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Prologue

“I hope that’s enough for the journey,” Thora MacLeod considered the pack on her bed. She’d packed lightly – just two changes of clothing and some food – in the hope that she wouldn’t be gone all that long.

Deep down, she knew it wouldn’t be that simple. It never was, where her gift was concerned. Even so, she could no longer turn away from what she now knew.

With one last sigh, she shouldered her pack and went to the bedside table, to lay a letter on the surface, her brother’s name written in bold script across it. In it she kept certain details vague, for her family would know why. Certain things could not be put in writing, and they would understand well enough.

Tae Domhnall, and the rest o’ me kin,

I apologize fer leaving directly after Kai’s wedding, fer I ken ‘tis discourteous in the extreme. However, there is something that I must dae, and I couldnae delay, nae if I wish tae see it done properly.

I saw a way earlier today tae help our clan, but the time tae act is short and the path is nae an easy one. Unfortunately, ‘tis also one I must walk alone, or I willnae succeed in my endeavors. I cannae tell ye why, I only ken that it is so.

Trust that I am safe and will be well. I wish that I could tell ye more, but ye might want tae come after me, and I cannae permit that, fer I would fail surely if I was delayed or if someone accompanied me. Fer that reason, I cannae tell ye where I am bound, nor who it is I seek.

I will write with news as soon as I may, though it may be some time, depending on how things occur. In the meantime, please ken that I love ye all, and I wish ye well. I pray fer yer safety every day, as I ken that ye will keep me in yer thoughts during me absence.

I pray I will see ye soon.

With Love,

Thora

The letter wouldn’t keep them from worrying, she knew that, but at least it would ensure they knew she hadn’t been kidnapped by enemies of their clan. That was the best she could do.

A stab of regret hit her. She wished she could stay and spare them the concern they would surely feel upon reading her words. But that was impossible. If her vision was correct, then her actions now would protect her clan from falling to a terrible fate in the future.

She couldn’t let doubts, fears, or concern for her family’s reaction stop her. Thora took a deep breath, settled her pack a little more firmly over her shoulder, and turned away from the letter.

Moments later, she was outside the castle, saddling a horse. The guards paid her no attention, given that she was a member of the laird’s family and known for her occasional whims.

Within the candle-mark, she was on the road, riding toward a destiny that, as of yet, only she could see. A road that would lead her straight into the arms of the enemy.

Chapter One

Cameron Castle, December 1298

“Ye ken scowling and pacing around yer study like a trapped wolf isnae going tae change aught.”

Laird Aedan Cameron turned his glare on his longtime friend and advisor, Mac Sinclair.

“And it doesnae particularly make ye feel better, either.”

“I ken. But I dinnae like the situation. And with the council tryin’ tae force me tae attend Lachlan Ross’s Yule celebration…” Aedan trailed off.

Yule was fast approaching, but for Aedan, it was a season of tension, rather than celebration. His clan was in dire straits in terms of finances, and the Clan Elders were urging him to rectify the matter by attending Laird Ross’s Yule Celebration. On top of that, the weather was foul, with rain coming down in torrents, lightning dancing across the sky, and the winds howling around the castle like possessed wolves. There was a chill in the air that suggested the rain might turn to sleet and snow any moment now, which only made the situation more difficult.

He couldn’t travel in weather like that, and even if he could, Aedan had no desire to leave his home, and even less to attend Laird Ross’s Yule celebration. The event was supposed to last several days, and Aedan wanted no part of it.

It wasn’t just that he disliked the idea of being away from home so long, or that he resented the idea of missing the Cameron clan’s celebrations, which he usually presided over. Lachlan Ross’s events were nothing more than a chance to show off his political power, and his wealth. The Yule festivities were an excuse to play politics dressed up in holly, ivy and feasting.

Aedan hated politics. He hated the lies that hid behind the fake smiles of Lachlan and his bootlickers, and the idea of spending days in the court of his reluctant allies made his skin crawl.

His Council understood none of it. They saw it as an opportunity for ‘greater ties tae a wealthy and powerful neighboring clan’. They refused to see Lachlan for the snake he was. Only he and Mac truly understood the situation, as far as Aedan was concerned.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and drew his attention. “Enter.”

A guard opened the door. “Beg pardon, me laird, but there’s a woman at the gates, demanding tae see ye. She refuses tae leave and requests an audience with ye.”

Aedan scowled. He had little time or patience for strangers, less still for a woman who would ‘demand’ to see him, a laird in his own right. He was about to tell the guard to send her off, with a good shove if necessary, when a rumble of thunder recalled his attention to the storm outside.

It wasn’t a fit night out for man nor beast, and he couldn’t send a woman away in that weather. More to the point, she must be desperate indeed if she’d risked traveling even a short distance in such dangerous conditions. He sighed and swallowed his anger. “Fine, bring her up.”

The guard nodded and disappeared. Mac spoke up. “What dae ye think this woman wants? It must be important, tae be out in the storm.”

“If I had tae guess, I’d say ‘twas a woman seekin’ the aid, come tae ask me permission tae tak’ the healer from the castle.” It was about the only scenario he could imagine being dire enough that one would brave the elements after nightfall.

Another knock on the door announced the return of the guard with their guest. Aedan straightened from where he’d been slouched against a wall. “Enter.”

The door swung open. Aedan stared.

He’d expected the woman to be somewhat bedraggled. That was unavoidable, given the storm outside. He hadn’t expected her to look as if she’d jumped in a bathing pool fully clothed, then rolled through the mud, slid down a hill, and upended a basin over her head. She was drenched, her clothing sodden and stained, and her hair tangled and windblown, despite the obvious signs that it had been braided at some point.

She was also wearing only one shoe, her other foot bare and wet, as well as muddied to the hem of her skirt.

Despite all that, she was a bonny looking lass – hair the blue-black of a raven’s wing under the mud, deep blue eyes, slender, willowy build, and pale skin, almost luminous with the water shining off it. Her face held dignity and self-assurance, despite her circumstances, and she faced him with her head up and her back straight.

Aedan wasn’t sure whether to offer her a blanket and a bed, a bath, or ask her if she’d been lost. He settled for asking the first question that came to mind. “And who might ye be, lass?”

