Prologue

MacNeil’s Castle, 1589

The crawlspace was damp, narrow, and clearly not made for human passage, as the roughness of the walls snagged her cloak and skirts. Yet, Ciara MacNeil wormed her way through, determined to see her journey to its end. It was one she had made several times before, often bearing bannock or water for the prisoner who lay at her destination.

But this time was different. She journeyed bearing no gifts, and a nervous sweat dotted her brow. Once again, she thanked the stars that she was not distressed by tight spaces, as she would probably have fainted given how hard her heart was pounding.

Ciara could still hear the commotion outside. Clan MacDonald had attacked just as she had retired for the night and there was shouting in the castle as her father’s soldiers rushed to stop them.

I have to hurry. I dinnae have much time left!

Ciara knew why they had come. The woman. The beautiful blonde woman with sad grey eyes that had been dragged in by her father two weeks ago, and locked in the dungeon where she did not belong. That woman was Lillie MacDonald. Ciara had watched from her window as they dragged her by her luscious tresses, unbothered that she had bloodied her feet as she dug them into the ground, defying them.

Ciara’s father, Keir MacNeil, was proud of his new acquisition. And before long, everyone knew that he had imprisoned the sister of Laird Aidan MacDonald.

To what end did he torture her? For unreasonable hatred, taking root in an old feud. Ciara growled low in her throat. As if killing the previous Laird MacDonald and his wife was not enough. Her father continued to torment their poor family.

Ciara hated his rule. He was a terrifyingly wicked man who knew no kindness or mercy for anyone, not even her, his own daughter. She always spoke against his heartless acts of war, and this time was no different. However, like always, her words fell on deaf ears, and she was forced to flee before one of the dishes he threw in her direction actually met its mark.

She took matters into her own hands and began to take food and warm clothes to the prisoner secretly. She was horrified at what Keir had done when she saw the woman. Lillie looked to be about her own age, but the hopeless and startling emptiness in her gaze made her seem like she was a hundred years older. Her hands and feet were bound in heavy ropes too tight to untie. The knots were so firm that the woman’s wrists and ankles were red and swollen. She looked like she had taken quite a beating too.

At first, Lillie MacDonald had been wary of her, eyes wide with distrust. Eventually, she allowed Ciara to massage her hands and legs, to ease what pain she could. If only she could cut the ropes. But she knew that if she did, her father would notice. Ciara had discovered that the soldiers had ceased beating Lillie, and were now trying to break her spirit by leaving her hungry instead. However, it had not been working since Ciara kept bringing her food without their knowledge, sneaking into the prisons at night whenever she could.

She was happy that Lillie’s people had come for her. Whatever her father had planned for the young woman was not going to be good, and she was determined to make sure that Lillie escaped safely.

Ciara finally reached the end of the secret passageway and wriggled into the dungeon. Like she always did, she checked the hood of her cloak, making sure it was firmly over her head, leaving her face in shadow. She tied it at the neck for added security.

She could not afford for the cloak to come off. Ciara’s vibrant red hair could not be mistaken for anyone else’s, under any lighting. There was only one other person who had hair like hers, and that was her father. If Lillie knew she was the daughter of the man who had captured her, she might not trust her anymore. Or even worse, she might let someone know she was helping her. So every time she visited Lillie, Ciara tied her hair in a ponytail so tight that she could feel it pulling at her scalp, and then she wore a cloak over it.

She grabbed the keys hanging on the wall and hurried to the cell, trying to be as quiet as possible—a problem most of the time as her clumsiness knew no bounds.

Ciara found Lillie on the ground, her hair covering her face. Her body was limp, and she looked dead. If she had not known better, she would have thought actually thought so. However, the girl was just sleeping, completely exhausted after having been abused and starved all day.

Usually, Ciara would have brought food, but today she had come with a knife instead. She hurried over to Lillie’s feet and sawed at the ropes until they came loose, revealing the raw skin beneath. She quickly did the same for her hands as well and tried to make Lillie sit up, waking her in the process.

There was a bruise on her face as though she had been slapped, yet this did not stop her from giving Ciara a weak smile when she touched her hand, recognizing her. Over the time she had spent in captivity, Lillie had grown to recognize her by simple touch. Her face twisted in confusion, as Ciara began trying to lift her up.

“Wait… what are ye…” Lillie struggled to speak.

“We have to go. Yer people are here to save ye. If ye dinnae get up now, ye may never be able to escape from here,” Ciara whispered fiercely, hoping to ignite the woman’s will to survive. She held out her hand for Lillie to take.

