Page 3 of Under the Laird’s Promise

"Aye."

But she sat by the fire longer, watching shadows dance across the ground, steeling herself for what lay ahead. The political pressure. The grief. The battle to maintain her independence in the face of those who'd strip it away.

To the north, her father lay dying. And circling that deathbed like carrion birds were men who saw opportunity in tragedy.

Maighread pulled her cloak tighter and made a silent vow. She would not be forced. Not into marriage, not into surrender, not into anything she didn't choose freely. Whatever waited at MacEwan Castle, she'd face it on her own terms.

When dawn broke grey and cold, she was already awake, already packed, already ready to ride.

"Let's go," she said, mounting before the guards had fully woken. "We've wasted enough time."

They rode north into the rising sun, toward home, toward uncertainty, toward a future Maighread would have to fight to control.

CHAPTER ONE

1450, Road to MacBain Lands

"Faster, ye great daft beast. Faster!"

The road beneath Maighread's horse was muddy, each hoof strike splattering cold muck against her skirts. Rain had been pouring down since dawn, soaking through her woolen cloak until the fabric clung heavy on her shoulders. She hunched forward, urging her mount onward. Every beat of her heart hammered the same rhythm.

The guards accompanying her were also hunched over their horses, one in front of her, one behind.

Faither's dying, Faither's dying, Faither's dying.

Three days since the messenger had found her at her cousin's holding in the Lowlands. Three days of hard riding north, and still the MacEwan lands felt impossibly distant. Her thighs burned from gripping the saddle after hours of brutal pace, and her gut twisted with a sickness that had naught to do with the journey.

The Council would be circling already. Those scheming vultures. She could picture them gathering in her father's hall, whispering poison while Angus MacEwan lay fevered and helpless. And Keir Sinclair was bound to make a move soon, as soon as he found out there was something wrong with him.

Her horse stumbled, nearly pitching her forward. Maighread swore viciously, hauling on the reins. "Steady now. Steady."

The forest pressed close on either side of the road, ancient pines crowding together until their branches blocked what little grey light filtered through the clouds. This stretch always made her uneasy. Too quiet. Too many places for trouble to hide.

A branch cracked somewhere to her left.

Maighread's hand went to the dirk at her belt, fingers closing instinctively around the leather-wrapped hilt, despite the protection of the men travelling with her. She wasn't foolish enough to travel unarmed, not with winter coming and desperate men prowling every road between there and salvation.

All of a sudden, the forest came alive.

They burst from the trees like wolves.

Five men, maybe six. Rough looking curs in stained leathers, faces hidden behind scraps of cloth. Her horse screamed and reared. Maighread clung to its mane, legs locked around its barrel as it bucked and spun.

Both her guards were targeted immediately, one’s throat slit before he could fully reach his sword, the other pushed off his horse and trampled.

"Get her down!" one of the attackers roared. "Alive, ye hear me? Alive!"

Alive. Not just bandits then. Bandits wanted quick coin and a quicker escape. These men wanted her specifically. They had been watching and had quickly made rid of her guards.

Her heart kicked into a gallop. She yanked her dirk free and slashed at the closest man as he grabbed for her bridle. The blade caught him across the knuckles. He howled and jerked back, blood spraying.

"Sinclair's balls!" he snarled. "The bitch cut me!"

"Should've brought more men," another growled, circling around her left side. Bile rose in her throat.

"Who sent ye?" She kept her horse spinning, kept them all in sight. Her voice came out steady despite the terror clawing up her spine. "Name yer master, ye cowardly monsters!"

The leader laughed, a wet ugly sound. "Ye'll ken soon enough, lass. Now stop making this difficult."