“Thora MacTavish. I came because I had tae speak tae ye.”

Aedan raised an eyebrow. “I can see that, since ye apparently didnae even stop tae make sure ye had both shoes on.”

A bright flush spread over her cheeks. “I assure ye, I had both shoes when I left home. But me horse got spooked crossing a bog. I dismounted tae try and calm him, but I stumbled intae a deep spot and lost me shoe escapin’ it. And the horse bolted.”

There were plenty of bogs on the moors that could trap the unwary. In a storm like this, it would be all too easy to miss a step and lose one’s footwear escaping. Aedan turned to Mac. “Speak tae the servants and see if ye can find a pair in the lass’s size.” He glanced at her feet. They were small and dainty. “Ye might need tae borrow a pair from one o’ the children in the castle.” He grinned.

Mac coughed, his expression showing the amusement he was trying to avoid voicing aloud. “Aye, me laird.”

He and the guard took their leave. Aedan waited until the door closed before he turned to his bedraggled guest. “So, Thora MacTavish, what brings ye tae…”

He didn’t get any further before she interrupted him. “I’ve come tae warn ye. I’m a seer, and I have dreams pertaining tae the future. Yer clan is in grave danger unless ye listen tae me.”

Aedan blinked at her, startled by the sudden intensity of her gaze. “What are ye talking about?”

“Yer clan is in danger. Clan Ross will move against ye soon unless ye act now. Ye must attend Laird Ross’s Yule celebration. ‘Tis the only way tae prevent the attack that will cause yer clan tae fall.”

Aedan stared. Her eyes held no sheen of madness, nor any signs of delirium and yet, what she was saying made no sense.

His allies – however uncomfortable the relationship – would attack him? The only way to prevent the attack from destroying his clan was to attend the Yule celebration hosted by the same man who would theoretically try to destroy it.

And she knew all of this because of – what? A prophetic dream?

Aedan began to laugh.

Chapter Two

Thora wasn’t sure how she’d expected Laird Cameron to respond, but she hadn’t expected him to laugh at her. She flushed with embarrassment but stepped forward, intent on making him understand. “This isnae funny, Laird Cameron. Ye must listen tae me and dae as I suggest, or yer clan will fall.”

“Ye expect me tae tak’ yer words seriously, lass? Ye had a prophetic dream that says tae tell me me allies will try tae destroy me, and the only way tae stop him is tae attend the Yule celebration? Dae ye nae ken how strange ye sound?”

“O’ course I ken what it sounds like, but ‘tis the truth. ‘Tis a gift o’ mine. I see the things that will come tae pass.” Thora wracked her brain for some way to prove her words. “I ken that ye decided nae tae go tae the celebration.”

She saw him start, and knew her words had hit home, but the expression of confusion was gone before she could say anything more. “I dinnae think me decision is any business o’ yers, lass.”

“But it is. I’m tellin’ ye, Laird Cameron, that yer clan is in grave danger. If ye dinnae attend the Yule feast at Castle Ross, then the next time ye see Laird Ross, ‘twill be when he attacks yer clan, and ye willnae win. Yer clan will fall, and Laird Ross will go on tae conquer others, as many as he can reach. Yer family will perish, whole and entire. Yer people will be treated like serfs, or worse, their crops and coin tak’n tae fill his storehouses and coffers, until whole families starve in the winter months.”

“Clan Ross and Clan Cameron are allies and have been fer years.” His expression was implacable, unyielding. “Are ye tryin’ to make me turn against me allies? Is it what this is – a political game of sorts? What proof have ye o’ yer words?”

Thora grimaced. “I have nae proof, me laird, but I ken what I saw. I ken what the future holds if ye dinnae listen tae me.” She stepped closer to him, praying he’d recognize her sincerity. “I ken ye’ve nae reason tae believe me, that I’m just a lass ye never met afore. I ken what I must sound like tae ye. But this is the truth, whether ye wish tae believe me or nae, and ye must dae as I say, or yer clan falls tae ruin.”

“Me clan falls tae ruin if I dinnae listen tae the words o’ a strange lass spouting prophecies o’ danger and ruin?” Laird Cameron snorted derisively, a mocking smile on his face. “Lass, I believe in what can be seen and proved, nae fairytales and ‘mystic’ whimsies. I’ve seen fortune tellers afore, and never a one with any truth tae their meanderings. They are just that, nae something on which tae base the actions o’ a laird, or the decisions o’ leading a clan.”

“I ken ye believe that, but this is different. I…”

“Every so-called seer I’ve ever spoken tae says they’re different, lass. Be they wise women seein’ visions in the smoke, or lasses with powerful dreams.” Laird Cameron interrupted her. His expression was rapidly losing its mirth, as amusement transformed into irritation.

He stepped closer. “Can ye give me proof? Plans, penned in Lachlan Ross’s own hand, mayhap? Movements o’ warriors or scouts that might be watchin’ fer ways tae attack? Rumors from the servants, or the men-at-arms, who might be preparin’? Reports o’ supplies and weapons bein’ gathered fer an assault? These are the things I believe in, Thora MacTavish, nae dreams and ‘prophecies’.”

Frustration filled her, and she felt the sting of angry tears in her eyes. “I have naething o’ the sort. Only me word and me dreams. Why can that nae be enough fer ye? Dae ye honestly think I’d come here, in such weather, if I didnae believe what I said?”

Laird Cameron’s brow creased, and for a moment, she hoped that her words might have made an impression at last. Then he shook his head. “’Tis true, ‘tis clear ye believe in yer visions, or at least, ye believe in something enough tae brave the storms, I’ll give ye that. But just because ye believe yer dreams, daesnae mean I have tae. Fer all I ken, ye’re delirious from bein’ caught in the storm, and a night in the care o’ our healer will see ye blushin’ over yer ravin’.”

“I’m nae delirious!” Thora stared at the laird. She’d known, from her visions, that he’d be stubborn, and rather ruggedly handsome she had noticed, with those green eyes and dark hair his, but she’d never guessed that he’d be this close-minded. “I dinnae have a fever, and I’m nae ravin’!”

