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Chapter One

Spring 1690, on the road between Castle Keppoch and Achnacarry

Something is wrong.

Sofia MacDonald leaned over the side of the small, shallow-water ship she and her guards had hired for the crossing from Loch Lochy and stared quizzically at the currents and the shoreline that formed a small edge in the center of the horizon. Her gaze flicked up to the sails, flapping in a moderate breeze, then to the helmsman standing by the rudder. To the untrained eye, or the unobservant one, everything was as it should be.

Sofia, however, was neither untrained nor unobservant. As such, she was quite aware that the boat was drifting from the course she had requested. She had specifically requested a straight passage from Gairlochy across the loch to the fishing village of Killcarrigan, which was less than a day’s ride from the gates of Achnacarry Castle, the seat of Clan Cameron and home of her sister Catherine and her husband, Lord Aiden Cameron.

The boat had started out on that course, but now it was drifting on a diagonal path that would land them well out of Cameron territory. The change was subtle, but Sofia was not a fool, and she was well aware that the territory outside of her new kin-by-marriage’s lands was fraught with contention and enemies. The question was why.

“Me lady?” Tristan, her guard for the journey, stepped up beside her. “Is aught amiss?”

“We are drifting off course, and I dinnae ken why. Have ye any idea?” Tristan was familiar with the passage between Keppoch Castle and Achnacarry Castle. He would know if there was a reason for taking a circuitous route rather than the shortest path across the loch.

“Nay. I’ve seen nay sign o’ storms, or hard winds, an’ the water is clear enough – there’s nay shallows or submerged growth tha’ might hull the boat.” Tristan frowned. “I dinnae ken why we might be goin’ off course, but I’ll ask the captain, if ye wish.”

“Please.” It might be naething, but there was a warning ache in Sofia’s stomach that suggested something was amiss, and she had learned long ago not to dismiss such warnings.

Tristan nodded and made his way toward the foredeck. Sofia trailed behind him, curious to know what the captain of the boat might say in regard to their current situation.

The captain was a grizzled older Highlander, with hands roughened by work and weather, and the tartan of the Cameron clan decorating the sash across his chest. He turned inquisitive eyes in Tristan’s direction as the guard stepped up beside him. “Me laird? Is there somethin’ wrong? Daes the lady need aught?”

“Tha’s what I’m wonderin’.” Tristan tipped his head and regarded the captain with a cool, assessing gaze that Sofia had seen make younger warriors stiffen in their boots. “I want tae ken why we’re driftin’ off course, away from the Killcarrigan landin’ me lady asked ye tae make fer.”

The captain scoffed, adopting an expression of bemusement that didn’t quite hide the sudden tension in his shoulders, or the sharpening of his gaze as it flicked in Sofia’s direction. “Och, lad, I dinnae ken what ye mean. We’re driftin’ with the currents an’ in the right direction, sure enough. Mayhap land-walkers like ye an’ the lady might be confused, but trust an old water-hand tae ken what he’s about. We’re on course, an’ we’ll make Killcarrigan in good time.”

“Will we?” Tristan’s voice was bland, but Sofia was in a good position to note the tightness in his shoulders. She edged forward. Tristan was a good man, but he also had a volatile temper and little tolerance for anyone who might lie to him or treat him like a fool. The captain’s answer was exactly the type of response to stoke his temper to life, even if the captain himself didn’t notice.

“O’ course. Tae an old lake-dweller like meself, who’s captained a vessel on these waters fer years, there’s all manner o’ subtle landmarks. An’ o’ course, any man can read a compass.”

“Aye. An’ mine says we’re goin’ in the wrong direction.” Tristan’s voice was sharper now, and Sofia edged closer, knowing a confrontation was likely to erupt any moment. She wanted answers, but not if trying to get them put all of them in danger.

“Well, lad, all I can say is tha’ mayhap yer compass is broken. They dae go out o’ true sometimes.”

“Mayhap. But I dinnae think tha’ is the case.” That was all Tristan said, his voice soft and deadly, before he launched himself forward, a dirk appearing in his hand like magic as he shoved the captain up against the nearest rigging. “Land-walker I might be, but I’ve made this journey afore, many a time, an’ I ken the currents and the water well enough. We’re off course, an’ ye’ll be tellin’ me why, or I’ll put a dagger in yer throat, or yer gut.”

“Tristan, wait…” The warning came too late, as chaos erupted on the foredeck.

A sailor spotted the dirk in Tristan’s hand and lunged forward with a shout. Tristan slapped him aside with easy confidence, but that movement was enough for the captain to pull free of Tristan’s grasp and roar out “Treachery! Thieves! They’re tryin’ tae kill me an’ tak’ o’er the boat! They’re likely tae kill us all! Stop them!”

