Page 1 of Kilted Sins

CHAPTER ONE

Isle of Skye, December 1297

Enya MacLeod would have never thought that a wedding could be more miserable than a funeral. Had someone asked her a mere few weeks prior, she would have said that she would look forward to a wedding in the family—she or one of her siblings falling in love and marrying the person of their dreams, giving the entire MacLeod Clan a reason to celebrate and rejoice. Now, though, she knew differently, that not all weddings were such pleasant events.

Her sister’s wedding with Laird Cillian MacDonald certainly wouldn’t be.

Thora’s deep blue eyes scanned the horizon as they walked to the shore, searching for the vessel that would take them to Jura. The boat rocked violently on the waves, the wind around them disturbing the surface of the water and whipping their cheeks. It was, predictably, a cold day, the sky as grey as steel stretching above them, and dark, heavy clouds hanging like a threat as they made their way through a slurry of ice and mud. Enya privately cursed the king for forcing them to travel in such weather. At any moment, a snowstorm could begin to rage and their journey would become not only unpleasant, but also possibly dangerous.

For if there was one certain thing, it was that the journey was definitely going to be unpleasant, even without what awaited them in Jura.

“I still dinnae understand why we must travel there in such circumstances!” Enya complained, not for the first time that day. Her voice, though loud to the point of strain on her vocal cords, barely carried over the whistling wind. None of the guards who followed her and Thora could hear them, but even if they could, Enya refused to keep her comments to herself. She wanted everyone to know just how displeased she was with this arrangement, just how much she disagreed with what the king had ordered.

They could have at least waited until the Yule celebrations were over, just like their older brother, Domhnall, had requested. The king had been firm in his decision, though; Thora was to travel to Jura right away to meet her betrothed, despite if the weather was terrible and even if the only one who could accompany her was Enya, as their other siblings were required to stay in Castle MacLeod for the celebrations.

“Perhaps it is better this way,” said Thora with a small shrug. Her dark, almost raven-black hair was plaited neatly over her shoulder, sitting against the decorated silk of her blue dress. It hadn’t been her choice, that dress, but rather the choice of their maids, who had been instructed by Domhnall to ensure Thora looked nothing short of the perfect for Laird MacDonald.

Thora was being paraded like a prized horse. Though Enya was slow to anger and always had been the calmest and gentlest of her four siblings, to the point that everyone commented on her disposition, this particular matter enraged her unlike anything else. Ever since that fateful day, when Domhnall had announced to them all that one of the twins would have to wed Laird MacDonald at the king’s request, Enya’s rage threatened to bubble over and spill out of her in a torrent of cursing that would put to shame even the foulest of her brother’s men. From the beginning, the choice had been obvious and non-negotiable. Thora was the older of the two, even if only by a few minutes, and so she would have to be the one to suffer this union, while Enya would be left to wonder if she, too, would soon be sold off to a man for another alliance.

It was the way it had always been done. Most noble girls married for convenience, not for love. It would be no different for Thora and Enya, but that didn’t mean it was an easy truth to accept.

“How could it be better?” Enya asked. “All o’ this is madness! He should be the one visitin’ ye, at least.”

That had been another point of contention for Enya. She didn’t understand why Thora had to be the one to make this journey when she was the one who was supposed to be courted. Laird MacDonald had been adamant, though, that he couldn’t leave his home right before the Yule celebrations, just like Domhnall, and so now Thora was the one who had to endure the long journey in choppy seas.

“Aye, but at least this way, it will all be over soon,” said Thora, though she didn’t quite believe it herself, Enya knew. It was simply a way of comforting her, a way to fool her into thinking everything would be fine, when they both knew this was only the beginning. Once she was wedded to Laird MacDonald, she would have her entire life ahead of her—a life she would inevitably have to spend by his side. “I will go there an’ once I meet him⁠—”

Suddenly, Thora came to a halt, her boots crunching against the frozen soil. Her eyes took on that familiar, glazed look, as though a veil had been pulled over them, and her body went stiff, like she was herself carved out of ice.

Around them, the air stilled. The tell-tale scent of an oncoming storm permeated the air, thick and heavy in her throat as Enya took a deep breath. Where there had been the cawing of birds and the whistling of the wind around them only moments prior, now everything had fallen silent. Even the waves couldn’t be heard, though Enya could see them clearly in the short distance, savagely beating the boat.

Enya glanced at the group of guards who were following them—no more than half a dozen and all of them trusted men, but none of them knew the truth of what was happening to Thora and Enya wanted to keep it that way. Then, she glanced back to her sister, whose eyes were moving rapidly in small increments, almost as though they were vibrating.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, it ended, and Thora blinked, the focus returning to her gaze. Her eyes were wide, though, concern clearly etched into her features, and Enya knew that whatever it was she had seen, it was far from good.

Like all MacLeod siblings, Thora had a gift, and hers was peering through the curtain of time to see into the future. No matter how much time passed, no matter how used she was to her powers, some visions left her disoriented and shaking, fear gripping her at the prospect of the future she had seen coming true.

This was one of those instances, Enya knew. Thora’s pale skin now looked waxen, drained of all color. Her hands trembled and so did her breath as she exhaled, the air in front of her lips fogging up with the warmth of her body.

Before Enya even had the chance to say anything, Thora turned to the guards and said, “One moment, please! I must relieve meself!”

The guards, stunned by the bold declaration, said nothing as Thora grabbed Enya’s hand and dragged her away, past the first line of trees that lined the path to the shore and into the thicker part of the forest—as far as they would go while still being near enough to the guards so that none of the men would worry or come looking for them. Enya followed blindly, feet tripping over a few roots that poked through the soil, curling like serpents around her shoes.

Once Thora determined they were far enough from the guards, hidden from their curious gazes and their eavesdropping ears, she came to a halt and turned to face Enya, white as the foam that tipped the waves.

“I saw Ava,” Thora said, and her voice trembled with fear.

“Ava?”

Enya felt the cold hand of terror curl its fingers around her heart, too. What could have Thora seen that made her so afraid? Could it be that something was about to happen to Ava?

The girl was like another sister to them, a friend so dear that Enya would never be able to bear it if something happened to her. The mere thought filled her with a roiling panic and she gripped Thora’s hands, both of them turning to each other for comfort.

“Somethin’ is wrong,” Thora said. “Nae with Ava, but with the MacKinnon Clan. Her father doesnae ken, but somethin’ terrible is about tae happen.”

Ava’s father, Laird Finley MacKinnon, was not the kind of man who was easily fooled by foes, and so whatever it was Thora was sensing had to be serious, Enya thought. It had to be more than a minor threat, and judging by Thora’s reaction, it was going to happen soon.

“I must warn her,” Thora said.