PROLOGUE
Castle Fraser, July 1603
Elaina knew something was wrong even before the maid spoke.
The afternoon light behind her turned her face pale, and though she kept her hands folded properly before her apron, her unease betrayed her.
Elaina set down the pestle at once.
“What is it, Helena?”
The maid lowered her eyes. “The laird requests yer presence in the solar at once, me lady. Ye are tae greet an honored guest and pour wine.”
It was not the request itself that troubled Elaina, for her father often summoned her when courtesy was required. It was the manner of it and the look in the girl’s face, as though even she understood that something in this command was not ordinary.
Elaina straightened slowly, brushing the fine dust of dried rosemary from her fingers. “Did he say who this honored guest is?”
“Nay, me lady.”
A hard little knot formed beneath Elaina’s ribs. She had lived too long under her father’s roof not to know when she was being arranged like an object in a room before important eyes were invited to rest upon her.
By the time she reached the corridor outside the solar, every instinct in her was awake and wary. She paused only once, her hand upon the latch, and drew a breath deep enough to steady herself before entering.
The room beyond was warm with late afternoon light and the smell of peat smoke. Her father sat near the hearth, broad-shouldered and severe, with one elbow resting upon the carved arm of his chair as though he presided not over a conversation but over a judgment already half-decided. Across from him sat a man Elaina had never seen before and yet knew at once.
Laird Lachlan MacKenzie.
She knew him by reputation first, by the scar that cut across his cheek, the iron-grey hair, the cold self-possession of a man long accustomed to being feared and never denied. He was older than her father had led her to expect when speaking of neighboring lairds, and larger too, with a heaviness to him that did not diminish the force of his presence.
His gaze settled upon her at once, not with the detached civility owed a host’s daughter. He looked at her as though she were the answer to a question he had not yet spoken aloud.
She dropped into a curtsey, because she had been trained to do so, not because she wished to show him respect. “Me laird.”
MacKenzie rose only enough to acknowledge her before sitting again. “Mistress Fraser.”
Her father gestured toward the sideboard, where the wine waited already prepared. “Pour.”
Elaina crossed the room with what composure she could summon. The cups stood ready and the wine darkened the glass as she tipped the bottle. She brought one cup first to her father, then turned to MacKenzie. He held out his hand for it, but did not take it immediately.
His fingers brushed hers. The touch lasted scarcely a second, yet Elaina felt every instant of it, and not by accident. When she withdrew, his mouth curved very slightly, as though he knew precisely how much she disliked him already and found the knowledge pleasing.
She stepped back at once.
“Stay,” her father ordered.
It held her as effectively as any chain.
“Our guest may wish fer more wine.”
There was nothing to be said to that. She moved to the sideboard and stood there, with every sense strained and every instinct urging her to leave.
The men resumed their conversation. At first, it was of the sort she had expected: land, neighboring tensions and the shifting weight of loyalties among clans. Her father spoke withoutpassion, as if all human lives could be reduced to pieces placed and removed at proper advantage. MacKenzie spoke less, but when he did, it was with the assurance of a man accustomed to having others make room for his will.
Elaina understood enough to know they were discussing more than courtesy. There was talk of mutual benefit, of strength better joined than spent in rivalry. Clan Grant’s name arose more than once, and whenever it did, a peculiar hardness entered MacKenzie’s face.
It was clear the meeting had purpose. It was equally clear that she had been summoned not to be polite, but to be present.
MacKenzie’s gaze drifted to her again. “Yer daughter is yer only bairn?”
