Laughter and music echoed around the great hall of MacDuff Castle, the ball for Miss Sorcha MacDuff, the daughter of Laird MacDuff already in full swing. The great hall was swirling with color, men dressed in their clans’ colors, women dressed in elegant dresses, all of them prepared to make an impression upon the belle of the ball. It was still early in the evening, but the guests had all gathered, feasting and dancing and making merry, eager to have a moment alone with the young woman.

Not Willelm, though; Willelm was there for an entirely different reason.

The MacDuffs were responsible for the destruction of his clan. All those years of war, all those years of strife because Laird MacDuff wanted to control the borderlands between the two clans, and to do so, he had sent his men to burn and pillage, taking the people’s homes and sometimes even their lives.

Willelm had had enough. No matter how much he had tried to negotiate with the man, no matter how many times he had tried to reach out to him, he had never gotten a response. His forces were depleted, his resources were depleted, and his entire clan was suffering because of it, those who had survived the war now threatened with famine and illness. Soon, there would be nothing left of them. They would all be wiped off the face of the Earth, and in the end, they would be wiped from history too, lost in the depths of time.

So Willelm had to do something radical to get the man’s attention; something of which he wasn’t proud, but something that needed to be done nevertheless.

He would kidnap his daughter and use her for negotiations. That was the only way the laird would listen to him, and though it pained him to have to stoop so low, he would do anything for his clan.

Willelm watched the young woman as she strolled around the room, politely speaking to everyone who stopped her. She seemed far from happy to be there, though, even if she hid it well. Willelm could see it in the strain around her eyes and in her smile, the way her face fell whenever she thought no one was looking. Had no one else noticed but him? Everyone seemed more than happy to be around her, showering her in compliments and well-wishes, and nothing betrayed whether they noticed something was wrong.

Was it too stressful for her, he wondered? Did she feel the pressure of expectations as they mounted upon her shoulders?

She will never ken what it truly means tae struggle. She will never ken true strife.

The only way for her to know was if her family fell into the same kind of fate as his. But even then, she was the laird’s precious and beloved daughter, so she would be protected from the worst of it, from the death and the war and the pain.

Then again, Willelm didn’t wish her such a fate—he didn’t wish it on anyone, not even his biggest enemy.

The MacDuff girl was beautiful, even Willelm could admit that, although he held a certain dislike for her due to her lineage. Her father was responsible for all of his pain, for the pain of his people, and so disliking his daughter and everyone else in that room was a very easy task. But even so, as he watched her, Willelm couldn’t help but take in her brilliant green eyes, the delicate features of her face, the soft bow of her rosy lips. Her hair, golden under the light of the candles, seemed to have a glow of its own, like a halo around her head.

Just like everyone else, Willelm needed a moment alone with her, but not because he wished to speak to her and try to charm her. He just needed to get her away from all those people, somewhere private from where he could grab her and take her back to the estate where he and his brother, Rory, had set up their operations as they tried to fight back against the MacDuffs when they deemed their clan’s castle in Lochindorb was unsuitable, both because of its state and because it was their known home. Getting her alone, though, was proving to be a difficult task. With all those people there clamoring for her attention, he hadn’t had the chance and he didn’t know how he ever would.

He began to stroll around the room seemingly aimlessly, though his gaze never left the girl. It was a cavernous room, big enough to host all those clansmen and women, the tables, a large area upon which they danced, and so Willelm had a large area to exploit. He was using the room like a battlefield—avoiding certain places where people who knew him gathered, approaching from the sides, using every inch of space afforded to him. It was the only way to keep himself from appearing too suspicious, though he doubted anyone paid him much mind. They were all too busy looking for or talking to the MacDuff girl, and no one cared much about him.

He approached her slowly, making sure to exchange a few pleasantries with those around him—people who wanted to know who he was, a few who already did. Willelm wasn’t used to making public appearances like this. Though it was part of the life of a laird, his life as the leader of his clan was very different, demanding fighting and blood instead of dances and wine. It was better that way, he reasoned; it was better if very few people knew who he was, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Willelm found the MacDuff girl by a table, pouring herself some wine. He watched her for a few moments, taking in her long, blonde hair that glittered like gold under the light of the candelabras, the delicate lines of her arms as she poured the wine, the way her deep red dress clung to her waist and highlighted her curves. In that room, she shone like a precious stone, and Willelm could see why everyone was so desperate for even a moment of her time. It wasn’t just that this was her ball, one thrown in her honor—it was her inherent magnetism, something about her that drew everyone to her like moths to a flame.