“Daesnae mean there’s aught o’ substance tae what ye claim tae have seen.” Laird Cameron shook his head. “Ye’re welcome tae wait out the storm in the castle if ye like. I’ll nae turn ye out in this weather, but I’ll hear nay more o’ this nonsense about visions and threats that cannae be proven, and supposedly come from my allies, at that.”

“Laird Cameron…”

“Nae more.” He shook his head. “I’ve real work tae be doin’, and preparations fer Yule tae tak’ care o’ fer me clan. The guards will tak’ ye tae the kitchens tae get some food, and then ye can find a place tae rest.”

With that, he went to his chair and sat down, clearly dismissing her. Thora considered storming over and dripping all over his papers until he listened, but then common sense prevailed. In all likelihood, the only thing that would accomplish would be to get her thrown out of the castle, or into the dungeons for the night.

She was hungry, soaked, and shivering with cold. She needed a moment to get dry, warm and fed. Then she could make a plan to force the laird to listen to her – one that might actually succeed in doing more than frustrating him further.

***

Aedan watched as Thora hovered in front of his desk. He could see the frustration in her gaze, the anger in the set of her shoulders, and half-expected her to charge over to his desk and demand he listen to her. Instead, she finally gave a sigh and turned to the door, apparently resigned to her failure.

She was a bonny lass, he had to admit. The way the soaked dress clung to her body left almost nothing to the imagination, outlining gentle curves and a modest bosom. She was slim, lacking the more generous curves he knew some men preferred, but there was an elegance and grace to her that caught his attention and sent sparks of heat through his blood. With her pale skin, dark hair, and almost luminous eyes, she put him in mind of the stories his mother had read to him long ago, about Faerie maidens come to court mortal men.

Even the ‘dreams’ she spoke of seemed like part of a child’s tale come to life. Had he been of a more superstitious nature, he might have suspected her of trying to ensnare him with some sort of spell. It was a ridiculous thing to think, when he was a grown man, but he couldn’t help those wayward thoughts.

Aedan shook his head. Beautiful the lass might be, but she was keeping secrets, and that was always something to be wary of. The way she spoke and moved was at odds with her claims of being a simple village lass. She was too assured, too confident for a young lass from a village or a farm. Even had she been from a home where her ‘gift’ was revered, and the girl herself treated like a prophetess of old, she should have been much more reserved when speaking to a laird. Instead, she acted as if she’d been raised in a castle.

She might be a servant from another laird’s castle – he could imagine one of his neighboring lairds noticing the absence of their ‘seer’ and breathing a sigh of relief. Unless, of course, they were the superstitious sort who believed in such things.

A laird who put too much stock in ‘predictions’, and thus treated her as more important than her regular station, might explain her self-assurance.

Aedan sighed. He couldn’t afford to make any assumptions about the lass. He also couldn’t afford to spend too much time thinking about her. He had work to do, and he didn’t need any distractions, even if they were beautiful mysterious maidens.

Despite that, the memory of her face, ethereal and straightforward, lingered in his mind. That, and the echo of her words.

‘Ye need tae attend Laird Ross’s Yule celebration, or yer clan is in grave danger.’

Why was it so important, and how had she known about the Yule celebration, or his decision not to attend it?

Chapter Three

Food and dry clothing improved Thora’s mood but didn’t solve her problem. After a simple meal of stew and bread, she found herself in a set of unused servant’s quarters, considering the problem of Laird Cameron and his refusal to listen to her.

He was pragmatic, and he didn’t believe in her gift. That would make everything far more difficult. If her words alone could not convince him, then she had to find a way to make him acknowledge her sincerity. She also had to find a way to convince him to follow her suggestions. But how could she do that?

He’d been kind enough to give her a room and a new pair of shoes, which meant she could still talk to him. Maybe he’d take her more seriously now that she didn’t look half-drowned. Thora took a moment to make sure her hair was nicely braided and her appearance was neat, then left the room, retracing her steps to the laird’s study.

She heard voices as she neared the door and slowed her steps, the politeness she’d been raised with warring with her curiosity. Curiosity won, and she slipped closer to lean against the door.

“…cannae afford tae dae that.” It wasn’t the laird’s voice. She wondered if it was the voice of the man who’d been with him when she arrived – his second in command, perhaps?

“It daesnae matter what we can or cannae afford. This is what needs tae be done, tae keep our lands free o’ bandits and raiders.”

“And how dae ye plan tae see the warriors fed and equipped? Supplies cost gold, and gold we’ve little o’ at present. Ye cannae ask the warriors tae guard on empty bellies.”

“The harvest was poorer than we expected, but there’s grain enough so long as we’re cautious, and huntin’ will help.” Even through the door, Thora could hear the grim tone to Laird Cameron’s voice.

“If ye’d just let us seek aid… tell the Council we need tae tak’ action…”

“Nay. I’ll nae give them reasons tae say I’m nae an adequate laird.”

“Nay one thinks that…”

“Nay one says that. ‘Tis different. I can see it in their eyes… I took the lairdship young, and they’ve questioned me ever since.”

“Aedan, ye ken that’s nae true. Nay one thinks ye’re doin’ poorly, and nay one will think it if ye just ask…”

“I said nay. We’ll find some other solution. Yule celebrations are coming, and we have until the end o’ the Midwinter festivities. That’s plenty o’ time.”

If he used the same tone to signal the end of a conversation with his subordinate as he did with her, then they were almost finished. Thora crept away, knowing she didn’t dare get caught listening outside the door by Laird Cameron or his man.

Laird Cameron. Aedan, his man had called him. She appreciated knowing his given name, though she’d have to be careful when and how she used it.

Thora put that thought aside and concentrated on what else she’d learned. Clan Cameron was in need of coin and basic supplies. They didn’t have enough to keep their guards and warriors ready for any attacks. Even more important, however, was the fact that Laird Cameron hadn’t informed his council.

She could use that. She could say she’d learned it – somehow, through a vision if she had to, though she shied away from lying about her gift – and threaten to expose the truth to his people. Even if it would accomplish nothing in reality, it was clear that Aedan Cameron was determined not to appear inadequate in any way. He wouldn’t want any hint of problems to reach the ears of his council, even if the source was a strange village lass who might be considered fey-touched and not quite right in the head.

