after yer arrival so rushed. I will dae me best to make it up to ye another time,” William added. Jane was already nodding in agreement.

“Certainly, certainly, I understand, of course, please do not worry about me. Thank you for your hospitality. I will see you at the feast.”
He gave her another polite smile, and she returned it before following the maids with Mary. He meant no harm and seemed to be a genuinely pleasant and gentle person, but she could not help feeling uncomfortable and unwelcome as she was ushered into a lavish chamber as the maids fussed and arranged her things.

It seemed he did not take to her, just as she did not take to him. If he had found her exciting, he certainly would have wanted to spend more time with her, regardless of what he had to do. More importantly, she would have wanted to spend more time with him if attracted to him, but she was not. If their first meeting was anything to go by, their marriage would be one of mutual respect and perhaps even friendship.

Mary was expertly directing the maids while Jane lost herself in thoughts. All she wanted was to take a long and relaxing bath to prepare herself mentally for the feast ahead. If she could, she would try to figure out why she felt no attraction for her betrothed. He certainly looked like an angel, but instead, she had been attracted to the rude devil she had met on the way.

Chapter 2

Alastair Bain adjusted the sash over his coat more violently than was necessary, his fingers moving according to the level of his irritation, taking it out on his clothing.

“This bloody thing willnae stay put!” he muttered darkly, all but ready to rip the cloth in half.

His fingers began digging into the cloth to tear it when Lain Darrow stepped in. Lain pried his fingers from the sash and helped him arrange it.
Lain was heir to the recently deceased Head Advisor of the clan and a close friend of Alistair.

“There, there, calm yerself now. Ye dinnae have to take out yer frustrations on yer poor garments,” Lain said, his voice teasing as always.

Alastair rolled his eyes at his ever playful friend in mild annoyance. Lain was right; he was taking out his frustrations on his clothing, but he did not care. Of course, he was upset. It was supposed to be a merry day for the clan Mackenzie, but it had started horribly.
He had been returning that morning from the outskirt villages of the clan where two attacks from unknown raiders had taken place, killing young men and attacking the farms. Word had been sent to the castle, and he had gone to investigate with two of his men. It had been slightly worrisome, but he had already decided to solve it by requesting that William send a few extra soldiers to defend the border villages.

The first tragedy had struck on the way when he and his men suddenly found themselves surrounded by an ambush of twenty bandits. He would have won, he knew, although he would not leave the skirmish unscathed. He had already been cursing in his head because, not only would he arrive late to the castle due to riding with injury, he would also be unable to attend the feast, even if he made it on time since William would force him to stay with the healer.

He had already been resigned to his fate, but then things had become more annoying. An English party appeared out of nowhere and began to help him. He would have been glad if it had been anyone else but the English. Looking at the prideful face of the head guard after he disarmed the last bandit, Alastair had lost control and snapped when the English guard had the guts to refer to him as a ‘comrade.’

He glowered at the memory. As though he could ever be comrades with the English. Their cruelty knew no bounds. The main carriage in the party had drawn close, and the last thing Alastair had expected was for its owner to be a lady, and a stunning one at that. Perhaps the fact that he had been expecting a fat old Lord made it all the more shocking; her beauty had hit him like lightning.

Her auburn hair caught his attention, blazing with red highlights when the sun was upon it. She had exited the carriage with so much grace, and he felt as though he stood before a queen. Her lips were full, and her neck was slender beneath her diamond-shaped face with cheekbones like cut-glass. Her green eyes were as beautiful as emeralds, and as she met his gaze, they were aflame with rage.

He had caught himself then, realizing that he was admiring an English woman. His anger at that moment had mostly been against himself, but he glared at her instead. What was wrong with him, thinking such things of the English? He was thrown off guard and incensed by his weakness. He was even more shocked when she did not cower but instead dealt him a harsh verbal blow.

It was even worse when she dismissed him as though he were but a child with no manners. His pride was smarting from the road to the castle. It continued to sting as he made his way to his chambers to wash, and it still had not stopped smarting now as he stood with Lain, getting dressed for the feast.

Lain smoothed out his outfit once more before stepping back before the mirror.

“See? Ye look almost as good as me now,” Lain preened.

Rolling his eyes, Alastair gave his friend an unamused look to which Lain only laughed. He glanced at their reflections in the huge mirror. He had allowed Lain to brush his hair after he bathed. That was as far as he would go to tame his locks, feast or not. With his hair back, his features stood out, and he frowned slightly. He looked almost like Lain, who the women flocked around; the only difference was his permanent scowl.

Lain was playful and possibly the biggest flirt in all of Scotland. His jet black hair was slick to his head, making his stark blue eyes catch attention from a mile away. By some sorcery, he managed to look both boyishly handsome and manly at the same time. William always joked that out of the three of them, Lain would attract women even in his old age.

“Ah, Alastair, me friend, being dressed by me hands today, ye just might get a woman in yer bed tonight,” Lain said.

Alastair gave him a sigh. “Ye should be aware that I am now considerin’ bundlin’ ye out of me window,” he threatened.

Lain guffawed, running out of the room hastily and allowing him to follow at his own pace as they headed for the feast. Just might get a woman in his bed? For some reason, Alastair could only picture the beautiful English woman telling him off for his rudeness. He shook his head.

It seems I’m goin’ mad. Perhaps I need some rest.

