Promised to the Ruthless Laird (Preview)
Chapter 1
1714, Crypt of the Triad
“Edin, ye’ve been chosen fer a mission o’ great import.” The deep, commanding voice of one of the figures broke the silence, reverberating through the ancient crypt. It was a voice meant to be obeyed, each word weighted with authority.
The flickering torches lining the walls painted erratic shadows over the ancient carvings, their forms seeming to twist and writhe as if alive. Edin had stood in this room more times than she cared to count, but its oppressive atmosphere never lost its edge.
It was as though the air carried the scrutiny of countless unseen eyes. The damp chill clung to her skin, seeping into her bones as she faced the three cloaked figures known as The Favored. Their faces were obscured by hoods, the darkness within like a void.
The chamber itself felt as though it were closing in, its ancient stone walls bearing down on her. Even the faint echo of the figure’s voice heightened her sense of isolation. Yet Edin stood straight and unyielding, her outward composure betraying none of the turmoil within. Her mind, however, was a maelstrom. Whenever she was summoned to this crypt, she was tasked with work that danced the fine line between death and glory.
Weakness, she knew, was a luxury she could not afford. To falter, even for a moment, could mean losing everything she had spent her life fighting to achieve. She had to appear fearless, unshakeable as she steeled herself against the unrelenting weight of their gaze.
“A request has come from the Lennox family,” the cloaked figure continued, her voice measured as her fingers tapped the armrest of the high-backed chair.
Edin’s sharp gray eyes narrowed imperceptibly. The Lennox name always brought complications to its cases, reserved only for the most skilled members of The Triad.
“If I may ask,” she said, her voice calm and unwavering despite the flicker of unease she felt, “wasnae Elsie charged wi’ matters concerning the Lennox family?”
The figure on the right answered, her voice cutting through the crypt’s chill. “Yes. But Elsie has chosen a different path; she married and, in doing so, relinquished her place within The Triad.”
Marriage? Edin struggled to keep the incredulity from her expression. To throw away the opportunity to rise, to command respect, all for the fleeting comforts of matrimony? It would be a betrayal of self and purpose.
The mere thought of a quiet life, confined to the walls of a home, suffocated her. The monotony of tending to household affairs, of playing the dutiful wife—no matter how comfortable or privileged—would bore her to madness.
The Triad stood for something greater than human desires, it fought for justice and understanding in a world that thrived on shadows and deceit.
Edin couldn’t imagine looking back on her life and seeing it reduced to the mundane when she could achieve something greater. For as long as she could remember, Edin had envisioned herself as an integral part of the Triad. It was a calling. To belong to an organization so devoted to uncovering truths, solving the unsolvable, and protecting the integrity of their world was a mission.
Edin wasn’t built for tea parties or embroidery circles. She had always craved the thrill of a challenge and the rush of deciphering clues and solving cases. And this wasn’t just about ambition. It was about legacy. It was about knowing she had spent her life doing something that mattered.
The central figure leaned forward, her dark blue eyes catching the torchlight as they locked onto Edin’s. “The Lennoxes have requested our assistance in a matter of utmost delicacy. Their daughter, Davina, vanished some months ago. Evidence has surfaced suggesting she may yet live, hidden somewhere in the Highlands. Ye’ll be accompanying Finley Lennox, their eldest son — the heir,” the cloaked leader stated, her voice then dropping, low and deliberate. “The Lennoxes are nae ordinary patrons, Edin. Their influence is vast, their wealth critical tae our survival. Failure isnae an option.”
Another harsher voice came from the shadows. “Their loyalty is conditional. They demand excellence, and they’ll accept naethin’ less than success.”
Edin’s shoulders straightened instinctively, her mind already turning over the implications of the mission. Every word spoken was a reminder of the stakes. To succeed would be to solidify her position — a promotion, respect and the belonging she had been seeking for as long as she could remember.
To fail… well, she refused to consider failure. It was not an option. There was nowhere else to go and nothing else to do for her.
“This mission,” the leader intoned, “is as much a test o’ loyalty as it is a measure of skill. Prove yerself worthy, and the path ahead will open.”
“I am grateful fer the opportunity.” Edin’s hands clenched beneath her cloak, the motion hidden but no less resolute.
This is me chance.
For too long, she had been a simple tool to The Triad — even though experienced and a skilled herbologist. But this mission could change that. If she succeeded, she would no longer be merely useful; she would become an indispensable asset in an organization that many feared and most turned to for help.