“Soldiers tae me! Protect the lady!” Tristan’s answering shout galvanized the guards, even as he tried to return to Sofia’s side, but it was too little, and too late. The sailors were up in arms, abandoning their tasks to pick up whatever weapons they could find. Those sailors who had not been working came boiling out of the small below-decks space, armed with knives, pikes, small axes and cudgels.

In seconds, Sofia’s guards were embroiled in a pitched battle with the sailors manning the small boat. The numbers were uneven, in favor of the sailors, but far worse, in Sofia’s opinion, was the terrain. Her guards were unused to fighting on the unsteady surface of an unmoored ship, whereas the sailors were in their element.

Sofia grabbed one of the steerage poles, ready to defend herself. A sailor lunged at her, clearly hoping to take her as a hostage to force Tristan and the other three guards to surrender. Sofia hit him in the gut with an awkward swing of the pole and knocked him down, then shoved clumsily at another man who darted in her direction.

The second man went down, but not before a third managed to catch her in a vise-like grip, pinning her arms to her sides. Sofia thrashed and tried to hit him with the pole, but he was far too close, and his control soon allowed another man to step in close and wrench the pole from her hands.

She looked up just in time to see Tristan fall, stabbed in the chest, by the captain. The last of her guards succumbed a second later, toppling over the rail of the ship with a faint groan, blood streaming from what was most certainly a fatal wound.

She was alone. She fought back tears as the captain approached her. “Why would ye do this? I paid ye fairly.”

“Aye. But nae as much as the man who paid us tae deliver ye tae the coastline of Clan Grant’s territory.” A cruel smirk twisted the captain’s mouth. “’Twould have been better fer ye an’ yer men if ye’d never realized the boat was driftin’, but since ye did…”

He chuckled, and the sound was echoed by the sailors. Sofia bit the inside of her cheek and glared at him, unwilling to show her fear, or her sorrow for Tristan and his men. She would not give them that satisfaction.

After a moment, the captain turned away. “Bind her hands and secure her tae the aft rail.”

Sofia tried to struggle, but she was outmatched. Two men dragged her forward and pushed her to knees. One of them held her, and the other bound her wrists with a length of rope from the deck, which was then secured to the rail, pulled short enough that Sofia couldn’t rise to her feet without being horribly off balance.

For several long moments, all she could do was sit, huddled by the rail, her mind gone numb with shock and pain. Tristan’s face as he fell filled her thoughts, and Sofia swallowed back bile. She had seen her share of violence, but the coldness of the captain’s betrayal and the murder of her guards made her feel ill. Sofia breathed deeply and forced herself to focus on her situation.

She was a prisoner. Her allies were either dead or unable to help her. Unless she could find some way to escape, she would be delivered to the enemies of her family, to be used against her loved ones. She could not allow that to happen.

Chapter Two

The first thing Sofia did was attempt to free her hands from their bindings. Unfortunately, the sailors who had bound her had done their job well, with all the skill a sailor might be expected to have. The knots were beyond her ability to loosen, and the rope was secure enough that there was no chance of slipping free of it.

Nor were there any sharp objects nearby that could be used to cut the rope or fray it enough that her strength might snap it. In fact, the sailors had been dutiful about clearing away anything that she might have used to improve her situation.

Sofia swallowed against a feeling of despair.

If nay one kens what has happened, if I simply disappear… me sisters will search fer me, but even so… it might be days afore they guess me fate. Besides, who kens what me captor intends? What can I dae?

She was still trying to think of some way to escape, when a distant splash caught her attention. Curious, Sofia levered herself upright as far as she could, to peer over the ship’s rail.

There was another craft approaching, traveling on a course that would lead them within two boat-lengths of the shallow-bottomed ship she was held prisoner on. Hope surged through Sofia’s veins like a draught of whiskey. If she could just attract the attention of someone on that boat.

She waited until the other boat came closer, then grabbed the rail with her hands and shouted. “Help! Help! I’m bein’ tak’n prisoner! I’m being abducted! Help me! Please! Someone help me! These men are tryin’ tae steal me from me family! Help!”

There was a flash of movement, and for a moment, she dared hope… and then one of the crewmen strode up and shook her, before cuffing her on the back of the head and snarling with a voice like a wolf’s growl “Shut yer mouth, ye mad harpy, or we’ll shut it fer ye!”

His voice carried easily across the water, and Sofia saw the men on the other boat stiffen. Then the oarsman who had looked up turned back to his oar and her hope died, drowned like a candle wick doused by a bucket of water.

They hadn’t heard her. Or perhaps, they hadn’t understood her. Sound carried strangely over water, or so she had been told. Or perhaps the men of the other craft had been unable or unwilling to challenge the sailors on the larger craft.

Sofia forced the thought away before it could sink in and bring her true despair.

There were many reasons they might not have turned aside, but that was only one craft. The path they traveled across Loch Lochy was a well-used waterway. There would be others. Sofia settled in to wait, swallowing to ease the ache in her throat that came from shouting.

