PROLOGUE
Scottish Highlands
July 15, 1298
Elsy stared up at Connell, her green eyes welling with tears. She gripped his hands in hers, refusing to give in to sorrow no matter how much it threatened to swallow her whole. She could feel Laird MacArthur staring a hole in her back from behind. Nevertheless, she ignored him as she stood in the courtyard, where men were readying their horses, saying goodbye to their loves and their children, wishing them well.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father leaning against the stable’s door, his body thinner than before and his eyes sunken in. Rain drizzled from the heavens, soaking her garments. She knew she should return to the cottage, where it was cold and dry, but she couldn’t leave Connell, not when these were their last moments together. Something sparked in the dark, low hanging clouds in the distance, followed by low rumbling. The darkness hid any light the sun offered, which only made her worry all the more. The slight breeze chilled her skin and whipped her red hair lightly.
Connell stroked the hair away from her face. He gazed back at her with glimmering blue eyes, on the verge of tears, yet filled with adoration and love. His long dark hair was tied low at his nape and his leine and hose were covered in proper battle attire. Elsy thought it strange seeing him this way, given his gentle nature. She worried what battle would make of her love. Her gaze drifted to the sword resting at his hip and Elsy swallowed a sob as a dark thought incepted her mind, whispering to her what fate may bring them.
“Must ye go?” she asked, her voice no more than a whisper in the wind and her words trembling with the weight.What if he never returned?she wondered. It was a thought she kept pushing away, yet it returned no matter how much she tried not to think of it.
“Aye, my love,” said Connell, his gaze filling with sorrow as he continued stroking the side of her cheek. “Ye know I must.”
Elsy shook her head. “Don’t go.” She turned her gaze away from him, yet her hand remained fastened to his, knowing she would never be the first to leave him, not with death lingering on his shoulders.
“It’s for the best that I do,” said Connell, taking her chin and gently turning her face toward him. “Ye know we must break from England. Ye know I can’t leave my men to suffer on their own.”
“Aye, I know.” Elsy nodded vigorously. “But I still don’t want ye to go. What if ye never return? What if--”
“Do not fret about those things, my love.” Connell took both her hands, pulling her close to him and staring deep into her eyes. “If I am glorified in battle, Father will deny me naething. And then,” Connell smiled and pulled her closer.
Elsy closed her eyes as his lips pressed against her brow. All the tension in her shoulders loosened with that sweet, gentle touch and she released the breath she had been holding with a shudder.
“And then, we can finally be together, Elsy.”
His words made her heart flutter, and her insides grow warm despite the cold. It was the only thing she prayed for—to be Connell’s wife. And it was the one thing they could never have. Elsy bit her bottom lip. A lone tear streamed down her cheek as she opened her eyes, her heart twinging as she met Connell’s beautiful gaze.
Elsy tried to memorize his eyes, his touch, the way his lips moved and how his voice felt against her ears. She wanted to remember everything about him, just in case he never returned. A sob threatened to overtake her, and her breath hitched as she tried to swallow it, finding it difficult.
“But we are together now,” she said, her voice quivering. “Can’t ye speak with yer father one last time? Maybe he will under--”
Connell’s slight shake of his head gave her words pause. She knew it didn’t matter, for she was nothing in the eyes of the great Laird MacArthur—Connell’s father. She was no lady. She had no dowry, no men, nothing. All she had was her love and her skill of healing, far too little in the eyes of a laird arranging his son’s future.
Her thoughts dissipated as Connell brought out a flimsy white handkerchief, given to him several summers before, soon after they met. That first moment their gazes fell upon each other, she knew they were destined to be and had spent her nights secretly embroidering the handkerchief. Her eyes caught on the red lettering: E.T. for Elsy Tandie.
“I will keep it with me, always,” said Connell while holding up the handkerchief between them.
Elsy forced a smile, yet she could not stop the worry and sorrow from filling her gaze. “May it bring ye luck,” she said while wiping the tears from her eyes. “May ye keep it close to yer heart always and know I will be praying for ye--” Elsy gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to prevent another sob from taking over, “for yer safe return home.”
“Connell!” a soldier in the distance shouted, sitting on his massive steed, and dressed in battle wear.
Several men clad in similar attire strode past, carrying swords and spears, their faces grim. A woman wailed from the corner of the courtyard, making the hair rise on the back of Elsy’s neck. She ground her teeth, fighting the need to break down. She needed to be strong for Connell, to have faith he would return to her.
She bristled at the feeling of someone standing near her and turned, finding Laird MacArthur. He smiled grimly at his son, placing a hand on his shoulder before saying softly, “It is time, lad.”
Connell sighed, his gaze drifting to the mud at their feet before giving a slight nod. “Aye, it is,” he said softly. Quickly, before his father could say anything more, he pressed a chaste kiss to Elsy’s palm before releasing her. “Farewell, Elsy.”
Elsy’s throat seized as Connell slowly turned away from her, stepping toward his black steed. “Wait!” Elsy rushed out, grabbing his hand, and making him pause mid-step. She didn’t care who was watching, only that she may never see her love again. Without thinking twice about her actions, or how they would be perceived by the laird and his men, she wrenched Connell toward her and captured his lips. Her eyes pressed closed as she savored the taste of him. It was short, yet it was exactly what she needed. What they needed. When she opened her eyes, she nearly laughed at the wide-eyed look Connell was giving her and the flush in his cheeks.
“Please, Connell,” she said shakily while stroking a stray strand away from his face. “Please, come back to me. I don’t know how I will be able to get on, if ye don’t.”
Connell grabbed her hand, a smile tugging at his lips as he stared down at her, his gaze filled with determination. “I will always come back to ye, Elsy. I swear it on my father’s life, I will.”