One of the figures shifted. “Yer task will require access to the knowledge center. Ye’ve earned that privilege. See that ye make good use o’ it.”
Edin’s breath hitched for a moment, but she quickly masked it. The knowledge center was sacred ground, a repository of secrets and strategies. Few were granted entry, and fewer still could claim they had earned it. That they trusted her with such access was a testament to the gravity of the mission.
“I understand,” she replied, her tone steady and deliberate. “I’ll nae fail ye. The mission will be completed.”
As the meeting concluded, Edin turned and began her ascent from the crypt, her footsteps echoing in the silence. Her mind stirred with the details of the mission, the gravity of the task, and the rare opportunity she had been given — one she had been dreaming of since her youth. Now, at twenty-five, The Favored had bestowed upon her a responsibility of immense weight — and with it, a chance to prove she was more than just a servant of their will, but someone who truly belonged.
As she emerged into the cold, open air, she drew a deep breath. The weight of expectation still pressed down on her, but it was a weight she welcomed. For the first time in a long while, the path before her was clear. She would succeed—not just for the Lennox family, not for The Triad, but for herself.
For Edin, this mission was the ladder she had been waiting to climb. She’d worked too hard, given too much of herself, and sacrificed more than most. This mission, with all its complexities and dangers, was her chance to prove that she was not just worthy of a higher rank but essential to the organization’s very core. Otherwise, she would fade into oblivion.
***
The dim light of her quarters cast long, comforting shadows on the walls as Edin methodically sorted through her collection of vials. Each glass container held a carefully crafted mixture, labeled with her meticulous handwriting. The faint scent of crushed herbs and bitter compounds lingered in the air. Her hands moved with the efficiency of years spent perfecting her craft, ensuring every stopper was sealed tight, every label secured.
She reached for a vial containing a pale green liquid, her fingers brushing the smooth surface. “Antidote for nightshade poisoning,” she murmured under her breath, placing it gently in the satchel laid open on her cot. Next came a small bottle of silvery powder — a potent sedative that had proven invaluable in the past. She packed it alongside a collection of dried herbs wrapped in wax paper, her thoughts wandering as she worked.
She thought over what she had just experienced. Edin was well aware of the Lennox family’s deep ties to the Triad. What unsettled her was how much influence a single family could wield over an organization of such power. It felt wrong, a contradiction of everything the Triad was supposed to represent. Wealth and privilege shouldn’t dictate priorities, no matter how generous donations might be. Of course, her opinion didn’t matter, but when measured against the broader needs of society, catering to a wealthy family seemed like the least worthy of causes.
This made the mission feel different — heavier. The thought of accompanying Finley Lennox unsettled her. A future laird, accustomed to command, the kind of man who would see her as a tool. Her independence was one of her greatest strengths, and yet there she was, about to be saddled with a partner who could jeopardize her effectiveness. But there was no way around it.
Her fingers tightened briefly around the vial before she tucked it into her bag. She couldn’t let her irritation cloud her judgment. The mission didn’t leave much space for personal preferences — it was simply about results.
She reached for her small notebook, its pages filled with sketches of plants and their properties, formulas for tinctures, and notes from previous assignments. Slipping it into an inner pocket, she drew a deep breath. The leather-bound book was one of the few things that she could truly call hers — she had written it page by page — and everything she knew was inside those pages.
As she resumed packing, the scene replayed in her mind. The Favored’s explanation of the mission echoed in her thoughts — Davina Lennox, stolen months ago. The thought struck a nerve and she couldn’t stop thinking about the irony of it all. It was cruelly fitting. She, a girl who had once been taken, was now tasked with finding another lost girl.
Her hand hovered, trembling slightly, over a bundle of dried wolfsbane, questions she had worked tirelessly to suppress threatening to break the surface. The family she’d been stolen from remained a void in her mind, faceless and unreachable. All she’d known since then was the calculated efficiency of the Triad, who had rescued her, shaped her, and made her indispensable. They had given her a purpose — one she had clung to because it was all she had.
She knew all too well what it was like to be lost, to belong to no one. Despite her opinion on Davina’s family, finding her wasn’t simply a task; it was a chance to prevent another from suffering the same fate she herself had endured her entire life.
“Focus,” she muttered, her voice sharp. She shook off the thought and secured the wolfsbane alongside the other vials. This wasn’t the time to dwell on the past. Her mission was clear: find Davina Lennox and bring her home.