Within half a candle-mark, she heard splashing again. She peered between the rails of the craft. The boat appeared to be further from her own than the previous encounter, but even so, Sofia raised her voice. “Help me! These men are stealin’ me from me kinfolk! Help! Please! They’ve murdered me friends! Please… someone! Anyone! Help me!”

There was no sign that anyone had even noticed her cries this time, and Sofia felt her stomach clenching, her heart almost leaden with despair. Why was no one listening? Even if they could not hear her clearly, surely they could discern the sounds of someone in distress. Why did no one attempt to aid her?

Twice more, boats passed by her own, and twice, Sofia did her best to draw attention, struggling against her bonds and making as much noise as possible. Both times, her efforts were met with silence and disappointment.

I will not give up. I will struggle, and if God grants me opportunity, I will fight, and I will find a way tae escape.

After the last boat had passed, the captain came stalking over. “Enough o’ yer racket, lass.” He bent and seized her chin in a cruel grip. “These are neutral waters, girl, an’ there’s nary a man who will cause trouble with another, fer fear o’ upsettin’ the balance o’ power an’ bringin’ down trouble on his clan. All yer antics dae is weary yer throat, damagin’ yer value.”

He bent closer, his hot, stinking breath wafting across her face, underscoring the casual menace of his words. “I willnae tolerate any more o’ havin’ me boat shakin’ with yer twistin’ about. The next time ye misbehave, ‘twill go ill with ye. Ye’re at me mercy, lass, so think long an’ hard afore ye vex me further.”

With that, he released her face, then bent to tighten her bonds, leaving Sofia with aching cheeks and a pounding heart. Fear filled her blood, making her head ache with terror at the thought of what the captain and his men might do to her, if she pressed them too far.

One of the sailors came over and produced a filthy rag, which he then twisted into a gag and forced between her lips. Sofia clenched her teeth behind it and tossed her head to make it as difficult as possible for him to gag her, retching as the taste of tar and brackish water filled her mouth, the smell thick in her nostrils.

Sofia felt tears in her eyes and hurriedly ducked her head to wipe them away, using the opportunity to pull the gag loose by clenching it with her knees until she was sure she could spit it out and free herself at a moment’s notice. The sailors might think she was still gagged, but she would wait until the best moment to use her freedom to her advantage.

For a moment she wondered if perhaps it would be better tae wait she had been set on dry land, to then try to make her escape?

But a moment later, Sofia shook her head, anger replacing fear. Whoever had hired the captain and bribed him to go off course, they had clearly planned this kidnapping well. They would have men waiting to take custody of her, and those men would likely be as cautious as the captain, if not more so. She could not sit back and hope to find an opportunity on land, in the hands of her actual abductors.

Even if it meant risking the wrath of captain and crew, perhaps being beaten, or even keelhauled, she would continue her actions and pray for some sort of aid.

Even as she shored up her resolve, another boat came into sight. This one was a shallow-bottomed craft like her own, but smaller. There, standing by the railing near the rudder, stood a tall man, dressed in simple clothing, cloak and hood wrapped close against the chill.

The craft was on a course almost identical to theirs, and Sofia felt her heart jump in her chest as she realized the boats would come within mere feet of each other – perhaps no more than an oar’s length apart. It was the closest any craft had come yet.

She readied herself, steadying her nerves. As soon as she deemed the boat close enough, Sofia yanked the gag down to her throat, shoved herself upright as far as her bonds would allow, and screamed at the top of her lungs, so loudly her throat felt scraped raw by the force of her words. “Help me! Please, help! These men have murdered me friends, an’ they’re stealin’ me away! Please! I’ve been kidnapped! Help me!”

Time seemed to stop as the man looked up, revealing gray eyes, surrounded by the rugged, scarred countenance of a warrior, and a stern, angular face framed by dark, wind tousled hair. Their eyes met.

Then a crew man grabbed her by the shoulder and wrenched her around, before delivering a stunning blow to her right cheek, hard enough to send Sofia crashing to the deck. “Enough o’ yer caterwaulin!”

Sofia cradled her throbbing jaw, tears and flickering lights dancing in her eyes as she breathed through the pain. The boat moved away, and Sofia heard a splash, as if the man – or perhaps one of the sailors behind her, had thrown something overboard. Anguish filled her.

He had noticed her. She was sure the man had seen her. And yet…

A shadow flickered at the far end of the boat. Sofia blinked, then froze, watching as a man slipped over the aft deck of the boat, slipped on boots and belt, and started stealthily toward her.

It was the man from the other boat, the man whose eyes she’d met. Water was dripping from the ends of his dark hair and plastering his shirt to his well-muscled body. His movements were quick and quiet, graceful as a cat’s as he slid across the deck like an errant shadow. There was a long dirk in his hand, and his intense grey eyes were focused on her as he crept stealthily forward toward her.