Chapter 1

The constant, almost maddening pitter-patter of rain was nothing unusual for Knapdale, which saw more rainy days than sunny ones. So, when Angus woke up in his chambers that morning, dreading the day that followed and the responsibilities that came with it, the rain didn’t stop him from deciding that perhaps it would be better to spend the better part of his day away from the castle.

He had to sneak out, ensure that none of his guards would see him, as he had no desire to be questioned by them or to have them insist on escorting him. For a Laird, Angus sure had to answer to many other people when it came to his whereabouts and his plans, something that he had never grown to tolerate.

Sneaking out of the castle was easy enough, as he had been doing that exact same thing ever since he was a little boy. He knew the ins and outs of the building, the paths that he could take to avoid being seen, and the not-so-secret door that led to the back of the castle.

From there, all Angus had to do was go to the stables and grab his horse, and he could do so without worrying about being found out; the stable boy was used to seeing him there in the past few years, and often, he even knew when to have his horse ready.

Angus didn’t know what it was that gave away the fact that he would be looking for a temporary escape; perhaps there was a pattern there that he couldn’t see, but the stable boy could, and Angus didn’t want to think about what that would say about him as a man.

“M’lord.”

The voice came from behind him just as Angus entered the stables, and he froze, worried that he had been caught. The childlike terror that he felt at being found out prevented him from recognizing the voice that he knew so well until the stable boy walked around and faced him, and only then could Angus take a deep breath and relax.

“Ach, Roddy . . . ye almost scared me to death, lad,” Angus said, a hand coming up to lie over his chest.

“Forgive me, m’lord,” Roddy said sincerely, bowing his head a little. “Are ye on yer way out? I have the mare ready for ye.”

There it was again, Angus thought. Once more, Roddy had been anticipating him, and he had the horse ready. Angus couldn’t help but ask, needing to know.

“Roddy . . . how do ye ken that I’ll be coming here?” Angus asked. “How is the mare always prepared?”

Roddy looked at Angus with a frown, blinking a few times in surprise. “I see ye leave the castle, and I prepare the mare . . . by the time ye come here, I have her ready.”

Angus hummed, sounding almost disappointed. He had been expecting some sort of different explanation, perhaps something more exciting. He would have much rather have been told that Roddy was psychic, or that he was at least very good at anticipating Angus’ needs, but the answer, as usual, was much simpler than that.

“Here, m’lord,” Roddy said, as he handed Angus the reins to the horse. “Will ye be away for long?”

“Not too long,” Angus said as he mounted the horse. “Dinnae tell anyone about this.”

“Of course not, m’lord.”

With that promise, Angus began to ride towards the edge of the castle’s land, and then kept riding, further and further. The rain had turned into a drizzle, and though it wasn’t enough to soak his clothes, thankfully, it was more than enough to turn his brown mop of hair into a flat, tangled mess, something that he would have to deal with later. Besides, the more unlike a Laird he looked, the better it would be for him.

Every time he decided to leave the castle for the day, Angus would head to one of the villages at the edge of the MacMillan lands. Many of the people had seen their Laird, but not many cared in those villages, and Angus had soon realized that the locals there forgot about his face easily. They lived too far away from the castle to be concerned with him or anything that had to do with their rulers, and he was virtually a stranger, blending in easily with the crowd.

It helped that he kept his dirtiest, most unkempt clothes just for those trips to the villages, putting them on every time that he visited for anything other than official business.

The village that Angus decided to visit that day was at the very edge of his lands, one that he had never visited before, as it was so far away from the castle. The sky was clearer there, and the rain stopped a little ways away from it. The grey clouds persisted, falling like a blanket over the village, but some sunrays managed to push their way through, illuminating the few buildings that were there with their golden light.

The market was buzzing with people, merchants, and locals alike. Angus left his horse aside and then began to walk, roaming around the stalls and looking at all the different things that the merchants were selling.

Most of it was food, naturally. There wasn’t much that those villagers needed other than food and necessities, and so there was no profit in selling much else.

Angus didn’t visit the market for the goods, though. No, he visited because he enjoyed watching the people walk around him, talking to each other. He enjoyed overhearing their conversations, and he enjoyed seeing how they acted around him when they weren’t aware of his true identity.