She picked up her dagger, its blade gleaming faintly in the dim light. Slipping it into its sheath at her hip, she considered the challenge ahead. The Highlands were a treacherous place, and the task of navigating them with Finley Lennox was daunting. She would need to be at her sharpest, her most prepared.
Her thoughts turned briefly to Finley. She had seen him once before, from a distance, during one of the rare times she had been sent to deliver a message to the Lennox family. He had carried himself with an air of authority, his broad shoulders and commanding presence making him hard to ignore. He was a man used to control, and she suspected he would not take kindly to sharing it.
“He’ll need to learn,” she said under her breath. She wouldn’t tolerate unnecessary interference. Her satchel now packed, she fastened it tightly and slung it over her shoulder.
Edin stepped to the small mirror hanging on the wall. Her sharp gray eyes were distant and unreadable, even to her. The face staring back at her, framed by the black braid she had tied with precision earlier, bore no trace of fear, no flicker of doubt, but the stillness in her expression felt heavier today. She adjusted her cloak, the worn fabric rough against her fingers, pulling it tighter around her shoulders.
Her gaze flickered across the room; a bare cot, a battered wooden chest, and the single lantern casting its feeble glow on the cold stone walls. It was a sparse existence, one she had grown accustomed to, yet in its emptiness, it held a strange sense of security.
She lingered for a moment, letting the stillness settle in her chest, before drawing a deep, steadying breath. Stepping out meant leaving that comfort behind and walking into the unknown. But she had survived worse and she would survive this, too.
Her boots struck soft echoes on the stone floor as she moved through the labyrinthine corridors. The air was cool, carrying the faint, earthy scent of moss and damp stone that clung to the crypt-like depths of the Triad’s headquarters. She ran her fingers along the rough-hewn wall as she walked, grounding herself in its familiar texture.
By the time she arrived at the stables, the last light of the day was visible on the horizon, painting the sky in soft strokes of orange and pink. She paused for a moment, her gaze sweeping across the wide expanse before her, soaking in the quiet stillness of the morning.
Edin tightened the strap of her satchel and gave her horse a firm pat on its sleek neck. The creature’s breath clouded in the chill evening air. She swung into the saddle with practiced ease, the familiar creak of leather grounding her for what lay ahead.
The path ahead was narrow, hemmed in by towering pines whose branches seemed to stretch out like skeletal fingers, clawing at the low-hanging mist. Shadows danced and twisted in the dim light of the fading sun, creating an otherworldly atmosphere that matched her uneasy thoughts. Each hoofbeat struck the ground with a rhythmic finality, as if the earth itself marked her journey with solemn acknowledgment.
Her cloak whipped around her in the cool breeze. It was a small thing to focus on, but she welcomed the distraction. Anything to keep her from dwelling too long on the enormity of the mission she had just accepted. The Triad’s crypt and its weighty silence were now behind her, but the words of The Favored still echoed in her mind. She was sure she would succeed in her task, but it weighed on her. The Lennox family’s influence, the life of a missing girl, the approval of The Favored — it all coalesced into a single daunting weight. Yet she held her head high, her sharp eyes scanning the road ahead with a determination that brooked no weakness.
“This will change everything,” she murmured under her breath, her voice barely audible over the steady clatter of hooves. It was not the first time she’d told herself that, but tonight the words carried a sharper edge. For years, she had worked in the shadows, completing assignments with precision and efficiency, always hoping that each success would finally earn her the respect and belonging she craved. This mission, however, felt different, more personal.
The terrain grew rougher as the path climbed into the hills. Stones and roots jutted out from the earth, forcing her horse to pick its way carefully. She leaned forward slightly, one hand on the reins, the other resting instinctively near the satchel at her side, the vials clinking softly with each movement. Ahead, the mist thickened, obscuring the horizon and giving the world an eerie, dreamlike quality. The faint scent of damp earth and pine filled her senses, grounding her once more in the present. Whatever lay beyond the next rise, she would face it head-on.
Once I succeed, me position in the Triad will be secure forever.
Chapter 2
The bustling market of Kilmaroy greeted Finley Lennox with a cacophony of merchants shouting over one another to advertise their wares. The scent of freshly-baked bread, cured meats, and the occasional waft of manure reminded him that he was far from the genteel halls of Lennox Castle.
