CHAPTER1
WEST STRATHNAVER, SCOTLAND, 1313
“Your bride approaches, Alec. Cease with your disgruntled countenance and accept King Robert’s decree that you wed today tae end the blood feud between the Sutherlands and Mackays. He demands peace between our clans as a sign of loyalty and he awaits word of your marriage. Give the lass a smile of welcome, damn you!”
Alec Mackay could no more have smiled at that moment than quell his urge to kick his snorting mount into a gallop and leave this wedding debacle far behind him…no matter his father’s stern command. For all of his talk of peace and loyalty, Donald Mackay, the chieftain of the westerly branch of their clan, didn’t look so welcoming, either, the size of the well-armed retinue accompanying the bride twice the number they had expected.
Thirty Sutherland warriors appeared as grim-faced as Donald and the dozen Mackay kinsmen who had ridden out from the castle to greet their long-time enemies. All were heavily cloaked against the cold November wind, Alec’s gaze drawn to the hooded young woman astride a milk-white mare at the center of the entourage.
Flame-colored strands of hair fluttered around her face and her chin was lifted as if in defiance…and only then did Alec notice her wrists were bound in front of her and a thick rope tied around her waist that lashed her to the saddle.
God help them, his bride no happier at the prospect of their imminent wedding than he had been since his clansmen had arrived at Douglas Castle two weeks ago to accompany him back to Strathnaver.
His two-year respite from the constant warring of his clan with the Sutherlands ended when he had reluctantly bid farewell to his cousin Roger Douglas, his kindhearted English wife, Julianna, and their young family. Och, there had been strife enough in North Lanarkshire as well, but what Alec faced now was a different conflict altogether.
He knew little of Rowen Sutherland than that she was twenty years old and the only daughter of Hamish, the chieftain of the most powerful sept of that clan—and whom Alec guessed to be the burly warrior riding next to her.
The man’s hair and bushy beard as fiery red, and with the same intense blue eyes as Rowen’s, which bored into Alec’s with disdain now, her chin lifting higher.
From what he could see of her face beneath the fur-trimmed hood, Rowen was bonny, aye, he couldn’t deny it, but what did that matter? Their clans were ancient enemies and their marriage being forced upon them, which was a perfect recipe for discord and unhappiness.
Again, Alec thought of bolting past all of them, but he had sworn loyalty, too, to Robert the Bruce and was honor-bound—like his father and Hamish—to accept the king’s decree that came with the windswept castle behind him and Mackay warriors to command. All he had to do was keep the peace alongside a bride who clearly hated him, though a wisp of a gray-haired older woman who was perched on the saddle behind one of the Sutherland warriors was grinning ear to ear.
A relative? A lady’s maid, mayhap? Her pinched birdlike features were alight as if the pending marriage thrilled her while still, Rowen glared at Alec across the thirty feet dividing them.
“Welcome, Laird Sutherland,” came Donald’s gruff greeting to break the tense silence that had descended upon them, Hamish nodding his head in acknowledgement.
“Mackay. Will we stare at each other out here in the cold or see this thing done?”
“No, I willna marry him!”
Rowen’s outcry shrill and defiant, she grabbed the pommel with her bound hands and dug her heels into the mare’s sides, the startled animal rearing on its hind legs. Cursing, her father reached out to grab the reins, but too late as she veered her mount around and plunged back through her startled kinsmen.
The Sutherlands shouting after her and Alec’s father staring wide-eyed, incredulous, while Alec cursed as well and urged his gray stallion into a gallop.
Not to ride into the mountains to escape the fate King Robert had brought upon him, but to ride hard after his bride, who bobbed and swayed atop her lunging mare.
Her hood fallen from her head and her long red hair streaming behind her.
Alec marveled that she could control her horse so ably no matter her hands were tied and she was bound to the saddle, yet how long before disaster befell her? His newly awarded castle was set upon a high ridge overlooking the sea, the snorting mare’s speed only increasing as Rowen raced downhill.
A split second more and it appeared she had lost control altogether, the mare veering toward a distant cliff. Or was the lass doing so on purpose? Heaven help her, would she rather pitch horse and rider into the abyss and dash herself upon the rocks than marry him?
Alec leaned forward in the saddle and spurred his steed onward with a shout until he came abreast of the mare, whose headlong gallop was thankfully no match for his powerful stallion’s longer strides.
One instant more and Alec was close enough to grab the mare’s bridle and pull upon it with all his might, which slowed the frantic animal enough for him to lunge onto the saddle behind his cursing bride.
Aye, Rowen’s outraged oaths blistering his ears as she railed against him, the Mackays, King Robert, and all men in general for bringing this foul day upon her—while Alec was grateful she was tightly bound for the blows he most likely was spared.
Still she struggled mightily against him, but Alec held her fast as he swept up the dangling reins and brought the mare to a stop no more than forty feet from the precipice and the jagged rocks below.
His breathing hard, his heart pounding at how close they had both come to destruction, Alec grateful to see that his stallion had swerved in time and stood tossing its head and snorting white flecks of foam.
The poor mare’s sides heaving, the animal whinnied as if grateful to be rescued while Alec held fast to the reins in spite of Rowen’s continued struggling and steered them back toward the castle.
“Let go of me, damn you!Let go!”
“What? And have you try and take us over the cliff? Mayhap that was the fate you intended for yourself, you foolish lass?—”
