Page 1 of Trapped By the Exiled Bastard

Prologue

Keir MacKenzie crouched at the banks of Loch Aber, hissing in pain as the cold water steamed against the bloody gash in his side.

The MacKenzie bastard ignored the burning feeling, pouring more of the water on, rinsing away as much of the dirt and blood as he could. He remembered his brother once telling him it was better to use boiled water for such things, but Keir didn’t have time for that just now. It was more important to keep moving. It was all he had left.

Once he had done the best he could, he reached for his ruined, blood-soaked overshirt and tore the remaining clean material into a long strip. As best as he could with shaking hands, he wrapped the cloth around his waist, cinching it tight against the wound. It wasn’t the best bandaging, but it would at least keep it clean until he was able to get someone more skilled to treat it. He straightened, wincing at the way the wound protested when he did, and stared out over the loch and the moonlight reflected on its surface.

Coming here had been his last hope.

He’d barely escaped the battle with the McFarlane and Cameron men with his life. He and Graeme and Noah had held out as long as they could, but the onslaught had been too much.

In his rage, Keir had wanted to stay until the bitter end, but Graeme had ordered him to run—to make sure that at least one of them was still alive when Theon and Briana returned. Keir hadn’t even been given time to protest as the flames consumed what was left of his most recent home and a new wave of attackers had descended upon them. It was all a blur after that. He remembered the sharp slice of an enemy’s sword deep into his side. Graeme’s roar of fury. Noah shoving him, hard, urging him to go.

Keir sucked air through his teeth, shaking his head. They had all run, in the end, he was sure of it, but where had his brothers gone? This loch was one of their secret meeting points, but there was no sign of Noah’s good-natured sympathy nor Graeme’s booming laughter. And as for Theon…

He clenched his fists. All of the Broken Blades were Keir’s brothers, but Theon was his blood, a brother and father all in one.

Theon had protected him, raised him, held him in value no matter his status as a bastard and kept him safe even after their world had fallen apart over and over again. Keir’s stomach tightened as he thought of the last time he’d seen Theon. Keir almost crossed a line that he never thought he would and abandoned Briana Cameron to her fate, but at the last moment, he’d sent his brother to rescue the daughter of the enemy—the woman with whom Theon had undeniably fallen in love.

It had been the right thing to do, he knew that.

And yet part of him was still twisted at the thought that his brothers were now scattered for the sake of a Cameron woman.

He groaned, running his hand through his hair and reaching for his undershirt, pulling it back over his damp chest before securing his cloak in place. He shivered in the cold, knowing his thoughts were wrong. Briana wasn’t just a Cameron woman. Keir had said when he sent Theon after her that Briana was one of them now, and he’d meant it. Still, he was conflicted, as torn up as the wound on his side. And the fact he couldn’t even talk to his brothers about it made the small itch blaze like an inferno. He was sure they were still alive. He would somehow know if they weren’t, he was certain of it. But he also knew that, if they weren’t here at the loch, he had no way of knowing where to find them again.

As Keir turned and walked away from the loch, a flash of heat prickled over his skin, so contradictory to the cold air around him that it made him stop still. A second later, he felt so cold again that he had to pull his cloak tight around him. Keir cursed under his breath.

Was he running a fever?

He had cleaned out the wound carefully, but if there was any infection, he knew he needed to rest if he was to survive long enough to find a healer.

He scowled. Bad enough that he was there, deep in Grant territory, alone. But to be ill in the heart of enemy lands was simply unacceptable. They’d arranged this loch as a meeting point for strategic reasons, but those all fell away now that Keir was alone.

Keir stumbled away from the loch and toward the dim lights he could see in the distance. After some time, his wound aching and his body exhausted, he stumbled across the boundary of what was clearly a small but lively village, still bustling despite the late hour. It was the perfect place to blend in and find an inn or a tavern to get a night’s rest. He had enough money to ensure that he could secure a private room and a meal. After that, he’d approach a local healer for some herbs or some sort of tincture and set out on the most important task: finding his brothers.

“Are ye all right, sir?” a man asked, stepping away from the stall he was tending toward Keir. “Ye’re lookin’ awful pale.”

Keir knew that the young man was probably just being kind, but his skin prickled with distrust. He was all too aware of his coin purse and shifted slightly so that it was more hidden. “I’m lookin’ for a place tae spend the night.”

“The Greyhorn Tavern is just at the end of the road. Cannae miss it!” The man put out a hand toward Keir. “I—”

“Thanks,” Keir replied gruffly, turning and walking briskly down the path the man had indicated, not looking back even when he heard him call after him. He didn’t have time to chat or make friends. He needed to rest, regroup, and focus. His brothers needed him. And, besides, here in Grant territory, even the kindest stranger could stick a knife in his back at any moment.

It was something he’d lived with for his whole life.

The Greyhorn Tavern was exactly the kind of place that Keir had hoped it would be.

It was a busy, cheerful kind of place, filled with so many patrons that it was all too easy to blend in. The place heaved with the heavy scents of beer and meat and smoke from the fire, and ribald laughter rose so loudly that the musician in the corner could barely be heard. Graeme would have loved this kind of place. Keir remembered several times that the boisterous Blade had half-persuaded, half-dragged the other three into a bawdy tavern to flirt and drink. Theon had always enjoyed it after a while, and Noah had always been quietly amused and content, but Keir remembered puzzling from a young age over how Graeme could be so easy-going considering the life of the outlaw they’d all been forced to live for so long.

“How are ye, handsome?” asked a woman in a bright red dress, her bouncing, glossy curls catching the firelight in a way she obviously knew was very appealing. She stood with another two women, each of whom was equally daringly dressed and giggling. “Come join us.”

Keir responded with a tight smile and nod and turned away from them as he walked toward the bar. He wouldn’t get caught up with such distractions, no matter how pretty they were to look at. He shoved his way through the crowd, keeping his head down and aiming straight for the bar.

“How much for a room and a meal?” he asked as soon as he reached it.

The barman was an older, portly man whom Keir immediately took as the tavern’s owner. He was red-cheeked, grey-bearded, and cheerful, and he greeted Keir with a laugh. “Around these parts we usually start with good evenin’, stranger.”

Irritated, Keir gritted his teeth and took a breath. The wound in his side pulsed as if in tandem with his mood, and it was all he could do not to bend over double with the sudden pain. It passed, and Keir exhaled. “Good evenin’,” he forced out. “How much for a room and a meal?”