CHAPTER ONE
1378, Kincaid Castle
“Naething must go wrong today, Davina,” Ramsay Fletcher told his daughter as he adjusted the edge of his tartan. “This union is the finest match our clan has secured in a generation. The eyes of half the Highlands are upon us.”
Davina’s eyes drifted to the great doors at the end of the corridor, which gleamed ominously. Beyond them lay the grand hall of Kincaid Castle, where nobles gathered, where candles burned low, and where Malcolm Kincaid waited. Her fingers tightened around her bouquet.
“I hope tae bring ye nay cause fer embarrassment, Faither.”
“Ye’ll dae more than that,” he said, and his tone seemed to soften, albeit only slightly. “Ye’ll raise our name. A Fletcher bound tae the Kincaids, just think of it! Yer children will carrya bloodline fit fer court.” His chest swelled with pride. “Aye, me dear, this is how legacies are made.”
Eleonor Fletcher was standing behind her daughter, and she leaned in to brush a stray curl from beneath the lace veil. “Legacies are well enough, Ramsay,” she murmured, “but it is her life, nae ours, that begins today.”
Ramsay gave her a brief look. “And what is a life without honor and position, Eleonor? Ye ken well the world we live in. The clans remember who climbs and who falls.”
Davina nodded obediently. “I understand, Faither. Me duty is clear.”
Her mother frowned. “Duty should nae eclipse happiness.”
Her father agreed. “Happiness is a fickle thing, me dear, but worth finding. Malcolm is a fine man, well-bred and mannerly. There’s nay reason ye should nae be content with him.”
Eleonor’s fingers lingered on Davina’s shoulder. “Contentment and joy are nae the same.”
“I will find both,” Davina said, though she was uncertain whom she meant to convince: her mother, her father, or herself.
Ramsay straightened, satisfied. “Good lass. When the doors open, walk with pride. Every whisper in that hall will speak our name, and I’ll have them speak it with admiration.”
The faint echo of music drifted through the corridor, signaling that the guests had taken their seats. The grand doors of the castle hall gleamed ahead, heavy with expectation.
Eleonor’s hand trembled slightly as she adjusted the edge of Davina’s veil. “Ye look beautiful, me love.”
Davina smiled, and the uneasiness seemed to dissipate, if only a little. “Thank ye, Mama.”
Ramsay cleared his throat. “It is time. Hold yer head high, Davina. Today, ye are nae merely a bride, ye are the bridge between two great clans.”
She nodded, steadying her breath. “Then may the bridge hold.”
With that, Ramsay offered his arm. The music swelled beyond the doors, and Davina stepped forward. The doors creaked open with a deep, echoing groan, and a hundred eyes tuned toward her at once.
She could see Malcolm Kincaid standing at the altar, tall and smiling faintly. His dark hair was catching the sunlight that poured through the stained glass. His eyes were bright gray, like a Highland storm, and now, they met hers with calm reassurance. For one small moment, her fear eased.
But then, another pair of eyes caught her attention. Her heart beat was meant for the vows to come, yet her world tilted upon seeing this man. A pale scar slashed his cheek, further pullingher attention toward him. He wasn’t smiling and somehow, that made him even more magnetic. There was power in his silent gaze, in the way that he simplywas.
She reminded herself why she was there and started walking. She reached the halfway point of the aisle. Nobles watched in silence, enshrouded in a sea of silk and tartan. Her breath came slowly and carefully, beneath the lace veil, as if it cost her dearly to simply breathe.
Almost there.Almost done.
Then suddenly, just as her father was about to give her hand to Malcolm, one of the candles flickered as if the chamber itself held its breath. Davina looked up, and Malcolm’s smile faltered. His hand flew to his chest.
At first, she thought he meant to steady himself. But his fingers clenched hard, twisting the fabric of his coat. His face drained of color. His lips parted soundlessly.
“Malcolm?” Davina’s voice was barely a whisper.
He swayed. The bouquet slipped from her hand. Before she could reach him, he dropped to his knees with a strangled gasp and his eyes wide in shock. The music faltered, then stopped altogether. A terrible silence followed.
“Malcolm!” cried someone from the front row.
Davina stumbled forward, her vision blurring. “Help him! Please, someone help!”