It worked. The other woman looked at her hand for a while, and then took it. Lillie leaned on Ciara, wincing because of her weak and sore ankles. They were slower than Ciara would have liked, but they finally made it to the end of the secret path leading out of the dungeon.

The passageway was like a mouth to hell. It was hard to traverse alone but almost impossible now they were two. Now dragging Lillie, whose determination was not enough to give her all the strength she needed, Ciara’s heart was beating twice as hard. Finally, the girls breached the doorway after what seemed like eternity. The cold night air hit their faces, and they collided with two huge men who had been running toward the doorway.

Ciara and Lillie toppled backward. Panic arced through Ciara, and she grabbed her cloak, keeping it over her head even as she fell, trying to hold Lillie as well.

“Lillie!” one of the men exclaimed. He scooped the weak girl in his strong arms, not looking at Ciara. She watched from her spot on the ground as the two men hugged the girl one by one. She sighed in relief as she realized that these were MacDonald clansmen.

The two men were tall, towering over her like trees. They were broad too, filling up their hooded armor in a way that she hadn’t realized was possible. For some reason, she found herself drawn to the bigger man. The air around him was tenser, and he seemed more dangerous. But somehow, this sparked something inside of her, something unfamiliar: a strange magnetic pull.

She shook her head to clear the strange thoughts away, for this was not the time to consider anything else but how to return unnoticed. Now that she had completed her mission, all she had to do was hurry back to her chambers before her father realized she was gone.

But just as she was about to slip away, someone grabbed her by the arm. Turning around, she saw the bigger man holding her. With a small yelp, Ciara made sure to hold onto her hood, keeping it over her face with her free hand.

“Who are ye?! Where were ye taking her?” he hissed, his grip on her arm so tight that she feared it might fall off. Blonde hair peeked out from beneath his hood, and his gray eyes felt like shivs piercing her skin as he glared at her. His rugged features were contorted in a mixture of rage and distrust, but Ciara was not sure that was the reason for the quick beating of her heart.

“Nay! Leave her be! She saved me!” Lillie yelled weakly. “I am only alive because she helped me.”

The grip on her arm loosened immediately. The man’s gaze softened, understanding the situation. Ciara saw him wonder what he should do and noticed how his expression was sincere as he bowed his head to her.

“Thank ye, then. Thank ye truly,” he said.

His eyes pierced hers, and she felt her whole body tremble. The enormous, handsome beast stroked her shoulder tenderly before releasing her from his grip.

Ciara was flustered. Receiving such sincere praise was unusual to her. She nodded stiffly and spun on her heel without looking back, running for the shadowed path that would take her back to the castle.

The man was nothing but danger, and she had had enough danger to last her a lifetime.

Ciara was sure that the MacDonald party would be able to escape on their own from that point, so all she had to worry about now was herself. She moved as quickly as she could. She just needed to get to her chambers.

If I can get there, nae one will know what I have done.

She slipped into the cellar. She was just about to turn the corner and see the heavy wooden door of her chamber when she bumped into someone again.

This time she did not bother holding onto her cloak when she fell backward, landing on the ground. Her heart skipped a beat, and her body went numb. The tall, domineering man she had stumbled into glared down at her with eyes that felt like bottomless pits of darkness. His red hair created a halo of fire around his head, making him resemble a divine being of judgment.

If looks could kill, she’d be dead and buried under his murderous gaze.

“Father! I-I…” Ciara stuttered as she got to her feet.

He knew. Oh, how well he knew what she had done. It was clear from the silent rage Keir MacNeil was exuding, just standing there.

As they stood there in pained silence, neither breaking eye contact, a soldier ran in. “The invaders have escaped, sire! They got away with the prisoner!”

Like kindling to a flame, the words of the soldier incited her father to move. Keir was so quick that Ciara could not react. The next moment, the back of his hand met her cheek so hard that blood filled her mouth, and she spun around before crashing to the ground again.

Chapter One

MacNeil Castle, Six Months Later

A resounding 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.

“What are ye doing in the stables?” He paused. “Did the laird finally decide to kick ye out of the castle? What better place for ye than the stables, aye!”

His eyes were shining with malice, and she almost shook her head. It was clear that he hated her because she had what he did not: the privilege of being her father’s only legitimate child. It was not her business how Alfie managed his jealousy. She just wished that he did not take his foolish insecurities out on her.

“Aye, ye are right. My father decided to toss me into the stables to work since I am so useless to him,” she said sarcastically.

Alfie could not read her tone. His eyes brightened with true joy and hope. “Really? Is that really true?” He was so excited that he shook her. She grabbed his forearms, trying to get him to stop before he gave her a headache.

This bampot! Does he really think Father would send me to the stables at this time of night?