People were utterly fascinating to him, and they were the sole reason why he visited those villages.

As he was watching the locals around him, Angus’ gaze fell on two children, a boy, and a girl, who were apparently not a part of the little group of boys and girls who were running around, playing, and laughing. The two of them were quieter, talking only to each other, and Angus could see the smudges of dirt on their faces and the holes in the fabric of their clothes.

He looked around the market, at least as far as his eyes could see, and he couldn’t spot anyone who looked as though they were the children’s parents, though the two of them looked alike, and so Angus concluded that they were siblings. No one seemed to be looking for them or even paying them any mind, and Angus felt his stomach drop as he watched them approach a stall and try to steal some bread.

The moment that the boy’s hand reached for the bread, the merchant behind the stall roared furiously at him and grabbed the child by the arm roughly, shaking him as he shouted obscenities at the two of them. Angus’ blood boiled in his veins as he listened to the words that came out of the man’s mouth, but before he could intervene, another person beat him to it.

There was a flash of rosy lips pursed together in displeasure, a small, slightly upturned nose, and a familiar jawline, and Angus froze on the spot, unable to do anything but stare at her. He could feel his stomach revolt at the sight of her, and he instantly began to break into a cold sweat, beads of it running down his temple and making him shiver.

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be her.

Angus kept repeating that to himself, reassuring himself that there was nothing to fear, but his mind was filled with images of Vika smiling at him, laughing with him, and in the end, betraying him. He could almost see her in front of him just as she was when he had last seen her, her mocking expression and the cruel twist of her lips.

But it couldn’t be her.

The young woman in front of him had auburn hair and brown eyes, unlike Vika’s lighter colors, and besides, Vika was still in the monastery, where Angus had left her after she had ruined his life.

The resemblance, though striking, was nothing more than that. Still, Angus had to admit that seeing the young woman left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Just as Angus came back to reality, his thoughts and worry about Vika dissipating slowly, he heard the merchant shout at the young woman.

“I dinnae care who did what. I want my money.”

“I told you, I was the one who asked them to steal the bread,” the young woman said, and Angus immediately knew that it was a lie. The woman was dressed in nice, clean clothes, and she even wore a necklace around her neck. She wasn’t poor; if anything, she was one of the richest people in the village. “I . . . I don’t have money on me, but you must let them go, please.”

“How do ye not have money, lass?” the merchant asked. “I’ve seen you here . . . I ken weel who ye are, I ken who yer uncle is.”

“I have it at home,” the woman said, clasping her hands together as she pleaded with the other man. “If you only let me go and—”

“The necklace, then,” the merchant interrupted, putting his hand out as a request.

The woman clutched onto the chain around her neck protectively, shaking her head, and Angus couldn’t blame her. A necklace for a loaf of bread hardly seemed like a fair trade.

“Do ye ken what we do with thieves where I come from?” the merchant said, finally letting go of the boy’s hand, but walking towards the woman instead. “We cut their hands off. Do ye want that, little lass?”

Angus had had enough. He pushed himself off the wall where he had been leaning against, and he walked up to the merchant, pulling some coins out of his pocket and throwing them to his face.

“Here,” Angus said. “This is more than enough for the bread, so I think that the bairns can choose anything they want from yer cart, aye?”

Angus watched as the man scrambled to grab all the coins, his greedy fingers wrapping tightly around them. For a moment, when the merchant looked at him, he seemed as though he was going to refuse, but when he saw the sword that was strapped onto Angus’ belt, as well as the look on his face, he simply nodded.

“Fine,” he said. “But do it quick.”

The children glanced at Angus, as though they were waiting for his permission, and he gave it to them with a sweeping gesture. It was all that they needed before they squealed in delight and began to stuff their pockets and fill their hands with food.

Then, Angus turned to look at the young woman who had so selflessly put herself in danger for the sake of those two children. As the Laird of the clan MacMillan, Angus had met many people before. He had met people who were rich and could afford to help the poor but didn’t, he had met people who were poor and shared their food with others, and he had met people who were good and kind, but he didn’t think he had ever met a person who would have ever taken the blame for a crime so that they could save someone else.

