Prologue
Duckingout from inside her chambers, Ailsa shot a look this way and that along the corridor to make sure she wasn’t going to encounter any protest.
She could already imagine the way the maids would fuss over her, the way the household staff would try to bundle her back into her room before the feast the next day. But she had never been very good at doing what she was told, least of all on a night like tonight. The stone walls of her quarters felt as though they were closing in around her, cutting her off slowly from the rest of the world, and she could not stand it for another second.
Her teeth gritted as she rushed along the corridor, searching for a staircase that would lead her to the parapets where she could breathe in a little fresh air to clear her head. Torches cast flickering shadows along the flagstone floors, occasionally crackling as she passed by them. The sound made her jump, perhaps because she knew what trouble she would be in if she was found wandering these corridors by herself so late at night.
Especially whilehewas there…
She could hardly bring herself to think about him, even in the privacy of her own thoughts. Her feet came to a sudden halt beneath her, as if her body had been forcibly trapped in place.Was that a human’s shadow behind the wall? Maybe her mind played tricks on her.
She had been anxious since her betrothed had lost his life and she had to face whatever came next. And by that she meant the very reason she was currently visiting the MacFadden Keep—the famous feast where every maiden found her match in marriage.
Of course, she was forced to attend!
Her family, the Kerrs, needed to make a stance between the new clans once more. With the alliance between the MacCairns and the MacDonalds having collapsed, and the nature of her betrothed’s, the MacDonald heir’s, death no clearer than it had been when the news had first made its way back here, they had to find her a new husband, though they have always been close to the MacDonalds…
Picking up the pace once more, she dashed towards the archway that led to the parapets, always looking over her shoulder for a shadow stalking her. Once she made it outside, she drew in a deep lungful of air, trying to clear the stuffy containment that she had been subject to from her body once and for all.
For a moment, she wondered what someone might make of seeing her up there, a bereaved young woman who has lost her betrothed; maybe they’d think she was going to throw herself from the balcony to join him in death.
A ridiculous thought, even in the midst of all of this. She would never do something so foolish, and she could almost imagine the incredulity in Callum’s voice at the mere thought.
Ye’re no’ mad, are ye, Ailsa?
Callum MacDonald had been her friend for so long—when it came time for the two families to announce the betrothal, no one had protested. They were both dutiful and got on well. Besides, she knew the ins and outs of the MacDonald Clan about as wellas she could, given that she had visited many times thanks to her family’s ties.
It would hardly be a searing love match born from passion, but she was sensible enough to see that something like that would only have ended in chaos anyway. Callum was steady and solid and decent, and that was all a woman could hope for.
But then the news of his passing broke. She was not sure what had happened to him, and at first she had thought it must be nothing more than some mad rumor designed to sow discord in the MacDonald house.
But then, she had seen the look on his brother’s face, and she knew that he could never have faked something like that. Whatever had happened, it was true, and they would be left to collect the pieces.
She gazed out across the hills that surrounded the Keep, the road that curled around them to lead into this place. It was a fine defensive point, Callum MacDonald had explained to her, and made it easy to see when villains might have been approaching. But even this had not been enough to keep him safe from whatever fate had befallen him, and she could not help but wonder if it had all been for nothing.
And besides, the man who stood to inherit the lairdship now was not the kind who would have thought to defend. No, Tavish MacDonald, Callum’s brother, was the kind who would attack first. She had known him nearly as long as she had known Callum, and yet, she had always kept her distance from him.
The rumors around Callum’s brother always seemed to portray him as a bloodthirsty figure; comments on Tavish training with the sword and the axe, on how to ride a horse one-handed so he could slaughter his enemies with the other.
She shuddered at the thought. Whoever had done this to Callum, she’d have wagered, would not have been prepared for the hell that Tavish would respond with as soon as he got hishands on them. She did envy them for that, being at the wrong end of Tavish’s fury. She’d seen flashes of it in the clashes he’d had with the guards of the Keep during training, the way his eyes seemed to sink into an almost black glare as he brandished steel to cold steel.
Ailsa was not a fool. She knew how situations like the one she was in were handled. If she was once betrothed to the eldest MacDonald and there was a spare one after an unfortunate turn of events…
No, she would pick out another man tomorrow—anyone but him!
All at once, footsteps sounded behind her, and she whipped her head around in a panic. She was sure she would see a guard making his way towards her, or a maid, perhaps, insisting that she go back to her chambers and wait for the feast the next day.
But, instead, her entire body seized in terror when she realized it was none other thanhim.
Tavish MacDonald.
It took her a moment to recognize him in the shafted shadows of the torches lining the corridor beyond. His dark hair, once wild and near his waist, had been cut short, and his face was clean-shaven, showing the sharp angles of his jaw.
“What are ye doing here, lass?” he demanded as he closed the distance between them.
She drew back against the stone railing to the parapet. Beyond it, a fall of a hundred yards or more waited for her, and she found herself humoring the idea after all.
“Ye shouldnae be walking around alone,” he warned her, his voice dropping to a low, threatening rasp.
