“Ye have nay say in this. The ink is dry. The deal is sealed.”
Lydia didn’t look back. She only walked ahead, her sister following close behind as a commotion rose from the gates again when the guards tried to forcibly remove their parents from the castle.
Lydia’s breath was shallow, her heartbeat drumming against her ribs. Nausea gripped her, and her vision tunneled until all she could see was the next step ahead of her, one after the other.
When they were finally out of sight of the gates, Iris caught her hand, pulling her to a stop. Lydia halted, the world spinning around her, but before she could say a single thing, her sister spoke.
“Ye daenae have to do this,” she said fiercely. “I’ll protect ye, I swear it. I will hide ye if I must.”
Lydia shook her head, eyes burning but dry. “Nay. Runnin’ dinnae help matters before. It only made things worse. This time, I’ll face it.”
Iris’s grip tightened. “Lydia?—”
“If the rumors are true,” Lydia said quietly, “and Laird McDawson is the kind of man they say he is… then I’ll find a way to end it. I’ll find a way to get an annulment. But I’ll do it on me own terms.”
Her gaze lifted toward the horizon where the mountains loomed like dark sentinels.
“Nay more runnin’.”
CHAPTER TWO
Rain battered against the grand windows of McDawson Keep, streaking the glass with silvery rivulets. The storm had rolled in from the northern cliffs at dawn, draping the land in a thick grey shroud. Kieran Gillies stood before the great hearth, one hand braced on the stone mantel, the other gripping a half-empty glass of watered wine.
The fire cast his shadow high across the wall—tall, broad, a silhouette of barely contained rage. Outside, thunder rumbled low, like a warning.
He had been summoned to the council chamber minutes ago, told that “urgent matters” required his attention. He knew better than to trust the word urgent when spoken by old men with shaking hands and political ambitions. Now, as he waited for them to assemble, his patience was stretched to breaking.
But soon, the doors opened with a heavy groan, and six men filed in. The council of Clan McDawson—his advisors, his blood kin,and on the worst of days, his enemies—spearheaded by his uncle Sebastian. Balding and sharp-eyed, Sebastian carried himself like a wolf that had survived too many winters.
“Kieran,” he said, nodding once, “how are ye this morn?”
“I’d do away with the pleasantries, Uncle,” Kieran said, not moving from his post by the hearth as the councilmen took their seats around the long, mahogany table that dominated the middle of the cavernous room. “Shall we get on with the meetin’? What is it that is so urgent?”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the solar, the men of his council, glancing back and forth between themselves as they were confronted by Kieran’s sour mood. Sebastian was the only one who stepped forward, as he had remained standing, though he did not get too close to Kieran.
“Very well,” he said. “Then let us speak of the matter at hand. Ye are to wed Lydia Douglas, Laird McLean’s daughter. The ceremony shall take place in a few weeks’ time.”
Kieran’s first instinct was to laugh, the sound sudden and cold like a blade drawn from its sheath. No one else in the room laughed, though. No one else seemed to find it as he did—a jest, nothing more.
When he turned to face his uncle, Kieran found the man stone-faced and serious.
“This is nae a jest,” said one of the elders, Ewan, his voice thin and wheezing. “Ye’ll wed the Douglas lass.”
The words struck like the crack of a whip. Kieran turned slowly to the man, his eyes narrowing. “Ye think ye can arrange somethin’ like this behind me back and force me to wed? Are ye all mad? Have ye forgotten why I refuse to take a wife?”
“Laird McDawson,” another councilman said, “with all due respect, it is necessary that ye find a suitable wife, and the council has found one for ye. We’d like ye to wed her within the month.”
Kieran’s cup hit the mantel with a sharp clink as he let out a scoff, shaking his head to himself. This was not the first time he had been presented with a wife—far from it in fact. And that was precisely why he knew he couldn’t marry anyone else ever again. He turned fully now, his presence filling the room. He was not a man easily defied—tall, broad-shouldered, his dark hair falling loosely around a face too severe to be called traditionally handsome, the effect only exaggerated by his short beard.
And he would not be defied now.
Perhaps they have forgotten their places. It’s time I remind them who is the Laird of this clan.
“Ye forget who commands this clan,” he said, voice low and edged with the threat of danger. “Ye forget yerselves.”
Another silence fell in the room, but this time, it didn’t take long for the councilmen to begin mumbling amongst themselves. Kieran caught only words as they spoke, but it was enough for him to get an idea of who was on his side, who was on the fence, and who was against him.
“—I told ye so?—”
