PROLOGUE
SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS, SUMMER, 1400
“Wait for me!”
Stellan Sutherland heard his twin’s faint call, but he kept going, his pace fast, his thoughts faster. He would have to break the awful news he’d just received, but how? He couldn’t bear to see the hurt in Anders’s eyes, and to be the one to put it there. His own distress was too recent. Too fresh and too painful for any nine-year-old to bear, but especially one like Anders who wore his heart for all to see.
If Anders got close enough, he’d know immediately what was amiss. He’d know the reason for Stellan’s anger as clearly as if he’d spoken the reason aloud. Da had informed his heir, his eldest son, of his plans, with no thought to how they would affect both twins.
So Stellan kept moving, stumbling down the swale into the next glen and leaping across the rushing burn, then climbing the next hill and the next. Sutherland territory stretched farther than anyone could see, farther than he could go afoot at this pace with no food and only icy water from a burn to drink.
He hadn’t planned this infuriated march. He’d simply bolted from the keep after Da had announced his plan to split themup. He sought to put an end to the canny bond they shared, the bond he feared, but they cherished. The twin bond that let them understand each other without words, and to know how the other felt without seeing so much as an expression on the other’s face or the set of his shoulders.
The thought of being away from his twin for years stole Stellan’s strength and he halted in the heather, panting, bent forward, hands on knees. He heard Anders shout again for him to stop. His twin was still out of sight, below the crest of the last hill, unaware Stellan had stopped and was finally waiting for him.
It was time. They were far enough from Dunrobin to give voice to their anger and grief and not have word of their indulgence in such raw emotions get back to their Da.
Anders caught up with him a few minutes later.
Stellan barely got his breath back when the look on his twin’s face took it from him again.
“What has he done?”
Anders’s demand jerked Stellan upright and he grimaced against the stitch in his side. “Ye dinna ken?”
“Ye are so riled, I canna pick one thing from another. So tell me.”
There was no easy way to break the news he’d begun to hope Anders could pluck from him in silence. He must say the words, and the pain in his torso intensified. “Da has decreed we are to be sent to foster.”
“Where? What has ye so upset?”
Anders still didn’t understand. Stellan sucked down a lungful of air, then with a twist of his lips, told him, “I am to be honored to foster with Domnhall, the Lord of the Isles, for seven years. Da thinks to send ye far away, to the Norse land, surety for the treaty between we northern Scots and the Norse king.”
Anders shrugged. “But we will return to Sutherland.”
Stellan shook his head. “He thinks to have ye betrothed there. To someday rule the Norseland for Sutherland. Or for Scotland.”
Anders’s mouth fell open. Finally, he understood why Stellan was so upset.
“That canna be,” he objected. “I will go with ye.”
Stellen let his gaze drop to the ground. “Da will send us where he wills. We must do as he says and go.”
“And ye are willing to do that?”
Anders planted his fists on his hips, displaying his growing anger that Stellan could now feel.
“I dinna believe ye,” Anders continued. “Ye always have another plan, a way around our da.”
“What would ye have us do?” Stellan demanded, his earlier anguish returning. “Run away together today?” He waved a hand at the hills that marched on ahead of them, seemingly forever.
“Nay! We are lairds of Sutherland. The clan needs us, or will…someday.” Anders sank to the ground and sat, his gaze confused and dismayed.
Stellan was the stronger of the two, but his heart broke for both of them. “We believed so. The laird, our grandfather, decreed it may be so. As we have always done everything else, we would rule together. But grandda is dead. Da’s time has come, and he will do as he pleases.”
Anders drew hissgian dubh. “Then we will swear a blood oath to survive and reunite to keep Sutherland safe and strong.”
Stellan nodded, impressed at Anders’s initiative. “Once we inherit, it will be so. And,” he added, holding up his hand to stop Anders before he began to sanctify the oath with his blood, “we willna fall for any lass—or Norse princess—unless we can bring them home, so that we can fulfill our destiny to be lairds together. As is our right and our grandda’s wish.”