She couldn’t just confront him in the middle of the Great Hall, or in his study. Either of those courses would end in disaster, and likely with Laird Cameron having her thrown out of the castle or into the dungeon. She needed to confront him alone, somewhere he couldn’t call his guards to have her taken away.

His bedroom? No, there were still guards about. But…

Thora smiled as an idea came to her. It would be risky, and difficult, and it depended on having certain things and at least one accomplice. However, if she could make it work, it was her best chance of convincing the stubborn laird to listen to her.

First, she had to visit the healer. For this to work, she needed some sort of sleeping potion. Then, the stables, and hope that her sight or some other skill revealed a stable hand who could and would help her.

The first task was easily accomplished. Thora made her way to the healer’s cottage, one hand on her stomach, and her face set in an expression of distress. The healer, a kindly looking older woman, ushered her inside at once. “Ye’re the lass who came through the storm. Are ye all right? Were ye injured?”

Thora shook her head. “’Tis me stomach. It hurts, and I feel as if I’ve swallowed rocks.”

The woman pressed on her stomach, and Thora feigned pain, remembering a time as a child when she’d gotten sick eating too many sweets. “It seems ye’ve a touch o’ grumbling guts. Nae a surprise, happens all the time. Sit here, and I’ll mix ye a tisane that will ease the worst o’ it.”

Thora nodded and watched as the woman bustled away to begin mixing the preparation. As soon as she was certain the healer was fully engrossed in her work, she stood up and moved on silent feet to the shelves of already mixed medicine.

She knew what sleeping potions looked and smelled like – before she’d realized what her dreams were, she’d frequently needed to be dosed with such potions to sleep through the night. It was the work of only a few moments to find the one she wanted and tuck it into a pocket of her borrowed dress, then shuffle back to her seat.

The healer returned a moment later with the steaming tisane, and Thora sniffed it. The scent of soothing herbs filled her nostrils, but nothing that might have caused her to need to purge her bowels or something of that ilk. That was good. She smiled and drank it. “Thank ye.”

“’Tis nae trouble. Ye tak’ a short walk tae let it work through ye, and get a cup o’ tea from the kitchens, then rest, and ye’ll be well in the morning.”

Thora nodded. “Dae ye think anyone will mind if I go tae the stables? I’ve always been fond o’ animals.”

“I’m sure ye’ll be fine. And if they calm yer nerves, all the better, fer ‘tis often distress o’ another sort that leads tae upset stomachs.” The healer patted her hand. “If anyone questions ye, then ye send them tae me.”

“I shall, but I willnae stay long.” Thora gave the healer a grateful smile, then rose and made her way to the door and out into the courtyard, making sure to keep her hand on her stomach as she went.

From there, she walked with an unhurried pace to the stables, and slipped inside. Her eyes danced over the horses, seeking the one she’d need for her plan.

There. A sturdy looking roan in the middle of the barn caught her attention. He was a fairly nondescript horse, but his muscles looked solid, and he was large enough for what she needed. She moved forward to put a hand on his nose. “Hello there, me braw lad.”

“Ye’re nae supposed tae touch the horses!” A youthful voice made Thora jump, followed by a click of flint and a flare of light. A youth appeared, holding a lantern in one hand, and a shovel with the other. “Strangers arenae allowed.”

“I ken, but I’m here by order o’ the healer. Animals soothe me.” She smiled at the lad, even as she sent up a prayer of gratitude that fate had delivered exactly what she needed.

The lad was large, almost as tall as she, and well-muscled, but the lines of his face suggested someone much younger than his size would indicate. By his expressions and the way he spoke, she guessed he was barely eight to ten years of age. Old enough and big enough to work with the horses, but not yet wise to the ways of the world.

“Healer sent ye?” The boy frowned.

“Aye. She did. Though I’ll confess, I have another reason fer wishin’ tae see yer horses.” She waved the lad closer. “Ye see, me husband is a warrior here, but he hasnae been home taenight yet. I’m afeared he’s either found another lass, or that he’s been drinkin’ too much mead and whisky o’ the evenings. I plan tae confront him and tak’ him home.”

“What’s that tae dae with horses?” The boy’s frown deepened.

“I’ll need tae borrow one tae get him home, if he’s drunk. I’d appreciate if ye’d saddle this one fer me, so I dinnae have tae try and carry his weight.”

“I cannae…”

The clan was in need of coin. That meant that servants like this stable boy were probably feeling the lack. And even if they weren’t, a family that sent a lad this young into service of the laird was likely one in need of many things. Most families kept their sons home, caring for their land and their crops, or livestock, unless the entire family served in the castle, or they were poor enough to need to find other work for their children.

Thora dug into her pocket and pulled out several coppers, and a few silvers. “If ye’ll dae as I ask and see the horse ready fer me, then ye can have all o’ this.”

The lad’s eyes widened. If her family’s clan was anything to go by, then she was offering him more money than he’d see in a season, so she wasn’t surprised when he shuffled closer.

The boy considered a moment longer. “Ye’ll return the horse?”

“Within a day, at the longest.”.

She watched as the youth struggled for a moment, desire for the money warring with his loyalty. Then he nodded. “Horse’ll be ready fer ye. But if ye hurt the horse… I’ll… I’ll tell the laird about ye!”

“I understand.” She pressed the coins into his palm. “Thank ye fer yer assistance, lad.”

The boy’s hand closed over the coins. Thora waited until he’d stepped back and slipped them into a belt pouch, then took her leave.

Now, for the hardest part of her plan… finding a way to drug an overly suspicious laird and kidnap him.

 

---

Don’t miss your link for the whole book at the end of the preview. 

Prologue

16 Years Earlier
Clan Mackintosh, Highlands, 1682

“Run!” Alec bellowed the word.

Bran ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Only thirteen, he was still the tallest out of all his brothers, even Alec, who was a year older than him. Bran’s legs covered the grounds of the castle fast. He darted from the open lawn, across the furrows and ridges in the earth, toward the outer battlements of the castle and a crown of trees that banked along the edges of the grounds. He launched towards the furthest tree.

