Page 1 of Under the Laird’s Promise

PROLOGUE

One week earlier

Maighread was in the garden with her cousin Edith, discussing plans for the afternoon, when the rider appeared at the gate. Dusty, exhausted, clearly having ridden hard through the night. Her stomach clenched before she even saw the MacEwan seal on the folded parchment.

Nothing good came from messengers who rode that hard.

"Me lady," the man said, bowing quickly. "Urgent news from MacEwan Castle. Yer presence is requested immediately."

Maighread broke the seal with trembling fingers. Edith moved closer, concern creasing her face.

The words blurred together at first. She had to read them twice before they made sense.

Yer faither's condition has worsened considerably. The healers fear he may nae have much time. The Council requests yer immediate return tae discuss matters of succession and alliance. Please come with all haste.

The parchment crumpled slightly in her grip.

"What is it?" Edith asked gently.

"Me faither. He's worse. They want me home."

"Oh, Maighread. I'm so sorry."

Sorry. Everyone was always sorry. As if sympathy could change anything, could reverse the slow decline that had been stealing her father away piece by piece for months.

She'd known this was coming. Had known since before she left for the Lowlands that Angus MacEwan was dying. The cough that wouldn't fade, the weight loss, the exhaustion that left him bedridden more days than not. The healers spoke in careful euphemisms, but the truth was clear enough.

Her father was dying, and when he died, everything would change.

"I need tae leave," Maighread said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Now. Immediately."

"Of course. I'll have the servants pack yer things."

"Nay time fer proper packing. Just throw what's essential in saddlebags. I'll ride light and fast."

Edith gripped her hand. "Are ye sure? The roads can be dangerous fer a woman traveling alone."

"I'll bring guards. But I cannae wait fer a full escort tae be arranged. Every hour counts."

She was already moving, her mind cataloging what she'd need. Practical clothing, nothing fancy. Her warmest cloak. The small dagger her father had given her years before. Enough coin for emergencies.

And weapons. Definitely weapons.

The servants worked quickly under Edith's direction, packing with efficient haste. Within the hour, Maighread stood in the courtyard dressed for travel, saddlebags secured, her horse stamping impatiently.

"Write when ye arrive," Edith urged, embracing her tightly. "Let me ken how yer faither fares."

"I will. Thank ye fer everything. Fer the visit, fer the distraction. It's been good tae escape fer a while."

"Escape from what?"

Maighread smiled without humor. "From the vultures circling me faither's deathbed."

Understanding flickered across Edith's face. "The Council is still pushing the Sinclair match?"

"They never stopped. Before I left, three different council members cornered me separately tae extol Keir Sinclair's virtues." Maighread swung into the saddle, settling her weight. "As if I dinnae ken exactly what that match would mean."

"An alliance. Strength through unity."