PROLOGUE
“Isla! Get up off the ground this moment, lass, before ye ruin that dress for good an’ all!”
Isla MacDonell—a twelve-year-old girl who had, for the past several minutes, been pretending she was a big black bear and scratching her back against the grass—leapt to her feet at once. Her brown eyes shone brightly from her pale oval face, and her brown hair retained a fair amount of the dirt she’d been rolling around in. Even at her tender age, she had come to know that tone in her mother’s voice all too well; and even though she was generally known for her mischievous nature, she also had a fine instinct for knowing when not to push her parents too far.
Her mother, Elspeth, ran to her, spinning her around and roughly brushing off her dress from every angle. “All these bonnie clothes we give ye,” Elspeth muttered, “and ye cannae be bothered tae keep them out of the grass and mud for more than two bloody minutes at a time! Sometimes I simply dinnae know what tae do with ye, Isla, an’ that’s the truth of it!”
As Elspeth fretted and fussed over the child—who knew enough to stand still and endure it, else she might earn furtherrebuke—Laird Hamish ran up to them wearing his best tunic and kilt, complete with sporran.
The MacDonell Manor was tall, square, and sturdy, constructed from white stone. The roof was sharply gabled and mossy. There was a flat austerity to the edifice, but the autumn sunlight twinkled in the front windows, like a gleam in the eye of a stoic face. Their property was surrounded on three sides by lovely and well-tended gardens, and their banners flanked their front gates: A black boar against a yellow sun. Theirs was a small clan, but a proud one nonetheless.
Hamish saw the state his daughter’s dress was in and began to wring his hands.
“Again, lassie? Andtoday, of all days?!”
Isla frowned. “Why? What’s so special about today?”
“The Oliphants!” he hissed. “They’re meant tae be ridin’ through these lands, an’ we dinnae dare look less than our best when they do! I’ll nae have them see my daughter covered in muck like a damned sow! We MacDonells have far too much pride tae allow such a thing, so we do!”
The girl’s nose wrinkled with disgust. “Who cares about the Oliphants? They’re so vain, and they put on such airs!”
“We care,” Hamish intoned solemnly, “because they’re one of the wealthiest and most powerful clans in these parts, and so wemustcare.”
“But what difference does any of that make,” Isla inquired innocently, “if they are nae nice people?”
Hamish let out a frustrated growl, his face turning red. “Questions, questions, that’s all we ever get from ye! Questions an’ disobedience, from dawn ‘til bloody dusk! Do as ye’re told, lass, an’ let that be the end of it!”
He stormed back inside.
“Ye’ll understand such things when ye’re older, dearie,” Elspeth said quietly. “Fer now, though, ‘tis best tae do as yerfather says. When they arrive, show them respect and deference instead of lettin’ yer tongue run away with ye as usual. Use the good manners we’ve taught ye.” She examined Isla again, and her brow furrowed. “Here, ye’d best go inside an’ find another dress tae put on, before…”
But she was interrupted by the sound of hoofbeats approaching.
Elspeth looked across the valley, and Isla followed her gaze. There were four riders.
Laird Douglas Oliphant rode ahead of the others, his long red hair and beard blowing fiercely in the wind like a halo of crimson flame. It matched the crest that adorned their family’s banner: A huge crimson lion, rearing up under a blue sky. His eyes were gray and flinty, and his expression was as stoic and grim as the last time Isla had seen him—and, indeed, every time before that as well.
With him were his three sons. The firstborn, Duncan, was seventeen. Though his red hair was short and his face was smooth, the resemblance to his father was striking—particularly his stern countenance. Alex was sixteen and took after his mother, with blonde hair down to his shoulders and eyes that were as blue as a robin’s egg. The youngest, Malcolm, was fourteen, and looked the least like Douglas, no doubt because he had been born from another mother—a tavern wench that Douglas had briefly been carrying on with, much to his later shame. Despite this, he had been brought up alongside the others, though everyone in those lands knew of his dubious parentage.
Hamish came running out of the house again, looking stricken. “Nae time, nae time! Here, lass, just make sure they dinnae see the rear of ye, and perhaps all will be well!”
All of this worry over the Oliphants still seemed silly to Isla, but when it came to her parents, she prided herself on knowinghow to choose her battles wisely. So she dutifully stood up straight and put her hands behind her, trying to cover the stains as best she could.
The riders came to a stop and dismounted, and Douglas stood before Hamish stiffly, sizing him up.
“Greetings, Laird Douglas,” Hamish said with a small bow, his expression carefully civil. “We are honored tae have ye among us on this fine day.”
“Aye, ‘tis been quite some time, Hamish,” Douglas replied. He, too, remained inscrutable. “I thought a visit might be long overdue, given our… history.”
“Indeed,” Hamish agreed. “By all means, come inside for refreshment. Naturally, yer sons are welcome as well.”
“I should much prefer tae remain out here, if it’s all the same,” Duncan said quietly.
Douglas glared at him. “It isnae the bloody same! Ye’re my heir, an’ ye belong at my side durin’ visits such as this! How else will ye learn how things are done for the dayyebecome laird?”
“I have been by yer side durin’ a great many such visits,” Duncan observed, his eyes cast downward. “Do ye truly believe that one more will make the difference between the success of our clan under my rule someday, or the abject ruination of it?”
“Och, ye’re a worthless eejit, and nae mistake!” He turned to Alex. “Find the stables an’ see tae the horses, lad. Then join me and Malcolm inside, an’ mayhap ye can learn a thing or two so ye can advise yer foolish older brother someday about the right way of doin’ things!”
