Ten years earlier…

 
The wind howled through the crooked lanes of a MacLean border village, tugging at the threadbare shawl of a small girl as she darted between leaning stone cottages and slanted wooden carts. The late autumn sky hung low, gray and heavy, casting a dim pall over the rough cobbled streets. Mud splashed with every desperate step Alexandra took, her bare feet stinging from the cold and sharp stones beneath.
 
 
She was nine, small for her age. Thin to the point of worry. Her brown hair streamed behind her in tangled waves, and her wide, frightened eyes glinted blue beneath the grime streaking her cheeks. Her dress was little more than a torn shift, patched at the shoulders and fraying at the hem. But she ran with the kind of panic that lent wings to even the frailest frame.
 
 
“Stop her!” a gruff voice bellowed behind her.
 
 
She didn’t look back. Couldn’t. Her breath came in ragged gasps, the thud of boots behind her growing louder, closer. The men’s shouts echoed off the buildings, stirring dogs to bark and doors to creak open just enough for wary eyes to peer out.
 
 
Her chest ached, her legs burned, but still she ran—down one alley, across a cluttered square, over a low stone wall into someone’s vegetable patch. A startled hen squawked and took flight as she tumbled into the dirt, scrambled up again, and fled.
 
 
“There! Behind the stables!”
 
 
Tears welled in her eyes, hot against the raw chill of her cheeks, but she blinked them back with sheer determination. Crying would only slow her, and she couldn’t afford a single heartbeat of hesitation. Her breath tore in and out of her lungs, ragged and wheezing, every inhale burning in her chest. She pushed her legs harder, faster, even as the muscles screamed in protest, even as her arms flailed for balance.
 
 
Her vision blurred as dizziness crept in, the edges of the world smudging like charcoal on wet parchment. She cut around the edge of the stables, heart pounding in her throat—only to feel her foot land unevenly on a patch of frozen mud.
 
 
Her ankle twisted sharply with a sickening jolt, and pain lanced up her leg. She pitched forward with a gasp, hitting the ground hard, scraping her palms raw against the gravel. For a moment she lay there, dazed and breathless, blinking at the sky.
 
 
“Nay!” she screamed as she tried to crawl, her fingers clawing at the earth, but it was too late. Rough hands seized her arms and yanked her upright.
 
 
She kicked and twisted in their grip, but her energy was spent, her tiny frame shaking with cold and fear.
 
 
“Nay!” she screamed, kicking and flailing.
 
 
“Hold still, ye wee beast!” one of the men growled, lifting her off the ground as she writhed in his grip.
 
 
“Let me go!” she cried. “I didnae dae anythin’! I didnae!”
 
 
She thrashed in his arms, but her strength was gone. Her breathing was shallow, lips pale, and even the man holding her paused at the tremble of her limbs.
 
 
“Best bring her tae Duncan,” the other man said. “He’ll know what tae dae or he will consult the laird.”
 
 
And just like that, her fate changed.
 
 
They carried her, still struggling weakly, through the village and up the road toward the MacLean keep. Her limbs were shaking, her head drooped against the man’s shoulder, but her eyes remained open, wide and watchful.
 
 
At the gates, the guards let them pass with only a glance, and the men entered the great hall, muddy boots tracking dirt across the worn stone floor. The space was vast, shadowed by hanging banners and lined with benches. At the far end sat a tall man in a dark green tunic, his cloak fastened with a brooch bearing the MacLean crest.
 
 
Duncan MacLean.
 
 
The men approached, stopping a few feet from the man. They dropped Alexandra none too gently to her knees.
 
 
Duncan leaned forward. “When did ye last eat, lass?” he asked.
 
 
Alexandra didn’t respond. Her lips moved but no words came. After a long moment, she shook her head.
 
 
Duncan straightened slowly. “See that she’s fed. Properly. Bathed. And get that leg seen tae.”
 
 
“Maister?” one of the men asked.
 
 
“She’s nae vermin,” Duncan said, his voice cold and final. “She’s a child.”
 