The journey had been grueling — three days of unrelenting travel — but arriving earlier than planned gave him a strange, bittersweet sense of relief. He had only a few days to gain the upper hand before whoever the Triad had chosen to assist him arrived. The organization worked on its own cryptic timetable, answering to no one but their own mysterious hierarchy.
The Triad. His parents spoke of them with reverence, his grandmother with a quiet, almost fearful respect. Yet Finley had always harbored skepticism. What kind of entity demanded such blind devotion without offering even a glimpse of their true nature? They were an enigma — puppeteers who thrived on secrets and mystery.
Still, he needed them.
Desperation had led him to this moment, a feeling so consuming that it eclipsed his doubts and pride. Davina’s face, haunting and fragile, was still etched in his mind like a brand. He refused to let it grow blurry in his memory, despite all the time that had passed.
His failure to protect his sister weighed heavier than the chainmail beneath his cloak. He couldn’t help but think it was his fault, that if he had been more careful, things could have taken a different turn. But he was trying to fix it and he would, no matter the cost.
Despite his dislike for the Triad, it offered a sliver of hope, and he would grasp it. He had no other option. And if it could help him find Davina, then he would tolerate their veiled motives and cryptic methods — even with the shadow of distrust cloaking his thoughts.
He squared his jaw, brushing the thought aside. He didn’t have the luxury of doubting them at this point. Davina’s fate hung in the balance, and he had to trust them, otherwise he would fail again.
Pulling his horse to a halt near the market’s edge, he dismounted and tethered it to a post outside a small butcher’s shop. The mare nickered softly, and he patted her flank. “Rest easy, lass. We’ll nae be moving much until the morrow.”
Finley scanned the marketplace. Women bartered for vegetables, men haggled over tools, and children darted through the crowd clutching penny sweets. Amid the commotion, he spotted an older woman wrapping her shawl tighter against the chill breeze. Stepping forward, he addressed her politely.
“Good day, madam. Might ye tell me where I’d find the Three-Legged Mare?”
The woman squinted up at him, her weathered face softening slightly. “Down the lane, past the cobbler’s shop. Ye cannae miss it. Sign’s got a horse with three legs, poor thing.” She chuckled, revealing missing teeth.
Finley inclined his head. “Thank ye kindly.”
He followed her directions and soon found himself standing before the inn. The faded sign swinging overhead bore the promised image of a three-legged horse, its paint chipped and peeling. The building itself was sturdy but worn, its stone façade darkened by years of rain and smoke. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, he stepped inside.
The air was thick with the scent of spilled ale and the acrid tang of pipe smoke. A group of merchants, already deep into their cups, sat at a corner table, shouting over a game of cards. Finley avoided their rowdy gaze and made his way to the counter where the innkeeper, a stout man with a balding head, polished a mug with a threadbare cloth.
“Room fer the night?” Finley asked, keeping his voice low.
The innkeeper nodded. “Aye. Three silvers.”
Finley handed over the coins without hesitation.
“Room at the top of the stairs, second door on the right,” the man grunted, sliding a key across the counter.
Pocketing the key, Finley climbed the narrow staircase to his rented room, the creak of the old wooden steps showing the inn’s age. The air carried the faint scent of ale and roasting meat from the kitchen below, mingling with the musk of damp timber. Reaching the top, he pushed open the door to his room and stepped inside, his boots muffled by the worn rug that covered part of the uneven floor.
It was modest but would do — a sturdy bed with a coarse woolen blanket, a small table near the window, and a single chair that looked like it might splinter under his weight. A narrow shelf along one wall held an oil lamp and an empty bowl, the latter likely meant for washing. The window, though small, offered a decent view of the bustling market below, the sun casting light over the vibrant fabrics of the stalls.
Finley set his satchel on the table, tugging it open to check its contents. Inside were his essentials: a flint for starting fires, a spare shirt, a leather pouch of coins, and a roll of thin rope. His dagger lay at his hip, a comforting weight that he wasn’t keen to part with, no matter the circumstances. He briefly considered unpacking, but dismissed the thought. This wasn’t a place to linger—it was a waypoint, nothing more.
Leaning against the window frame, he scanned the market below. Vendors were shouting their wares, the hum of bartering rising above the clatter of hooves on cobblestones. Somewhere down there was everything he needed to sustain them on the road.
Shaking off his fatigue, he grabbed the pouch of coins, tucked it into his belt, and headed back downstairs. The innkeeper gave him a nod as he passed, though Finley barely acknowledged the gesture.