Scurrying around the back, he scrambled up the open trunk. Rotten and aging, there was a perfect cavity inside, allowing him to clamber up to a great height and hide from the world.

Nay one ever finds me here.

Panting to catch his breath, Bran flattened his back to the bark and listened for the sounds of anyone nearby. At a distance across the lawn, he could hear Alec counting.

“Forty-five… forty-six… forty-seven…”

They didn’t have long left before Alec would start to search for them all.

Bran brushed his short blond hair back from his forehead and peered around the edge of the trunk, his fingers clutching the bark so tightly that the grains dirtied the palm of his hand.

Across the grounds, he caught brief glimpses of everyone playing their game.

His other two brothers, Dunn and Evander, were currently arguing over who got to hide in the stable this time. Dunn, the youngest with his twin Catreena, found himself unceremoniously tipped out of the stables by Evander, who was already surprisingly strong, despite being one year younger than Bran. Unfortunately for Evander, however, Dunn was so quick on his feet that he dived back into the stable before Evander could tackle him again.

Bran chuckled and looked away, searching elsewhere.

His sister, Catreena, easy to spot with her nearly white hair gleaming in the sunshine was currently trying to hide down by the loch that met the castle battlements. Her hiding place was somewhat given away by the much older Tad, walking past her.

Tad, heir to the lairdship of Clan MacBean, was one of the Mackintosh brothers’ closest friends. If he was not visiting them at this castle, then they were invariably visiting him and playing hide and seek in the wild grounds of his father’s castle. He was the oldest of them all by far, Bran’s senior by seven years, yet he always spent time with them. Bran suspected that Tad played along just to keep an eye on them all and make sure they didn’t end up in too much trouble.

Now, Tad chuckled dismissively at Catreena’s failure to hide convincingly and ran on somewhere else, disappearing expertly behind a nearby wall.

Then a squeak caught Bran’s attention.

He looked around, knowing that whimper well. He’d heard it many times before when they played hide and seek, or when Ilyssa knew she would be caught for bending the rules, as she so often liked to do. Angling his head the other way, he caught sight of her.

Ilyssa, Tad’s younger sister, and Catreena’s dearest friend, was never very good at this game.

She did not have his strength to climb trees and had merely placed herself behind the nearest trunk to him. She was breathing heavily, her dark hair half flung across her face. Five years his junior, she looked small and petite against the tree, rather vulnerable.

Something ached in Bran’s chest as he looked at her.

“Sixty-two, sixty-three, sixty-four.” Alec’s counting was getting faster and faster, showing he was impatient to start searching for them all.

Bran shook his head as he looked at Ilyssa. In her hiding place, she would be caught in seconds.

Och, every time she’s caught first. Every time!

Ilyssa clearly knew this too, for she sank down onto her haunches behind the tree, pulling at the skirt of her gown that had become frayed in all their games and running across the land.

“Psst,” Bran hissed. She didn’t look up at first, breathing too heavily, clearly lost to her fears of being found first. He didn’t blame her. Today, they had agreed that whoever was found first would have to face a dare – they would have to steal bannocks from the kitchen. Ilyssa, who had already been in trouble with both of their fathers that morning for causing a ruckus at the breakfast table by throwing her food, clearly did not want to face getting in trouble twice in a single day. “Psst!” Bran hissed louder.

Ilyssa looked up now. Her dark eyes were wide, glistening in fear.

Bran pressed a finger to his lips and winked at her, then dived back down into the crevice of the tree where he was hiding.

“I’m coming!” Alec’s voice suddenly bellowed across the land.

Bran acted fast. He reached for a branch that had fallen off the tree, nestled between him and the hollowed-out trunk, weighing it up in the palm of his hand, then he craned his neck around the tree once again.

Alec was now hastening toward the tree where Ilyssa was hiding, clearly accustomed to checking this spot first. Bran made sure his elder brother wasn’t glancing his way when he lobbed the branch away. It arched through the air perfectly then splashed into the loch nearby.

Alec at once whipped his head around, now sprinting in the direction of the loch.

“I heard ye!” he cried to whoever he thought might be hiding there. “I’ll find ye.”

Bran clambered down from his place in the tree, still trying his best not to make a sound, then tiptoed around the trunk toward Ilyssa and held out his hand. She didn’t take it at first. She looked too small and scared at the base of her own tree, but Bran persisted in waving a hand at her.

“Trust me,” he urged.

This time, she raised her trembling fingers. He clasped hold of them and pulled her toward his own tree.

“I cannae climb up there, ye eejit,” she muttered angrily. He chuckled, for this was a name she had so often called him over the years.

“Then ye’ll have tae hold on tight.”

“What – ah!” she squeaked in surprise, and he hissed at her to be quiet again as he started to climb, pulling her up behind him. She did well, staying close behind him, though he could feel just how tightly her small hand clung onto his. She didn’t dare let go.

They pressed themselves into the crevice of the tree, their feet pressed on makeshift ledges within the trunk, neither one of them daring to say anything as they heard Alec’s footsteps come past them again.

“Damn ye,” Alec muttered, clearly angered to think that someone by the loch had escaped him. “I’ve usually found Ilyssa by now. Where are ye?”

Ilyssa flinched at Bran’s side. He raised a finger to his lips, urging her to stay as quiet as possible. Alec was now searching the trees, going first to the very spot where Ilyssa had been hiding moments ago.

“Why?” she whispered, barely moving her lips with the words.

Bran jerked his head toward her, looking away from Alec, to see that Ilyssa was blushing a deep shade of red.

“Why help me?”

He shrugged, for he had no answer for her. All he knew was that as she smiled at him in this way, blushing so red, he felt like some sort of hero, the kind that he had read about in his father’s books in his library. It was a thrill to feel her hand holding tightly onto his own. It was a habit of his, trying to protect Ilyssa. It was something that Tad had pointed out more than once and liked to jest about, but Bran ignored him.

Aye, someone has tae protect her.

“We’ll be found,” she murmured in great panic, her face turning redder than before.

Bran realized she was right. Alec was now getting closer to their hiding spot, and if he saw them at the same time, Alec would no doubt expect Ilyssa to steal the bannocks along with Bran.