He couldn’t help but wonder about the woman, who she was and what had prompted her to intervene when she did and the way that she did; he couldn’t help but wonder why she looked so much like Vika.

Perhaps it was his brain playing tricks on him, Angus thought. Vika had never left his thoughts, after all, not even after he married his now-deceased wife, not even after he planned a future with her, one that was never meant to be.

“Thank you,” the woman said before Angus could say anything to her. “You’re very kind, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t paid him. I’m so foolish . . . I forgot my coins at home, and I didn’t have time to get them. I thought that that man would hurt those children.”

Instead of speaking, Angus simply stared at the woman, tilting his head to the side a little as he did. She certainly didn’t sound like she was from Knapdale or the Highlands at all. In fact, she hardly sounded like anything, a medley of different accents, and the more Angus tried to figure out where she came from, the more he made his head hurt.

The woman must have been used to such a reaction, though, Angus thought, because she simply smiled at him, instead of demanding to know why he was staring at her like that.

“Thank you, again,” the woman said, as she turned her gaze to the two children, who had filled up their pockets with as much food as they could carry. She smiled at them, but it was a sad smile, and Angus couldn’t help but share her pain. “It’s no wonder that they are starving . . . when the Laird doesn’t care for his people, this is what happens. The people starve, and they fall ill, and they die.”

“The Laird?” Angus asked, rather dumbly. “Ye think that the Laird doesnae care about his people?”

“You think that he does?” the woman asked, instead of answering his question, but it was all the answer that Angus needed. “Look around . . . look at all the people who can’t afford to eat or have a roof over their heads, and then you’ll see that the Laird is no good. The people are suffering, and where is he? Does he care? It’s no wonder that everyone thinks he’s gone mad.”

Angus opened his mouth slightly, as though he was about to speak, but no words came out. What was he supposed to say to her, after all? Was he supposed to defend himself? Was he supposed to agree with her? Angus had never thought that there were people in his lands who couldn’t afford to eat or to have a proper house where they could live, and hearing that that was the case shook him to his core. If he had known earlier, he would have done his best to keep all his people safe and fed, he would have done anything to ensure that they wouldn’t fall ill or go hungry at nights. It gave him no pleasure, knowing that the very people that he had sworn to protect suffered under his rule.

Then there was the added insult to the wound. He had heard the rumors that everyone whispered about his back, claiming that he was a madman. He had even heard people whom he considered to be close to him, people that he thought he could trust, wonder if Angus harbored such hatred for his wife and their child that he was the cause of their death, rather than the childbirth. He had heard some of his own men swear that they had seen him kill his own new-born child, just because she was a girl.

Angus had tried to pay no attention to all the rumors, but they seemed to have reached the edges of his land, and the last thing he needed was for his subjects to think he was a deranged murderer.

Still, he could hardly defend himself without the woman and everyone around them, realizing who he was.

“What else do they say about the Laird?” Angus asked, unable to stop himself. He needed to know what people were saying about him, even if knowing would sting.

“Are you not from these lands?” the woman asked him, and Angus hesitated, but she didn’t seem to be waiting for an answer, thinking that her assumption was correct before she continued. “Well, some, like my uncle, insist that he’s a good man, but others . . . others say that he will ruin the clan. They don’t trust him.”

Angus hummed to himself, trying to show indifference, though judging by the fists that were clenched by his sides, he doubted he had any success.

“I canna say I ken the man, but a Laird is a Laird for a reason,” Angus said. “If people didnae trust him, then he wouldnae be their Laird.”

“Tayvallich is too far away from the castle,” the woman pointed out. “The people here are helpless. They can’t rise up against the Laird. Just his guards are enough to destroy this entire village.”

“And ye?” Angus asked. “What do ye think?”

The woman hesitated for a moment. She opened her mouth, but then closed it again, as though she changed her mind before she spoke.

“I trust my uncle,” she said. “He is a clever man, a wise man. If he believes in the Laird, then I’d like to believe in him, too.”