He wove through the crowd with purpose, scanning the stalls. First, he stopped at a vendor selling dried meats, selecting enough to last a week’s journey. The strips were salted and tough, but they’d keep. Next, he added a small pouch of hardtack, the dense biscuits a staple for anyone traveling light.
At another stall, he found a flask of whisky. The vendor, an older man with a crooked grin, assured him it was “the best in Kilmaroy.” Finley doubted the claim but handed over the coins anyway. A swig of whisky might do more for morale than anything else on the road.
As he passed a blacksmith’s forge, the rhythmic clang of hammer on metal caught his ear. He paused, eyeing the array of blades on display. One dagger, with an elegantly carved hilt and a keen edge, caught his attention. For a moment, he considered it, running a hand over the worn leather grip of his own blade. But sentiment won out; his current dagger had seen him through countless trials. He gave the smith a nod and moved on.
With his purchases bundled in his satchel, Finley made one last sweep of the market before turning back toward the inn. The evening was growing colder, a sharp breeze cutting through the streets. As he climbed the steps to his room, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was forgetting something.
By the time he returned to the inn, night had fallen, and the merchants’ drunken laughter had grown louder. Finley ascended the stairs, eager for the solitude of his room. Unlocking the door, he stepped inside and closed it firmly behind him. He froze mid-step.
A figure stood by the window, partially hidden in the silvery light.
For a moment, his weary mind struggled to process what he was seeing. The shape was unmistakably a woman: slender yet poised, the faint outline of a cloak draping her shoulders. The moonlight caught the edge of her profile — a sharp line of a jaw, the faint curve of her cheek — and then she shifted slightly, blending into the room’s heavy shadows.
Finley’s muscles coiled instinctively. His hand flew to the dagger at his belt, the hilt cold and familiar beneath his fingers.
He didn’t stop to question.
With the silence of a predator, he crossed the room in two swift strides. Before the intruder could react, his arm shot out, clamping firmly around her throat. In the same fluid motion, he edged her neck to the side and pressed the blade against her skin, the sharp edge gleaming in the faint light.
“Who are ye?” His voice was low, his eyes locked on the intruder’s face.
The woman didn’t flinch. If she felt fear, she masked it well. Her face remained partially in the shadows, only her lips visible as they curved into a faint, maddening smirk.
“Ye’ve an odd way o’ greeting a guest,” she murmured, her voice a silky blend of calm and mockery. Her words had an almost musical quality. It was clear she’d anticipated his reaction, as if she had orchestrated the moment down to its finest detail.
She remained utterly unfazed, even as the dagger pressed against her throat. Instead, her gaze — steady and unwavering — flicked over him, taking in every detail of his stance, his grip, and the flash of barely contained panic in his eyes when he had first realized she was in his room. The subtle rise of her brow spoke volumes, as if she found his predictable response more entertaining than threatening.
Finley tightened his grip, leaning closer. The dagger pressed into her skin just enough to send a warning. “I’ll nae ask again,” he growled. “Who are ye, and what’s yer business in me room?”
Still the woman showed no sign of distress. Her calm unnerved him more than if she had fought back.
“Ye draw far too much attention tae yersel’, Finley Lennox,” she said softly, her tone as cold as the steel in his hand. “Taking the finest room in the inn, striding through the market like ye’ve nay enemies. Aye, it’s nay wonder ye’re so easy tae find.”
Finley stiffened. The casual way she spoke his name sent a jolt through him. Who was she, and how did she know him? His grip on her neck tightened, his knuckles whitening.
“Careful, me laird,” she purred, her lips curving into a sly grin as Finley felt the press of cold metal against his stomach and she shifted just enough for him to see the blade. “I’d suggest ye let me go,” she said, her voice maddeningly calm. “If I’d meant tae kill ye, ye’d already be dead.”
His jaw tightened, and he could feel her gaze on him, tracing every subtle shift in his expression. The frustration that simmered beneath the surface was barely contained, and he was certain she saw it — making him more tense, more rigid, with each passing second.
Her eyes flickered with something that bordered on amusement, and perhaps a touch of satisfaction, as if she were enjoying the effect she had on him, fully aware of the power she held over him.
His eyes flicked downward, locking onto the blade pressed against his stomach. Its hilt was adorned with a symbol that he had seen many times before: three interlocking circles, the unmistakable mark of the Triad.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Finley’s pulse thundered in his ears as his mind raced, the blade at his stomach an unspoken reminder of just how precarious his situation was.