I cannae let that happen.

“Hold ontae the tree.” Bran steered Ilyssa’s hand to the tree, forcing her to release his own palm. She looked most reluctant to do as he asked, but he urged her to do it fast.

“What are ye doing? Bran!”

Then he was gone. He jumped down from the tree and straight into his brother’s path.

“In the name of the wee man,” Alec abruptly cried, stumbling back in alarm. “Bran! I found ye first. That means – hey!”

Bran took off, sprinting away across the lawn.

“Ye have tae catch me first,” he barked back at his brother, intending to draw him as far as possible from Ilyssa’s hiding place.

He created a mad path across the lawn, heading first to the stables where Alec followed him inside. They practically ran straight into Dunn and Evander who ended up running with Bran, each one of them making it increasingly difficult for Alec to catch any of them by sprinting off in different directions across the lawn.

By the time Alec had caught them all, and found Catreena and Tag in their hiding places, he was so exhausted from all the running that he had quite given up trying to find Ilyssa. She was announced the winner, and Bran went to help her down from the trunk.

The rest of them all collapsed on the lawn, making fun of Alec for not being able to keep up with the rest of them. Bran stepped around the trunk and reached up to Ilyssa, who was now beaming at him widely from her position up in the tree.

“I won?” she said in disbelief.

“Aye, ye did.” He reached up toward her. Uncertainly, shifting her feet against the trunk, she placed her hands on his shoulders and allowed him to lift her down onto the ground.

“Why did ye dae it, Bran?” she asked, her hand moving to his as he led her out from behind the tree. “Ye will get in trouble now. If they catch ye stealing from the kitchens…”

“Nay, they willnae tell me off too badly. Besides, I didnae want tae see ye in trouble again,” he whispered to her. “Ye’d had enough of shouting fer one day, hadnae ye?”

She nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears that she now blinked away.

“Thank ye,” she whispered, still not pulling her hand out of his.

Bran smiled and led her across the lawn toward where the others sat. Catreena was now poking Alec in the side to make fun of his inability to run far, and Tad guffawed loudly at Alec’s look of outrage. Strangely, Bran had no wish to join in the laughter. He sat on the edge of the group, with Ilyssa sitting down at his side. She pulled on the edge of his shirt now, trying to get his attention again.

“We’ll be friends forever, will we nae?” she asked suddenly, her voice tense.

Something in Bran’s chest ached again. He had no idea what it meant. He couldn’t understand either why Ilyssa staring up at him in this way mattered to him, but it did. It all mattered, very much indeed.

“Aye, forever and beyond,” he whispered, a little dramatically, though he knew he wouldn’t take back the words when he saw her smile.

“I ken!” Evander suddenly cried, jumping to his feet amongst the others. “I ken what game we’ll play next. A race. Last one to the loch has tae help Bran steal from the kitchen.”

Everyone was on their feet and hurrying to the loch. Evander and Dunn each tried to throw one another down. Evander won this time, only to be tripped up by Dunn putting out his foot at the right moment. Alec streaked ahead with his long legs, and Catreena complained loudly she was too short to possibly win this game. Tad loped around her with ease, teasing her that he could run so much faster than her, much to her annoyance, for she shouted back at him.

In the midst of it all, Bran was up, dragging Ilyssa behind him to make sure she didn’t fall behind. She giggled lightly, with her hand clasped tightly in his own.

Have nay fear, Ilyssa. He glanced back at the way their palms were tightly pressed together. I have nay intention of letting go.

Chapter One

16 Years Earlier
Clan Mackintosh, Highlands, March 1698

“Ilyssa, I need more time.”

Ilyssa did her best to keep her temper in check. Her heart was pounding so much, she could hear it echoing in her ears. Her breathing was wild, her nostrils practically flaring in anger.

She glowered at her brother, Tad, the one pleading with her. His long dark hair, tangling around his ears and the gray eyes, dark as a stormy cloud, hid his thoughts very well.

Nay, it isnae something I can dae.

“Time? Time?!” she spluttered, losing her temper completely now.

“Patience then,” Tad said, waving a hand toward her. “Be patient and trust me. I will get ye out of this.”

“Aye, aye, because that has gone well so far, hasnae it?” She turned and marched away from him, up and down the study they found themselves in that evening.

She and her brother were staying at Mackintosh castle, as they often did. But where once they had played as children in the grounds, these days they seemed to gather together only to discuss things that were infinitely more serious. As she paced up and down restlessly, she looked toward the Mackintosh family on the far side of the room.

Laird Alec sat behind a vast desk, his face grave and his hands steepled together. His left hand bore his wedding ring, just about the only thing in the room that glimmered in the candlelight between them all on this dark night. Sat on the desk beside him was Evander, the broadest of all the Mackintosh brothers, and the one who carried the most weapons at his hips. He also bore numerous tattoos on his body, a black mark for each man that he had killed in his life. He was their war leader, and one glance explained why. Stood off to the side of the desk was Catreena, Ilyssa’s dearest friend. Catreena was nearly as restless as Ilyssa, buffeting her white, blonde hair every few minutes and fidgeting her hands together.

“There must be a way out of this,” Ilyssa muttered, somehow hoping that someone in the room would find a way.

Alec and Evander exchanged uncertain looks. Catreena whimpered.

“I will find a way,” Tad said with sudden depth and gravity. “Ilyssa, trust me. I willnae hand ye tae that man.”

She looked around for another face she knew should be here. There were two of the Mackintosh brothers missing from this room, Dunn and Bran. Dunn was on a scouting trip to a distant clan, but Bran…

“Where’s Bran?” Ilyssa asked, looking around haphazardly.

“I’m here.”

She turned at once.

Bran had just walked in through the door of the study. The sight of him made Ilyssa’s breath hitch in her throat. He was the tallest of all of the Mackintosh family now, his dark blond hair cropped short across his temple, and the sharpness of his features suggesting he could be a brute of a man, though Ilyssa knew the truth. There was no man in this world with a heart as soft as Bran’s. Those blue eyes looked straight back at her, gleaming almost silver in the candlelight.