Oh, but Alfie really did. It was clear from the excitement on his face. Ciara raised her eyebrows as an idea formed in her head. She could not believe this was going to work, but given Alfie’s stupidity… If she played her cards right…

She immediately feigned a forlorn expression, looking as pitiful as she could. “He kept praising ye,” she lied. “He said he wished that I had nae been born and that he had ye as a son instead.”

That was an absolute lie. Her father had always said how Alfie would be much more useful if he were brighter. Still, hearing this soothed Alfie’s pride, and soon he was grinning, putting her down.

“Can ye blame him? I already told ye that was how he felt!” He preened like a peacock showing off its feathers. “As expected, I didnae think he would throw ye out so quickly, but I suppose that is why the laird is so great. Alright, go on then. I will leave ye to yer work!”

Ha! I cannae believe that actually worked! I wonder… Can I push this further, or would that be testing my luck too much?

She made herself look even more pitiful. “My father also punished me with having to deliver the horse dung to the farmers before morning.” She pointed to the cart at the back of the stable, filled with horse manure. She faked a horrified look and covered her nose. “Can ye take it for me instead?” she asked.

Alfie laughed meanly. “Och, ye poor thing! Ye have been living a life ye didnae deserve, and now ye daenae ken how to dae the things that suit ye.” A sinister smile spread across his face. “Dinnae worry. I will help ye.”

Chapter Two

Aidan MacDonald woke up abruptly as pain exploded in his head—the pain of something smashing into his nose. He cursed as he darted back, grabbing his nose from where blood was just beginning to trickle. Holding his head up, he blinked at the ceiling.

“That’s the cursed fifth time this week,” he muttered groggily.

He glanced to the side. He was several feet away from his bed and had bumped into the wall beside his locked window. He sighed in exasperation and rolled his shoulders. Moving to his bedside, he found the bowl of water that waited for him when he awoke. He splashed his face, slicking back his hair when he was done. He hated that he had not grown out of it yet.

Aidan was a sleepwalker, something that pained him to admit. He had to sleep with his doors and windows locked ever since his brother had walked into the study one night a few years ago, just in time to stop him from falling out of the window. His study was at the top of the keep’s highest tower. It was then that he acknowledged the danger of his ailment.

There were times when his sleepwalking was better, when he only walked a few feet from his bed. It grew worse when his emotions were in disarray, like when his parents had died, or when his sister had been kidnapped. Things had gotten pretty bad then. He had tried to ignore it for too long, even when he woke up at the bottom of the stairs, wondering how he had survived such a fall, or awoken in the courtyard with no knowledge of how he had gotten there.

It was only after he quite literally nearly killed himself that Aidan finally began to take his condition seriously. He suggested tying himself to his bed but his brother, Darragh, had refused, claiming he would not let him chain himself like some prisoner, that it was enough simply to lock the windows and doors.

“Nae enough to keep me from nearly breaking my nose,” he said to himself. Aidan had thought that the sleepwalking would subside now that he had found Lillie. It had been half a year since they had found her bruised and dirtied, led to safety out of the MacNeil dungeons by a mysterious woman. If anything, his sleepwalking was even worse than before.

Aidan’s fingers balled into a fist at the thought of Keir MacNeil. He had too many reasons to hate the man. Not just for killing his parents, but for what he did to Lillie. When he and Darragh had first seen their sister again, they were just glad to have her back alive. They were relieved beyond words.

After the healer began treating her, however, that relief transformed into anger. Her body was evidently beaten, covered in all sorts of bruises. Lillie could not walk, nor hold anything properly for three months because of her injuries. Aidan had been focused on her throughout, trying to make sure she recovered completely.

Back then, he could understand why his sleep was so poor. He was worried about his sister’s health. But six months had passed since then, and although Lillie was still much more subdued than she had been before the kidnapping, she was physically healthy. Despite all that, Aidan’s rage was never quelled.

He couldn’t let Keir MacNeil get away with what he’d done. They had invaded his castle, but Keir was powerless to retaliate since Aidan had found his sister. The bastard would have most likely claimed they had started a war with him if they hadn’t found her.

Instead of plotting his revenge, Aidan had assigned his soldiers to guard their borders vigilantly, taking a defensive stance instead, guarding his sister and protecting his clan from any further attacks. Now he was done being defensive.

He pulled on a shirt after making sure that his nose wasn’t broken and that he was no longer bleeding. The sun was not up yet, but he wondered if Darragh was. He could not go back to sleep, so he figured that they might as well discuss their plan for avenging Lillie.

And abducting Ciara MacNeil.

