Prologue
Innes sat next to her brother, hands clasped in her lap, smile carefully arranged on her face.
Her dress was the color of lilacs in the spring; her dark hair, tugged and tweaked by Isobel all the way to the feast, was in an intricate braid that hung down over one shoulder. At a glance, she would have looked every bit her brother’s sister—the fine daughter of a Laird, the as-yet-unmarried maid of her family.
But if there was anywhere that might change, it would be there, in the confines of the MacFadden feast. Laird MacFadden was well-known across the land for his sumptuous feasts, which had long since gained a reputation for bringing together potential love matches between clans.
In fact, it had been at a feast much like this one that her brother had met Lady Isobel. Arthur had been taken with her immediately; she was certainly a much sought-after companion, and he was not the only one who had shown an interest.
But it had been him who’d won her heart in the end, and that, Innes believed, was the reason they had come to this feast. So that Isobel could show the world that she had chosen and put to rest any rumors that might still have been swirling about the man she had rejected for Arthur.
“Innes.”
Innes blinked and glanced over at her sister-in-law. Across the Great Hall, where the dancers were spinning together, she could hear a cheerful tune cutting through the general chatter and laughter of the hall. But Isobel’s sharp gaze seemed to grow more intent, cutting through whatever distractions might have surrounded them.
“I wouldnae be a good sister if I didnae tell you,” she went on, lowering her voice pointedly. “But you mustnae sit there and smile so much. It makes you look… well, it’s no’ ladylike.”
Innes rearranged herself carefully on the seat, nodding her thanks to Isobel. She appreciated that she had taken the matter of Innes’ manners so seriously, though sometimes she wondered if her standards were rather far removed from what she had been raised with.
“Ye’re doing wonderfully, Innes,” Arthur remarked, overhearing the conversation between the two women. “Would you like some more ale?”
Innes shook her head, wrapping her hand around the cup that sat before her. She was not much of a drinker, plus it was too early into the feast. She didn’t like the feeling of not being in control of her words and her actions. She was shy enough as it was, and she didn’t need to give herself another reason to be humiliated in front of all of these?—
But before she could finish the thought, the doors at the far end of the Great Hall flew open. All eyes turned to see whoever it was that had arrived so late. The music faltered, and the conversation withered when it became clear who had decided to invite himself to the gathering.
Innes recognized him at once—that long, light-brown hair, flying over his shoulders, and the turquoise eyes that seemed to clash like thunder as they surveyed the room. But even if she hadnot known who he was, the murmurings of the people around her would have been quick to fill her in.
“The mad Laird,” one woman muttered to another, leaning over as though fearful she might be overheard.
“Aye, I heard he burned a forest to the ground when he was rejected by Lady…”
They did not dare finish what they were saying, as Lachlan Fraser cut through the crowd, silencing them with the merest glance. Innes caught sight of him, and he seemed to slow where he stood, like a hunter surveying its prey.
This was the man that Arthur had won Isobel over.
Innes could not blame Isobel for having made the choice she did, given what she had heard about Lachlan Fraser. That he was wild—dangerous. That he could not be trusted, and that what little handle he’d had on his madness once had long since been lost when he had missed out on Isobel’s hand in marriage.
He made his way through the quiet room. Laird MacFadden stood at the far end of the table, caught in the midst of conversation with one of his guests, unmoving. He was observing the proceedings carefully, keen to diffuse the tension of anything that might puncture the jovial atmosphere. One of the many reasons he made such a fine host.
“Come to see what he’s lost,” Arthur muttered, and Isobel shifted slightly in her seat.
If Innes had not known better, she would have sworn that there was a part of her new sister-in-law that enjoyed this attention, that enjoyed how willing this man was to make a scene for her.
But, as Laird Fraser came to a halt before Innes and her brother, he paid no attention to Isobel. No, his eyes were fixed, or so it seemed, squarely on Innes.
“I’ve come,” he announced, his eyes not moving for an instant. “To ask the most beautiful lass at this feast for a dance.”
Everyone froze. Innes felt the blood run cold in her veins. She scanned his face for meaning, for something that might help her make sense of this, but the glint in his eyes gave her no insight into his sanity.
She kept the smile pursed tightly on her lips as she replied. “Well, Laird Fraser,” she remarked lightly. “As flattered as I am, I’m no’ sure I wish to be caught up in yer games.”
He cocked an eyebrow. Extending a hand, he seemed oblivious to all the attention he was receiving. As though she were the only person in the room.
“A game, eh? Then play, lass. Let’s see if ye can win.”
She stared at him for another moment. If she turned him down, rumors about the feud between her clan and his would certainly spread. She knew of his reputation, of what he might do if he was denied what he wanted. And who was she to do such a thing? It was just a dance, after all, nothing more to it than that.
She put her hand in his, rising to her feet. She could hear Isabel sucking in a sharp breath between her teeth, and Innes pretended not to notice. Laird MacFadden gestured for the band to begin to play again, and Innes followed the mad Laird to the floor, her hand wrapped in his strong fingers.