She itched to move toward him, as she so often did these days, though she didn’t know why. It was as if their old friendship had a power over her, more and more these days, as she faced the prospect of no longer being as close to him as before.

“Well?” Bran asked, stepping further into the room and looking between her and Tad expectantly.

“Ask me dear older braither.” She jerked her head toward him, her wryness plain. “He keeps saying we need more time.”

“I am doing all I can,” Tad said, his sharpness matching her own.

“Then it’s nae enough,” Catreena suddenly cried. She crossed the room and moved to Ilyssa’s side, clasping their hands together. Ilyssa held tightly onto her friend. “Tad, ye are a laird. Can ye nae just tell this man he has nay claim on Ilyssa? That he cannae marry her?”

“I’m a laird, nae a king,” Tad muttered.

“Yer arrogance suggests ye believe ye are.”

“As kind as always, Catreena,” he said mockingly.

“Enough.” Ilyssa pleaded. She was in no mood for Tad and Catreena’s repeated arguments and dislike for one another. She was facing a future far away from them, married to a man she did not know or like. She needed to face this future now. “I cannae marry him, Tad. I cannae dae it.”

“And I would never, ever, give ye away tae this man,” Tad said, standing tall. He looked almost as tall as Bran at that moment, and as intimidating. “Yet it isnae the case of clicking me fingers and changing the world. It does nae work like that.”

Ilyssa looked at Bran, pleadingly. She said nothing, but there had to be something in her gaze that communicated her desperation for he grimaced. A small whimpering sound escaped her lips. She released Catreena’s hands and fell back down into the nearest settle bench near the fire. Her rigid spine and elegant posture left her as she kicked out her feet in front of her.

“Let me see the contract again,” Bran pleaded.

Ilyssa’s eyes traced Bran. She had no idea why she did it, she just watched him in the firelight as he took the contract from Tad’s grasp.

“It just appeared in me study last week, I swear it,” Tad declared with vigor. “I went over every inch of our faither’s study when he died and thereafter again. Nae once did I find this.” He gestured to it with derision. “Now, it’s suddenly there, with me grandfaither’s signature at the bottom? I cannae understand it.”

“Hmm.” Bran frowned, staring down at the contract.

Ilyssa felt an urge to raise a hand and softly draw her fingers across Bran’s creased temple, to somehow soften it and make him smile again, in the way that he only ever seemed to smile at her. When her stomach somersaulted, she looked away.

What is wrong with me?

“And ye are certain this is yer grandfaither’s signature?” Bran asked, his manner calm, though Ilyssa knew him well enough to know he was feeling anything but. As chief advisor to his elder brother, it was Bran’s job to stay calm when the darkest of dangers hovered.

“It looks like it,” Tad murmured.

“And yer opinion is something we are trusting, is it?” Catreena asked bitterly.

“Catreena, enough,” Bran warned.

Ilyssa looked between the Mackintoshes. It didn’t seem to matter that Laird Alec was the eldest. Any one of them would have probably called Bran the fatherly figure of the lot of them. He was certainly the most protective.

“Listen tae me, Ilyssa.” Tad walked toward her and sat down in a settle bench opposite her. He leaned forward, his tanned features strong in the firelight. “I have a plan, but it will take careful organizing.”

“What is it?” she asked impatiently.

“Ye must go tae meet Cillian Grant and his faither, Laird Gilroy.”

“Are ye mad!?” Catreena cried aloud before Ilyssa could even respond.

“I’ll agree with me sister on this occasion,” Bran said, marching toward the settle bench where Tad sat. “Ye are surely nae going tae hand Ilyssa over tae him?”

“Permit me some intelligence, if ye will.” Tad kept his voice level. He glanced briefly at Bran then turned his gaze on Alec too, who urged him to go on.

“I think it wise ye explain yer thoughts quickly, me friend,” Alec encouraged, “or ye’ll have many angry people surrounding ye.”

“Think about it.” Tad leaned toward Ilyssa, his hands palm outward, like he was trying to calm a wild animal. “If ye are tae go tae him under the pretense of getting tae ken yer husband, then it buys us time. Laird Gilroy Grant will nay longer be chasing me and insisting I follow through our grandfaither’s promise. He’ll be content that ye have been delivered tae his clan and are becoming acquainted with yer future husband.”

“Ye are sending me there… alone!?” Ilyssa moved to her feet, towering over her brother.

“I didnae say that.” Tad held up a single finger. “I would come with ye… at first.”

“First!?” She had never been one for violence, but at this moment, she was tempted to lash out at her brother.

“I will come with ye tae make an offer tae Laird Gilroy Grant. Instead of giving ye tae his son, I’ll offer money, lands, anything I can in yer place. If he turns me down, then I’ll return home tae see what I can gather as an alternative offer.”

“That still sounds like ye are leaving her alone,” Catreena pointed out.

“Dae ye have a better idea, little Catreena?” Tad challenged.

“Argh!” Ilyssa groaned aloud in frustration. She could not contend with Catreena’s and Tad’s sparring today, nor the way he liked to call her ‘little Catreena’ because she was so much younger than him. “Ye would deliver me intae the viper’s nest and leave me there? Have ye nae heart?”

“I’m doing what I can tae get ye out of this.” Tad was now on his feet too, matching her in volume. “Can ye think of a better way out of this contract?”

“Send me with her.” Bran cut in suddenly. The calm tone was such a contrast to their loud and furious voices that it silenced them all.

Ilyssa peered around Tad’s shoulder, looking at Bran, who had still not raised his gaze from the contract in his grasp. The parchment was old and yellowing, curled at the edges. It was testament to the document’s age though none of them wished to believe the alliance and promise of marriage made in that contact was real.

It seemed shortly after Ilyssa was born, her hand had been promised in marriage by her grandfather to the son of Laird Gilroy Grant, Cillian Grant. It was a promise that had never been mentioned to her by her father nor her grandfather, so she couldn’t make herself believe it.

“What did ye say?” Laird Alec was the first to speak up in reply.

Ilyssa blinked, certain she had also heard Bran wrong.

Bran folded up the contract calmly and placed it back in Tad’s grasp.