Everything had been going well or so Ciara thought. She had successfully fooled Alfie into thinking her father had sent her to the farms. Vindictive as he was, he had taken one of the smaller horses and connected it to the manure cart, before pointing her in the direction of the farms, explaining how to get there as though she were a child. She had known that he was going to send her off gladly because he wanted to see her struggling.

She bid him goodnight at the gate. Once she got a safe distance away, she disconnected the manure cart and rode the horse to the docks where she got on the boat—a birlinn that had seen many travels. She was certain she would never see Alfie or her father again. God’s teeth, she had to make it so.

She was supposed to be running away to join Iona’s Nunnery. She had thought about it long and hard before she made her decision.

The truth was that Ciara had never envisioned herself as a nun. Her dreams involved finding love one day and maybe start a family of her own. She still wished to. Yet, for some reason, every time she thought of starting a family, the face of the man beside her belonged to that man the night she set Lillie MacDonald free.

Silly lass!

The nunnery was her only hope now. It was the only place that would take her without asking too many questions, and also the only place without men she needed to be wary of. It was a terrible reason to devote herself to God, she knew. But she had no choice. She began wondering whether it was God’s punishment for her selfishness.

The birlinn had gotten away from the docks. Instead of the sun rising as the hours passed, the sky appeared to darken as the moon vanished and thick black clouds rolled in. Ciara, like everyone else on the boat, was nervous. People who had been sitting alone were now clutching each other and looking around worriedly. The boatman made it all worse as he was looking at the skies with pure horror, muttering to himself about bad luck and how he had made a mistake by sailing out that day. She looked over the water, uneasy trembles shaking her body as the birlinn began to rock a lot more than it had before, the waters battling beneath it.

The sea was black like ink and seemed to stretch on forever. Thunder boomed overhead, and everyone jumped and screamed as it was immediately followed by a clacking flash of lightning. Ciara’s heart began to pound as she gripped the side of the birlinn and lowered herself, holding on for dear life.

A woman near her clasped her hands and began to pray, begging God not to let her die at sea. This did nothing to help her calm down, much like it did nothing to keep the rain from pouring. The rain fell upon them like judgment from the heavens, whipping their skin and making it hard to breathe. Even worse, the waves got higher and higher, splashing water into the birlinn, which was now filling slowly with rain.

The panicked people around her were screaming and scooping up water to toss back into the sea, which was futile because the sea simply spat more over them, drenching them.

“Och nay… This is bad! I ken I told Father to toss me into the sea instead of marrying me off, but I didnae mean it,” Ciara muttered. She could see dark waves in the distance, huge and terrifying as they danced up and down. Their little birlinn careened at the top of several waves, with only luck to determine whether or not it would tip.

Ciara’s knuckles were white on the side of the boat as she held on, shivering from the cold and the fear at the thought that she might be plunged into the unknown depths of the sea.

Without realizing it, she too began to pray. “Please! Please, God, if ye are there daenae let me die! I shouldnae have dared to say I would rather drown in the sea! I shouldnae have tried to give myself in service to ye for selfish reasons! Please, spare my life!”

The response to her prayer was delivered by the sound of another boom of thunder. Ciara shook in terror. Is that a ‘nay’? As though in answer to her question, a huge wave began to rise right by the side of their boat. Ciara followed it with her eyes, her mouth open in horror as her fellow passengers began to scream.

“Row out of the way!”

“How?! There is naewhere to row to!”

“The wave is too big, we cannae outrun it!”

“We are going to die!”

The wave rose so high that it seemed to touch the sky. And then, from the very top, it began to come down on them. Indeed, Ciara was sure this was what it felt like to see death. There was no way to brace for it, no way to prepare. She was too afraid to even draw breath, but that would have been useless anyway, as the water came crashing down on them. All the air in her lungs was knocked out of her.

She could see the bodies of the other people on the birlinn around her, as well as the boat which had, by some miracle, stayed intact. They all swam for it desperately. Ciara tried not to think about the empty darkness of the sea, and what might be lurking within it. She was already too afraid to breathe.

She managed to breach the surface again, gulping in air like she was starved and holding onto the side of the birlinn. She looked around. Only two others had made it, and just like her, they were spluttering for air.

“We should try to get back on the boat!” Ciara yelled through the crashing of the waves. She tried to near one of the men who was struggling to stay above the water. She had to help him, but she grew wearier with each second. As she swam toward him, she noticed the horror etched on the faces of the two men who had made it to safety with her. They were looking up at something.

Ciara had a bad feeling. She turned slowly, just in time to see an even taller wave coming down on them. There was no time to say any prayers. The next second, the water hit her, and her vision went black.

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