Taking the opportunity to talk to her, he presented his cup to her with a small smile, only for her to give him a puzzled look.

“Would ye be so kind as tae serve me some, as well?” he asked. “Or at least hand me the pitcher?”

The corner of her mouth ticking up for a brief moment, Sorcha poured some wine into Willelm’s cup and he held it up in a toast. “May ye find whatever it is ye’re searchin’ here.”

A husband, Willelm knew. That was the only reason anyone threw their daughter such balls—that or coming of age events, and this was not the latter.

“Och, somehow I doubt I will,” Sorcha said, much to Willelm’s surprise. A short, sudden laugh was torn out of him. It wasn’t the kind of answer he had expected from a girl who seemed so polite and so proper, and she seemed to realize that a little belatedly, her cheeks heating under the light of the chandeliers. “Forgive me, I didnae mean tae insult ye.”

“Nae insult received,” he assured her. Out of everyone in that room, he was perhaps the worst match possible for her. “Perhaps ye could try yer luck at the other side of the room.”

As he spoke, Willelm pointed at a group of young men who were paying more attention to each other than they did to Sorcha, laughing and joking and looking at the other young women in the room. Sorcha followed his gaze and she chuckled, shaking her head.

“I’m sure they would all be great husbands, but I’m afraid I simply wouldnae be a good wife tae them,” she said.

“Och?” Willelm asked, suddenly intrigued. “An’ why is that?”

Sorcha gave him a small shrug. “Because I would feel inclined tae slap them every few minutes.”

Despite himself, Willelm barked out another laugh, one that echoed around the room and drew the attention of a few people around him. He quickly swallowed back the rest of it, clearing his throat and hoping that very few had noticed.

The more invisible he was in that room, the better. He had managed to stay invisible all this time; he would not draw attention on him now.

Next to him, Sorcha smiled, a teasing, amused thing, and for a moment, Willelm had the wild thought that if their circumstances were different, he would be fighting for her hand.

But she was the daughter of his enemy and he wasn’t there to find a wife; he was there to find leverage.

“That would, indeed, make ye a terrible wife,” he agreed. “But a clever woman. Sometimes violence is necessary.”

“Dae ye truly think that?” Sorcha asked him, her brows knitting together as she turned her gaze to him.

It sounded like an honest question and Willelm found himself suddenly and oddly embarrassed to be nodding in agreement. “Aye… o’ course I dae.”

In response, Sorcha only hummed thoughtfully, as if she was considering his answer. In the end, though, she only gave him another smile, this time a polite one that he felt compelled to return, if only to keep up appearances.

“Well, I prefer peace meself,” she told him as she began to wander off, leaving him behind by that table. “Enjoy yer night.”

With that, she was gone, disappearing into the crowd, and Willelm followed her with his gaze until he could no longer spot her. She was gone in the sea of people, and they closed in around her, obscuring his view of her. He would find her again soon enough, he knew; it was his job, keeping an eye on her and knowing where she was at all times.

Outside the castle, his men waited for his signal. Once he gave it, they would come with him and help him take Sorcha back to the estate, where he would keep her until her father was ready to cooperate. It was a shame, he thought, that such a seemingly lovely young woman was Laird MacDuff’s daughter, but despite their brief, yet pleasant, interaction, he was certain she was otherwise insufferable.

She had to be; she was related to a monster.

Willelm dragged his gaze to the man himself, who was sitting with his wife at the head table, enjoying the night. He was dressed in his clan colors, wearing them proudly, and Willelm felt a wave of revulsion crash over him, bile rising to the back of his throat and leaving a bad taste in his mouth. How could Laird MacDuff sit there, so joyous and seemingly innocent, when every day he murdered innocent people? How could he throw such lavish balls, invite all those nobles to his home, and pretend to be the perfect host when he gave the orders for Willelm’s lands to be burned?

He couldn’t understand it, but he didn’t need to. All he needed to do was put an end to it, once and for good.

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