 
And with that, Alexandra was lifted again—but this time, gently. Her head lolled against the man’s shoulder as they turned to carry her down the corridor, toward warmth, food, and something she had not known in as long as she could remember: care.
 
 
Behind them, Duncan stood for a long moment, watching the door through which they’d gone. Then he turned to one of his stewards. “Make sure the kitchens prepare something hot, something filling. And find a maid with a soft touch—she’ll need more than just soap and bandages.”
 
 
The steward nodded quickly and left, and Duncan sat back down with a sigh, the weight of responsibility already shifting with the presence of one small, beaten child who, by sheer chance or fate, had landed on his doorstep.
 
 
Somewhere deep down, he already knew—this girl was going to change everything.
 
 
***
 
 
The warmth of the kitchen wrapped around her like a blanket, thick with the scent of stew and fresh bread. Alexandra sat on a bench at a long wooden table, her legs swinging just above the floor, a woolen blanket draped over her narrow shoulders. Before her sat a bowl of porridge, still steaming, and a heel of crusty bread slathered in fresh butter.
 
 
She didn’t wait.
 
 
With trembling hands, she snatched up the bread and tore into it with ravenous haste, crumbs spilling onto her lap, the butter smearing across her fingers. She devoured it with the urgency of someone who didn’t know when her next bite might come. The porridge followed—each spoonful hastily shoveled, too hot but she didn’t care. She ate like she feared someone would take it away.
 
 
A soft knock sounded, and the door creaked open.
 
 
Duncan MacLean himself stood in the threshold, tall, composed. At his side was a small, graceful girl with fair hair tied back in a neat braid, her eyes bright with curiosity and a soft smile curving her lips.
 
 
“This is me niece, Lady Margaret MacLean,” Duncan said, his voice calm but carrying a gentle authority. “And this,” he added, gesturing toward the small figure seated at the table, “is Alexandra. She’ll be stayin’ with us now.”
 
 
He gave the two girls a final look—part warning, part blessing—and then stepped back, pulling the door closed behind him and leaving them alone to get acquainted.
 
 
Margaret approached slowly, her head tilted as she studied Alexandra. “Ye eat like a wild fox,” she said, but her tone was light, teasing rather than cruel.
 
 
Alexandra, still chewing, blinked up at her warily, unsure whether to be embarrassed or defensive.
 
 
Margaret sat beside her, folding her hands in her lap. “I’d have done the same. The bread’s too good nae tae.”
 
 
And just like that, the tension ebbed—just a little.
 
 
Margaret grinned, her smile widening with a warmth that didn’t feel forced or noble—it felt real. “Well then, Alexandra. I suppose ye and I are tae be friends now.”
 
 
Alexandra blinked, unsure how to respond. Friends? She’d never had one before. Not really. Not the kind that sat beside you instead of jeering from a distance. Not the kind who smiled like they meant it.
 
 
“Have ye always lived here?” she asked, voice barely more than a whisper, her fingers still wrapped tightly around the crust of bread as if it might vanish.
 
 
Margaret nodded. “Aye, all me life. Though I dream of leavin’ sometimes. Of travelin’. But Da says I talk more than I plan.”
 
 
Alexandra looked down, a shy smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I dinnae think that’s bad.”
 
 
Margaret leaned in a little, as if sharing a secret. “Da also says I collect stray creatures. Cats. Birds with broken wings. Now ye too, it seems.”
 
 
Alexandra’s brows furrowed.
 
 
“I dinnae mean it badly,” Margaret added quickly. “Only… maybe ye’ve landed where ye were supposed tae. Maybe ye needed someone tae look out fer ye.”
 
 
Alexandra studied her for a long beat, something tender and unfamiliar swelling in her chest. And for the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel like running.
 
 
Before she could find the words to respond, a maid stepped lightly into the room, her expression apologetic but firm. “Pardon, Lady Margaret. Maister Duncan would like tae speak with Alexandra.”
 
 
Alexandra paused, then carefully set down her spoon. She rose without hesitation, smoothing her hands over her skirts.
 
 
Margaret touched her arm gently. “Ye’ll be fine. He’s gruff, but kind. Go on, I’ll be here when ye come back.”
 