Angus’ chest felt tight, then, for a reason he couldn’t explain. Simply hearing the woman, a stranger, put her faith in him made the air leave his lungs, and it felt as though something invisible inside him was expanding, filling up his chest with pressure.

“Sometimes, it’s hard, though,” the woman added then, making Angus deflate once more. “When I see the people in this village go hungry and fall ill, knowing that the Laird does nothing for them, it’s hard to believe in him.”

Angus bit down hard on his bottom lip, and he clasped his hands behind his back to try and hide the fact that they were shaking ever so slightly. He had to do something. He had to save his people and ensure that they would never go hungry again, that they would not suffer under his rule.

“Weel . . . I ken one thing,” he told the woman. “Everything will be better soon.”

The woman looked at him then, a small, curious yet fond smile on her lips.

“I hope it will.”, the woman said, and then, she leaned closer and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek, leaving him flustered and blushing, the blood rushing immediately to his head.

With that, she was gone, and Angus was left alone, watching her as she walked away. Then, he decided to leave, too, and head back to the castle. He didn’t want to avoid his responsibilities anymore, and he didn’t wish to waste more time, whether that meant roaming around the market in Tayvallich or doing anything else that took time away from helping his people.

If he was going to save the people who called his land their home, he needed to get to work.

Chapter 2

Ishbel kept thinking about the stranger at the market on the way to the cottage, where she lived with her uncle. He was not from the village, that much she knew, and she couldn’t help but wonder what had brought him there and whether she would see him again.

She had to admit that his kind gestured had warmed up her heart. Ishbel relied heavily on first impressions, and the man had made a very strong one on her, one that made her want to see him again, and perhaps talk to him a little more.

She had had to leave, though, a little sooner than she would have liked. She had to return and grab some money if she were to purchase food for the week.

When she got to the cottage, she was greeted by her uncle, who was carrying firewood inside the house.

“Yer back already, lass?” Cormag asked as he kicked the front door of the house open so that they could both go inside. “I didnae expect ye so soon. Where is the food?”

Ishbel closed the door behind them and followed Cormag to the fireplace, where she helped him with the wooden logs. “I forgot the money, uncle,” she said. “I’ll hurry back, and I’ll bring everything that we need.”

“Ach, ye’d lose yer head if it weren’t on yer shoulders,” Cormag said, though he sounded fond rather than upset. He smiled at Ishbel, reaching over to ruffle her hair, much to her dismay. Her frustrated grunts of disapproval always made him laugh. “So . . . did ye find yer way around the market?”

“It’s not that hard, uncle,” Ishbel pointed out. “Clermont is much bigger than Tayvallich.”

Ishbel spoke the name of her hometown with a soft sigh, one that Cormag didn’t seem to miss. He dusted off the dirt from the logs off his hands, and then placed one on Ishbel’s shoulder, making her look at him.

“You miss it,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. Still, Ishbel nodded, confirming Cormag’s suspicions. “Lass . . . if ye dinnae like living in Tayvallich—”

“Don’t say any more,” Ishbel interrupted him, shaking her head. “Tayvallich is my favorite place in the world, and do you know why? Because you’re here, uncle. Yes, I love France, and sometimes I miss home more than I think I can handle, but I would never dream of leaving you here alone.”

“I’m not alone,” Cormag said.

Ishbel didn’t need to inquire to know what Cormag meant. Sure, Vika was staying at a monastery close to Tayvallich, but Cormag hadn’t seen her ever since Laird MacMillan had placed her there after she had broken his heart and conspired against his childhood friends. As her father, it was no wonder that Cormag wanted to stay near her, even though Ishbel knew that he felt guilty on her behalf.

Besides, he still had another daughter; he still had Vanora, and he could have gone to live with her when she married Laird Cameron, but he was too stubborn to admit that he needed the company.

Cormag had refused to follow Vanora to the Cameron clan, simply because he wanted to be close to Vika, as well as to Laird MacMillan, even though he was not the clan’s General anymore.

It was the guilt that didn’t allow him to move on, Ishbel thought, but if it was enough to keep Cormag there, then he was enough for Ishbel to stay there, too.

