Page 3 of A Kilted Marriage of Convenience

CHAPTERONE

Aresounding thwack! echoed in the mostly empty dining room, as once again Ciara’s face was met with the full force of her father’s blow. Her head fell to one side, her red hair obscuring most of her face, as a single line of blood trailed out of her mouth.

After her betrayal half a year ago, she had grown accustomed to this type of treatment. Her father had hit her for the first time that day, and he hadn't let up since.

This time, Keir had lashed out at her at the dining table as they sat for their evening supper. The servants turned away, acting as though they could neither see nor hear the abuse. A bitter smile lifted the corners of Ciara’s mouth, and she turned her head to glare at him, meeting the simmering rage in his eyes with her own.

“Careful now, father. Ye might make the mistake of breaking the goods ye mean to sell,” she spat.

Keir MacNeil threw his head back and laughed sardonically. “As though ye are worth being considered ‘goods’. A problem! That is what ye are! One that I am more than glad to be rid of,” he said viciously.

“If ye wish to be rid of me so badly, then dae it another way! Throw me to the sea! Kill me yerself! Anything else would dae. But daenae sell me off to wed Laird Morrison!” Ciara shouted, pushing her chair back and getting to her feet, almost leaning over her father on the table.

He jumped to his feet immediately and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Ye willnae shout at me, lass!” He shook her violently before letting her go. “Into the sea? Ye dinnae deserve the peace of death after what ye did. If ye had nae freed that lass, she would have been the one going to Laird Morrison to line my pockets with gold. Since ye decided to free her, ye can take her place. Maybe ye will finally be useful to me for once!”

With her lower lip trembling, Ciara spun on her heel and fled the room, yearning for the solitude of her chambers.

She slammed her door and pressed her back against it, biting her lower lip so that she would not cry. It was her last night in the keep. Ciara was not sure why she had bothered starting this fight with her father. Perhaps it was hope—a small part of her wishing that her father would find love for her somewhere in his heart.

“A fool I was,” she muttered bitterly, running to her bed and pulling out the traveling bag she had prepared. Wiping the blood off her mouth, she quickly changed out of her heavy formal gown, choosing a simple tunic that she could move faster in. She tied her hair in its usual style and donned her cloak.

Ciara had made the decision to run away the moment her father had received the first payment from Laird Morrison, with which her father had paid off his debts. At first, she had thought her father was cruelly joking when he had announced that he was giving her away to be wed. She had told herself that he had been trying to scare her.

She had been wrong.

Laird Morrison was just as wicked as her father and looked like a beastly ogre. It was said that he was particularly evil to the women he shared his bed with because it angered him to know they would never lay with him willingly. His lovers were either disfigured by his hand or killed after a while. Her father knew this, yet he was sending her away, condemning her to a life that was not worth living.

Ciara did not regret helping Lillie MacDonald escape, especially now that she knew her father’s plans had been to break her into a plaything for Laird Morrison. She shivered at the thought. She would never have stood aside and watched such a terrible thing happen. She looked out the window as the night grew dark and cold, the moon coming out to drape her with light.

It was on a night like this that she had set Lillie MacDonald free. Would she have been better off running away with her then? She vividly remembered the face of the man who had grabbed her. Although he had been scary at first, he had apologized and seemed gentle with Lillie.

There was no way she could have known back then the extent of her father’s wickedness, how he held no pity, not even for his own daughter. Ciara knew her father did not like her much. It was one of the first things she had learned as a child. Her wet nurse, who had been retained to take care of Ciara into early childhood, told her that she was a cursed child, and that her father hated her because she killed her mother by being born.

It must have been true since Keir had the woman taken and cut off her tongue for daring to mention his late wife. Ciara believed that he had loved her mother and could not stand to be around her because she reminded him of what he had lost. Of course, he never told her all this. He could have just been a monster.

Ciara put one last gown in her travel bag before she sneaked out of the door, praying she did not make a sound. If her father heard her, she would meet her maker, she was sure.

She sighed. Once, she had tried her best to be a perfect daughter, but that had not lasted long. She was now unable to keep her mouth shut when she saw him do things she did not agree with.

Their relationship quickly soured, and they argued often. However, he’d never hit her until that fateful day, when he had decided she was a traitor. Now he struck her daily.

There was a small ship at the docks that would be leaving that night. Ciara had already secured herself passage. All she had to do was get there. She strapped her bag to herself. She had packed only a few things, as the old captain had suggested. It was not as though she could carry a lot while she escaped anyway.

The one thing that was good about her lonely childhood was that she had had the time to explore the castle. She knew it like the back of her hand. Slipping into another hidden passageway between the walls, Ciara moved quickly and quietly like a cat. She arrived at the stables and was somewhat tempted to take a horse.

It would certainly make her journey quicker. But there was no way she could escape with it unseen. The doors came into view when she saw Alfie, her father’s most trusted soldier, walking toward the stables, leading his horse.

Ciara froze, her heart leaping into her mouth. She was right out in the open, with nothing to hide her at all. She turned back immediately, rushing deeper into the stables and looking around in a panic for a place to hide. But where? Finding none, she jumped behind a stack of hay. Alfie was a fearsome warrior, and blindly loyal to her clan. But for all his muscles and height, he was hardly intelligent.

While he was not very smart, he was cocky, always seeming to think that he was cleverer than others. Above all, he was drunk on the power her father bestowed upon him. Alfie always made fun of Ciara, telling her that if she had been a man she would have been able to win her father’s favor the way that he did. He bothered her to no end.

The stable doors opened wider as he entered with his horse. “Ochhh, Lady Ciara?” he called tauntingly as he looked around.

Och, just my luck! Of course, he saw me!

Ciara sat up out of the hay, and Alfie’s eyes widened when he saw her. He had the same look in his eye as a dog when it found a toy it enjoyed playing with. “Miss Ciara! I ken I saw ye!” He bounded over and lifted her out of the hay like she weighed nothing.

“It is nice to see ye too, Alfie,” Ciara said, allowing herself to hang limply in his arms, resigned to her fate. There was no need to try and fight him now that she had been caught. Doing so would only make things more difficult for her. She just had to play along for a bit. She could not let this opportunity pass her by.