Edin watched as Finley struggled to process what was happening and he could sense her satisfaction again. The laird, with all his strength and authority, rendered momentarily powerless in the face of her calm defiance.
“At least the Triad’s got a bit o’ spirit in them. Didnae think ye were fer theatrics,” Finley said with a sharp laugh, stepping back as he slid his dagger into its sheath. “Now then, will ye finally tell me who I’ve the pleasure o’ speakin’ tae?”
The woman adjusted her cloak, revealing striking features framed by dark hair. Her gray eyes gleamed in the dim light. “Edin,” she said simply. “I’ve been sent tae aid ye in finding yer sister.”
“Ye’re early,” he said, his voice laced with just a hint of suspicion. “I didnae expect ye fer another day.”
Edin turned to face him fully, her lips curving into her now familiar smirk. “Early? Ach, I’m here when I meant tae be,” she replied, her tone light and teasing, though a sharp glint in her eyes hinted at something more.
“Have ye booked a room, then? Or were ye plannin’ tae haunt me doorway all night?”
She chuckled, the sound low and unhurried. “I’ll nae need a room of me own. Ye’ve already one here, and I see nay reason we cannae share.”
Finley blinked, caught off guard by her brazen suggestion. “Share? D’ye think it wise fer a man and a woman tae stay in the same room, especially while ye’re so keen on lecturin’ me about discretion?”
Her gaze sharpened, her amusement giving way to practicality. “What’s unwise is drawin’ attention tae yerself, bookin’ fine rooms and leavin’ trails. Ye want tae find yer sister, aye? Then ye’ll need tae learn tae move without the whole of Kilmaroy takin’ note of yer comings and goings.”
He let out a scoff, crossing his arms over his chest. “And ye think ye’re the expert on such matters, dae ye? That sounds like insanity tae me.”
“I found ye, didnae I?” She took a step closer, her expression cool and measured as she lowered her voice. “Insanity keeps folk alive, Finley. Call it what ye will but mark me words — if ye cannae blend in, ye stand out, and that’ll make ye a target.”
Her words hung in the air, pressing against his pride. For a moment, he said nothing, his jaw working as he mulled over her warning. Finally, he nodded, though his tone remained firm. “Fine, then. But hear me well: I’ll nae be takin’ orders from ye. We’re equals in this. I’ve a duty tae me family, tae Davina, and nay one has more reason tae bring her back than I dae.”
Edin tilted her head, her gaze unwavering as she studied him. “Equals, then,” she said softly, though her smirk hinted at her amusement. “So long as ye ken that the moment ye compromise our safety, I’ll nae hesitate tae remind ye of what’s at stake.”
The tension in the room lingered as they looked at one another.
Finley studied her for a moment, noting the confidence in her stance and the sharp intelligence in her gaze. “Well, Edin, it seems we’re tae be partners. Tell me, where dae we begin?”
She inclined her head slightly. “The Triad has granted us access tae one of their knowledge centers. It’s a rare privilege, so we’ll start there.”
Finley nodded, his expression turning serious. “Then we’ve nay time tae waste. The sooner we begin, the sooner we find Davina.”
Edin’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Ye might want tae rest first. Ye look as though ye’ve been dragged through the mud.”
He let out a dry chuckle. “Three days of hard riding will tae that tae a man. We set out at first light.”
Edin nodded and moved toward the door. “I’ll be downstairs if ye need me. Try nae tae draw any more attention tae yerself.”
If you liked the preview, you can get the whole book here
Best selling books of Lyla
★★★★★ 102 ratings
Ian Wallace never wanted to be laird, but with a dying clan to save, he has no time for complications—especially not the fierce, beautiful prisoner hidden in his own new castle. She’s a MacAlpin, born of the blood he’s sworn to hate but the fire in her eyes stirs something deeper than duty. He should send her away. Instead, he’ll risk everything to keep her.
Read the book
★★★★★ 194 ratings
Thora MacLeod always follows her visions, but kidnapping Laird Aedan Cameron and blackmailing him into a fake marriage at a dangerous Yule gathering? Not her best idea. As sparks fly in enemy territory, their feelings for one another start to complicate things. Thora knows that her visions might save their clans, but they won’t stop her heart from shattering once Aedan finds out she’s been lying to him all along…
Read the book
0 Comments