“Uncle . . . after mama died, all I wanted was for someone to be with me,” Ishbel said. “I had no one but you. I may have only arrived in Tayvallich, but you’ve already done more than enough for me. Now let me help you, without telling me that I should go back to France, non? I like it here, I promise. Perhaps I’ll even grow to love it.”

Ishbel knew her uncle well enough to know that he was still worried about her, but he didn’t try to push her any further, and for that, Ishbel was grateful. She hated talking about Clermont, because it brought her to tears more often than not, and the last thing she wanted was for Cormag to see her cry.

“Alright, alright . . . as long as yer happy,” Cormag said. “But ye’ll let me ken if yer ever unhappy here, aye?”

“Aye,” Ishbel said, trying to imitate Cormag’s accent and earning a smile from him for her efforts. The two of them stayed quiet for a few moments before Cormag went back to fussing over the logs and the fire that he had lit in the fireplace. Ishbel watched him, and she had the unstoppable urge to ask a question that she knew she shouldn’t be asking.

“Do you miss her?”

Cormag froze, then, and Ishbel could see every muscle in his body tensing, as though he was prey that had just been spotted by a wild animal. It was a sensitive question, Ishbel knew, but she also knew that the less Cormag talked about it, the worse it would be for him in the long term.

There was no point in avoiding sorrow; it always caught up in the end.

“Which one?” Cormag asked, instead of answering the question. “Vanora? Vika? Their mother?”

“Any,” Ishbel said. “All.”

“All,” Cormag said with a heavy sigh, as though all the air left his body at once. “I miss them all verra much, but it is what it is, Ishbel. Vanora is happy, and that is all that matters to me. Their mother . . . weel, I’m an old man, it willnae be long until I meet her again, ye ken that.”

“And Vika?” Ishbel asked, unable to restrain herself.

Cormag stopped poking the fire and instead walked to the table, taking a seat. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, before his hand came to settle over his face, the pads of his fingers rubbing his eyes hard.

Cormag was rarely anything other than cheery, with an attitude to life that could make even the worst cynic smile, and yet there he was, looking like a broken man right in front of Ishbel’s eyes.

She wished she could take his pain away. She wished that she could carry the burden for him, that she could help him even a little, but she didn’t fool herself; there was nothing that she could do. She could only hope that her presence made Cormag’s days a little brighter, she could only hope that she could bring some cheer back to his life.

“Ye look verra much like her, ye ken,” Cormag said eventually. “Ye have yer father’s hair and his eyes, but ye got everything else from this side of the family. Sometimes I look at ye, and I think . . .”

Cormag’s voice trailed off, and he began to stare out of the window, at the horizon. It wasn’t the first time that Ishbel had been told about her resemblance to her cousin, as everyone used to tell her so when she was a child. It was the first time that she had heard about it ever since she had found out about Vika’s despicable actions, though, and so it was the first time that it bothered her that she resembled her.

She didn’t want anyone to think that she was like her cousin in any way. Just the thought of Vika and everything that she had done to Laird MacMillan and the people around him made her stomach churn, even though she wasn’t particularly fond of the man, much to her uncle’s displeasure.

Despite having given up his position as the General in his old age, Cormag would always stand by his Laird.

“Weel . . . it doesnae matter,” Cormag said, suddenly once again bright as a sunny day. It was a façade, but it was a good one, one that no one would see unless they knew Cormag as well as Ishbel did. “Didnae ye say that ye’ll go back to the market, lass? Off with ye, go and get what ye need for the week.”

Ishbel’s hand found its way on Cormag’s shoulder as she walked by him, and she gave him a quick pat before she made her way to the door. Before she could leave, though, she stopped and turned around to look at him once more.

“Uncle . . . do many strangers come here, to Tayvallich?” she asked. “It doesn’t seem like the kind of place that invites visitors.”

Cormag frowned, a hand coming up to scratch as his beard. “Visitors? No . . . no, we dinnae get visitors here. Sometimes, there’s a traveler that stops to rest, and sometimes there’s men that come here from the castle, but I havenae seen visitors in Tayvallich ever since I came here. Why?”