“Send me with her,” he urged. “That way she’s protected.”

“Aye, and that will look good, willnae it?” Alec challenged, lowering his hands from in front of him and leaning on the desk. “Tae send ye with Ilyssa alone will infer that ye two are intimately acquainted. A man and a lass traveling alone will surely lead others tae speculate at a betrothal between ye.”

Illysa’s stomach lurched.

A betrothal?

Bran didn’t look at her as the words were said. His inability to glance at her now was unusual in itself. How often had they exchanged meaningful glances across rooms, unable to interpret one another’s thoughts through those looks alone?

“I willnae let her go unprotected,” Bran said simply, holding his brother’s gaze.

“Then send me too,” Catreena urged, stepping forward.

“Aye, a great guard dog ye’ll make,” Tad challenged dismissively, waving his hand at her in dismissal. “Little Catreena. How will ye fight off a man like Cillian Grant if he makes a move on me sister?”

“I’m nae half as useless as ye like tae think I am–”

“Before ye two have another argument–” Bran stepped between them, holding up his hand and silencing them. He moved closer to Ilyssa as well. She swallowed nervously, around a sudden lump in her throat. “It could work. Catreena could be seen as accompanying Ilyssa as her good friend, and I am Catreena’s braither, therefore escorting the two of them in yer absence, Tad. Aye, it could work, couldnae it?”

Tad tapped his chin in thought, returning to the settle bench behind him.

“What would ye dae?” Ilyssa asked Bran quietly. He moved to her side, raising his eyebrows.

“What dae ye think, Ilyssa? If he makes one move toward ye…” He left the sentence hanging, not needing to say anymore. He lowered one of his hands loosely to his belt, looping his fingers around the handle of a dirk. He may not have carried as many weapons as Evander did, but the threat was strong enough to make Ilyssa raise her head a little higher.

Aye, he’ll take care of me.

She smiled at him, as she could not remember smiling at Bran before. He said nothing, and only looked back at her, but there was not a trace of a smile on his own lips.

Wait… daes he fear the future? Does he think this plan willnae work tae help me escape a marriage tae Cillian Grant?

“Aye, it could work,” Tad said suddenly. “What dae ye think, Alec?”

“I agree.” Alec nodded slowly. “Though I’d urge ye nae tae leave Catreena and Ilyssa in that clan fer too long, Tad.”

“I wouldnae. It’s just if Laird Gilroy doesnae accept me first offer, I will have tae return tae make further plans.”

“Then we have an agreement.” Alec stood from behind his desk. “Tad, when will ye all have tae leave?”

“In a week,” Tad said calmly.

Ilyssa shot him a quick glare.

“Fer how long have ye been planning this little trip? Have ye already written tae Laird Gilroy tae make arrangements without speaking tae me first?” she asked, her voice harsher than before. Tad raised his eyebrows but said nothing. “Ye–”

“Rat,” Catreena finished before Ilyssa could.

“Walk a day in me shoes, both of ye,” Tad said coolly. “Then ye may understand why I did what I did.” He didn’t bother looking at Catreena but matched Ilyssa’s glare. “It’s the only plan I’ve got, sister.”

She was still furious at him, but a soft touch suddenly ran down her arm. She looked around, the anger she had been feeling sizzling in her stomach now softening to a soft smolder as she saw it was Bran’s hand. He had touched her, comfortingly.

“Trust us,” he whispered.

She didn’t nod. She was too busy wondering at that smoldering feeling in her stomach.

“Well, now we have that agreed, I am going tae see me wife,” Alec said, walking out from behind his desk.

“How is Kira?” Evander asked, who up until now had stayed quite silent in their meeting, clearly taking it all in, but choosing not to comment.

“She’s well.” Alec smiled in such a ridiculous way that Ilyssa’s gut curled in envy.

He loves his wife. Why is it so mad fer the rest of us tae want that happiness in marriage?

“And ye run at her beck and call, dae ye nae?” Tad asked with a sudden barking laugh, which sounded more like the rasping woof of a dog. “Nae the laird in the bedchamber, are ye?”

Evander laughed at this idea, but Catreena tutted loudly. Ilyssa was not paying attention. She was rocking back and forth on her feet, distracted, for Bran had passed another one of those soothing touches down her arm again. It made her stomach heat in an unfamiliar way.

“I’m happy as things are, Tad,” Alec said with a beaming smile. “Let’s see if ye are still the laird in yer own bedchamber when ye someday marry.”

“See?” Catreena waved a hand at her elder brother. “He’s happy. He’s in love. Only a man like ye, Tad, would jest about something like that.”

“A man like me? What does that mean?” Tad asked, gesturing at himself.

Ilyssa managed to snatch her gaze away from Bran at her side, looking at Catreena’s humored expression.

“Come off it, braither,” Ilyssa beat Catreena to the words. “Ye dinnae ken what it is like tae spend two nights in one lady’s bed, let alone commit tae one woman ferever. Leave Alec tae his happiness.”

Alec, however, looked unaffected by the jesting. He wished them all a good night and left the room.

Catreena and Tad started arguing again, with poor Evander stepping between them and suggesting that they make peace for a while as they were to go on a trip together. Amongst all the noise, Ilyssa sighed heavily and returned to her settle bench, slumping down in the seat. Bran sat down beside her, his arm bumping hers.

“Tell me the truth,” she whispered beneath the cover of arguing voices, so only Bran could hear her. “Dae ye think I have much chance of avoiding this marriage? Or… am I doomed?”

Bran jerked his head toward her. Suddenly, there was no calmness in his countenance at all. She didn’t think she had ever glimpsed this fury in him before.

“Cillian Grant will have tae step over me dead body in a church before he gets ye tae the altar. Trust me, Ilyssa. Ye willnae have tae marry him.”

She blinked, stunned at the sternness in his words. They both snapped their gazes away and stared at their siblings arguing together, but once again, that simmering feeling had started in Ilyssa’s gut. It had little to do with fear or anger now, and everything to do with the way Bran had declared the words.

He’s always so quick tae protect me. He’s always been at me side.

She wondered just how far he may have to go to keep his promise if she was going to avoid meeting Cillian Grant at the altar.