 
Alexandra nodded slowly, then offered a quiet goodbye before sliding from the bench. She followed the maid out of the warm kitchen, her heart thudding in her chest as she made her way toward the great hall once more.
 
 
But instead of being taken back to the cavernous room where she’d first met Duncan, she was led through a quieter corridor and into a smaller, fire-warmed chamber lined with bookshelves and a single long table. Duncan MacLean stood at the window, hands clasped behind his back.
 
 
He turned at her approach, his gaze not unkind. “Come, sit,” he said, gesturing to a chair by the hearth.
 
 
Alexandra sat, her legs swinging nervously above the floor again, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
 
 
Duncan took the seat across from her, studying her with a calm that made her fidget even more. “How are ye feelin’? Truly.”
 
 
She hesitated. Then, in a small voice, “Warm. And full.”
 
 
His mouth twitched. “Good.”
 
 
They sat for a moment in the crackle of the fire before he leaned forward, his voice lowering. “I’ll nae pretend this is a usual thing tae ask of a child. But I need yer help, Alexandra.”
 
 
She blinked, uncertain.
 
 
“There’s danger stirring,” Duncan continued. “Men who mean me family harm. The laird, and more specifically, me niece, Margaret. She must be hidden, and the priory is the safest place fer her now. But we cannae risk her identity being known, nae even there. So, she will go as someone else.”
 
 
He gave Alexandra a pointed, thoughtful look.
 
 
Alexandra’s mouth parted slightly, confusion and disbelief knitting across her features.
 
 
“We’ll send ye both tae the priory,” Duncan said, his tone measured. “But nae as ye are now. Margaret will go as ye—and ye will go as her. It would only be fer a time, long enough tae shield her from those who seek tae harm us. Ye’ve her coloring, her frame. If anyone can make everyone believe she’s Margaret, it’s ye.”
 
 
“Pretend tae be her?” Alexandra whispered.
 
 
“Aye.”
 
 
“And if they find out I’m nae?”
 
 
Duncan’s eyes were grave. “That’s why we’ll teach ye. Train ye. Ye’ll be safe there, too. Safer than out in the streets.”
 
 
Alexandra was silent, absorbing it all, her thoughts racing.
 
 
He leaned forward, softening his tone. “Ye’ve got fire in ye, lass. I saw it the moment they brought ye tae me. Help us, and we’ll protect ye like one of our own.”
 
 
And just like that, her story began to twist in a new direction.
 
 
Two days later, Alexandra stood awkwardly in the center of Margaret’s room, her arms lifted as a pair of maids bustled around her with bolts of fabric, pins, and silken ribbons. Dresses in fine wool and soft linen were laid out across the bed, each one in shades of deep green, blue, and russet—colors Alexandra had never worn, never even imagined for herself.
 
 
She stared at her reflection in the polished glass of a standing mirror, stunned by the transformation taking shape. The dress she wore fit snugly at her waist, the sleeves embroidered with delicate threads that shimmered in the light. It felt strange on her skin—too fine, too clean, too not-hers.
 
 
Across the room, Margaret was also being tended to, her hair unbraided and re-pinned in a simpler fashion, her fine clothes replaced with plainer garments to match the role of a humble girl.
 
 
“They’ll never believe this,” Alexandra muttered, turning slightly.
 
 
Margaret laughed softly. “They’ll believe it if we believe it. Ye must walk like me, talk like me. I’ll help ye. I promise.”
 
 
Alexandra glanced at her, uncertain. “What if I ruin it? What if they see through me?”
 
 
Margaret crossed the room and took her hands gently. “Ye willnae. And even if ye stumble, I’ll be right there tae catch ye. That’s what friends dae, aye?”
 
 
Alexandra’s eyes shone with something fierce and unspoken. “Then I’ll protect ye too. I swear it.”
 
 
The girls stood there a moment, hands clasped, the bond between them sealed not by blood but by something just as strong: trust.
 
 

Loved this bonus chapter? Keep the adventure alive—continue the journey on your e-reader. Happy reading!

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