“I’m only curious.” Ishbel shrugged, her curiosity about the strange man piqued once more. “There was this man at the market . . . I know that he is not from here. I’ve already met everyone in Tayvallich, and he wasn’t one of them.”

“What man?” Cormag, protective as always of his niece, almost growled the question, as though he was preparing to fight the man before he even knew what he had done to capture Ishbel’s attention.

“Simply some man, uncle,” Ishbel said, giving the man a fond smile. “Don’t worry so much, or you’ll turn old before your time.”

“I’m already old, lass,” Cormag pointed out. “I was born with more hair than I have on my head the noo. Whoever the man was, he must have been a traveler. Perhaps he was going up to the castle, I dinnae ken. Why are ye asking?”

“He did a good deed,” Ishbel said, unwilling to give Cormag any more information. If he found out about how she had put herself at risk, he was certain to be furious at her, and Ishbel didn’t want to upset him. “I was simply wondering if I would see him again to thank him properly.”

Ishbel had already thanked the man, of course, but she couldn’t tell Cormag the real reason why she wanted to see him again. Tayvallich had several men, but none of them were as noble or as well-spoken as him. No one else had stood up for her, after all, when she had tried to help the children. All the other men in the market had simply watched, leaving Ishbel to her fate.

The man had been the only one who had managed to stir something deep inside her just with his looks and that simple act of kindness ever since Ishbel had gotten to the village, with his blue eyes and the day-old scruff on his face, the broad shoulders that he carried and that gentle heart of his.

Perhaps Ishbel should have talked to him a little more, in hindsight. Then again, if he truly was a traveler, then she could hardly allow herself to be with him, not when she had promised herself to be there for her uncle. The only way that she would leave Tayvallich was if Cormag left first.

Just as she was about to leave once more and head back to the market, Cormag stopped her.

“Dinnae forget the coins this time, lass,” he reminded her, and Ishbel cursed quietly under her breath –never loudly enough for Cormag to hear her –before she grabbed her little pouch full of coins and headed out.

The day seemed to be getting worse as the time passed, Ishbel noticed, looking up at the sky and seeing the storm that was over Knapdale rapidly approaching Tayvallich. It would be a cold night, but then again, ever since she had gotten to the village, she had never experienced any warmth other than the warmth of a fire.

It was what she missed the most about Clermont. She missed the sun on her skin, warm and comforting, she missed the bright days and the night sky that was unmarred by clouds, revealing all its stars and constellations to her. She missed walking without mud caking her shoes and soiling the hem of her dress, and she missed the buzzing of the bees around the flowers that lined the streets.

It was a train of thought that would get her nowhere, Ishbel thought. It was better to not think about such things, and instead focus on what was ahead of her. After her mother’s death, there was no debate in her mind about whether she should move to Tayvallich, as Cormag was the only family that she had left, save for her two cousins. A life in Clermont would be more exciting, perhaps, but what good was excitement if she had no one to care for and who would care for her?

As Ishbel walked through the village, heading to the market, she looked around and noticed things that she had missed before. Flowers were growing there, too; they were weeds, it seemed, but that didn’t make them any less beautiful. The people around her may have been simple peasants, but they were kind people, their eyes wrinkled by a lifetime of laughter. There was barely any sun, but the silvery grey above her was the same sky that was over Clermont. That night, she would see the same stars and the same moon, and perhaps it would feel a little more like home.

Ishbel grinned to herself as she walked by the merchant who had threatened her and the two children earlier, but she had no desire to taunt him. She simply bought all the goods that she needed, and then made her way back home, her arms full of flour and salt.

Once she was back home, she made supper for her and Cormag, just like she did every night, as even though Cormag was a more decent cook than she was, he insisted that she needed the practice. Then, the two of them played chess until Cormag simply could not keep his eyes open any longer. Ishbel retired to her own chambers, and then she looked up at the sky through her window.

It seemed to have cleared up during the night, and now she could see the moon shining brightly over the village. Ishbel pulled a chair by the window and sat there, letting the gentle breeze in as she gazed at the stars.

It was, indeed, the same sky.

Ishbel gazed at it, her thoughts wandering to the man that she had met earlier that day. There was something about him, something that drew her to him.

Something that made her decide to search for him.

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