He came into the hall and found it already full of people. As expected, Lain was already surrounded by a flock of women. He rolled his eyes and searched for William’s blonde head amid the darker colors. It was always easy to spot William in a crowd as blondes were rare in the Highlands. It also helped that he was quite tall.

Finding him standing with two other Lairds in alliance with the clan, he made his way through the crowd to his best friend. He put his hand on William’s shoulder and made his presence known. William’s naturally soft gaze visibly lighted up with recognition as he looked to his friend.

“Ah, Alastair, ye have returned! I worried that ye wouldnae make it in time. When did ye leave the border villages?” William asked, lowering his voice at the last sentence.

“I only returned in the late afternoon; I left them this mornin’. Ye were nae in yer office, so I left me report and went to begin preparations fer the feast,” he responded.

Ending their exchange, he turned to include the other two in their conversation: the Laird of Lenord and the Laird of Ephimer. Alastair extended his hand for the allies to shake.

“It is good to see ye Laird Balfour, Laird Cargill. Always a pleasure to have ye on our lands,” he said.

The two Lairds smiled broadly, shaking his hand enthusiastically as they returned his greeting.

“It is always a pleasure to be on yer lands, Mr. Bain. We had been wonderin’ when ye would join the feast. It seems ye were on some special errands for yer Laird William here, eh?” Balfour said with a friendly laugh. Alastair smiled politely, neither confirming nor denying Balfour’s words.

“We always say how lucky William is to have such a trusted man on his side, ye ken. Ye are a Laird’s true right hand, and if I had one like ye, I would have nay troubles handlin’ Ephimer,” Cargill joined the praise.

Alastair gave a nervous laugh. At this point, he was feeling uncomfortable as he did not enjoy the conversation being centered around him, preferring to be in the background. William, knowing this, made efforts to leave the conversation.

“It’s so nice seein’ ye gentlemen, please get drunk tonight, the wine is abundant,” William said, smiling pleasantly. The other Lairds laughed rather boisterously, obviously satisfied with their plans for the evening ahead.

“Aye, aye! We shall drink ye dry today, Abernethy!” Cargill said, already headed for the wine.

“Remember that ye asked us to drink and dinnae complain if ye run out of wine early!” Balfour joked, joining his friend in search of wine.

William looked slightly amused as he watched them go before turning to Alastair.

“Tis a good thing they’re so easy to appease, aye?” he chuckled before moving on to more pressing matters. “How bad was the situation at the border villages? As bad as it said in the distress letter?”

Alastair felt his expression turn serious as he remembered the grass covered in blood and the bodies he’d helped to bury in the border villages. It felt strange how he’d been part of the grief and loss a mere day ago, and now he was back at the castle where everything seemed alright.

“Aye, me friend, it was indeed bad. Many young men were slaughtered in those villages. It seemed they just wanted the young men. Or perhaps those lads were the ones who resisted and paid for it with their lives. I took more time helping than I expected, which was why I only headed home this morning.”

His friend looked deeply disturbed as he considered this. William was a good Laird and cared deeply for his people. He hoped that he would be able to shrug off his sadness at the news of the attacks and not go about the rest of the feast gloomily. While they had run into some ill-timed trouble, the feast of celebration was necessary. The clan had been in power for a hundred years, and five of those had been under William’s prosperous rule.

“Dinnae despair me friend. The people have suffered a loss, but their spirit is nae broken. They were preparing to celebrate as well just this mornin’ before I left. Despite the losses, they are still strong, as they ken their Laird will protect them,” he assured his friend. William gave him a weak smile and tapped his shoulder.

Alastair worried, for William always looked like a tired lamb when he looked into his eyes. He was as calm and pleasant as ever, but there was a sadness that he had not seen for a long time, and he did not like it. He pointed it out to Lain, and even Lain had seen it, although he had immediately joked about how he should spend less time looking into William’s eyes, he knew that Lain worried too.

“Ye saw the situation with yer own eyes. What dae ye suggest I dae to help?” William asked him.

“Send a few more of our soldiers down to the border villages. There is only one outpost there since these villagers only produce enough to care for themselves, and nayone attacked them before.” Alastair added.

William nodded his agreement as Alastair considered how unsafe it was in the border villages. They were small and peaceful, and no one thought to attack them, so they were not rigorously guarded by the clan. They were barely taxed since they could only sustain themselves and nothing more. It was not expected that raiders would suddenly take an interest in slaughtering these people.

“The security in those parts is really lackin’, me friend. On the way back, me and me men were ambushed by a band of twenty bandits just as we left the border villages to take the road into the clan.”.

William’s eyes widened, and his grip tightened as he searched his friend for signs of injury.

“What?! Ye are nae injured are ye? By the gods, why are ye just tellin’ me this now? Dae ye need to see a healer?”

Alastair sighed, knowing that his friend would react that way and tried to calm him before he was carted out of the feast to a healer.

“Relax, William, I am alright. I hate to say it, but we were saved by an English party that was passin’ by. The English helped us take them down without issue,” he added darkly.
“Oh, nay…” William said, holding his hand to his head, “ye were awful to them, were ye nae?”

Alastair frowned defensively.

“Me? Awful? I will tell ye there was this horrible English witch…” he began, only for his words to dry on his tongue as he caught sight of the very woman.

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