Chapter 1

The street that stretched outside of Muriel’s window, with its carriages and taverns and the countless people that went about their business in a dazzling display of colors, had become so familiar to her in the years she had spent in Edinburgh. But now that her time at the women’s school she attended had come to an end, there was only one place she wanted to go—home.

Soon, her world would change from one of stone and grime to one of the sandy beaches and green hills stretching as far as the eye could see. Edinburgh had an undeniable charm, and Muriel had become accustomed to the smells that offended her nose when she first arrived and the crowds that never seemed to cease. She had even spent whole days without thinking of her home, too busy with her studies and the friends she had made to be homesick. And yet, now that her departure was imminent, she dreamt of the Isle of Barra nightly and woke with a tight, heavy chest.

“Did ye get all yer things?”

The voice coming from the door startled Muriel, but it was one that she knew well. She turned around with a smile and saw Caitriona there, the one girl that she would never forget, no matter how much distance or time separated them.

Caitriona was the opposite of Muriel in every way—sporting dark hair where Muriel’s was strawberry blonde, short where she towered over everyone, timid where she was labeled the troublemaker. It didn’t matter to either of them. They were best friends from the very first day they had met.

Muriel ran to her, pulling Caitriona into a tight embrace, one that had the girl huffing in surprise. “I did,” she said. “Well . . . apart from this.”

As she spoke, Muriel took a handkerchief out of her pocket. Her fingers were still red and swollen from the myriad times she had pricked herself on the needle, and the boredom of the task still lingered in her mind, but she was proud of the intricate embroidery she had managed to create. The golden thread she had picked blended nicely into the stark white fabric, making the entire square shine under the light, and in the corner, she had embroidered both their initials.

“What’s this?” Caitriona asked, her eyes widening as she examined the handkerchief. “For me?”

“Aye,” Muriel said. “If ye dinnae like it—”

“I adore it!” Caitriona was the one to pull her into an embrace then, and Muriel only knew that her friend was crying when she felt tears soak her shoulder. “Muriel . . . I ken how much ye hate embroiderin’. Ye didnae have to.”

“I wanted to. I wanted ye to have somethin’ to remember me by.” Muriel couldn’t stop her own tears from spilling down her cheeks, but she quickly wiped them off, masking them with a smile. “Promise me ye’ll write me often.”

“I promise. Ye must write me, too, dinnae forget,” Caitriona said, and then suddenly slapped her thighs with her hands, as though she was searching for something in her pockets. “Here it is! I almost forgot to give it to ye. It came today, from yer faither.”

The letter that Caitriona handed Muriel was still crisp and folded carefully, despite spending all day in the folds of her pocket. Muriel tore it open with trembling hands. Her father only wrote her whenever something serious had happened.

Dear Muriel,
Ye’ll be happy to ken that I have arranged a very advantageous marriage for ye. Ye are to marry Owen Macleod at once, so there will be nae time for ye to return to Barra. I have sent Liam Russell McAlpine to take ye to Lewis. His reputation is excellent, and he will ensure ye arrive safely. Dinnae fight the lad and do as he says.

Muriel’s gaze didn’t stray from the letter even after she finished reading it. She stared at the words, her mouth hanging open, her fingers curling tightly around the piece of paper.

He didnae even bother to sign it.

Her father loved her, there was no doubt about that. Some of her fondest memories were of the two of them together, even though she had spent most of her time at her mother’s house by the sea instead of in her father’s keep, which stood on the hill above, looming over the shore. He had even sent her to Edinburgh though he had admitted how much it pained him to see her go. Still, it had been necessary to save her from the torment of his wife, who despised her for being the result of her father’s infidelity and found ways to torture her both when she was staying with them and from afar. But there was one thing that her father loved more than her, and that was wealth and power. He was a pirate chieftain, after all. Muriel had learned that the moment she was old enough to realize that her father would never defend her against her stepmother. Her family was too rich for him to endanger their marriage.

And Owen Macleod is from a pirate clan, too. Neither of them will ever love me as much as they love gold.

She would even consider herself lucky if her husband loved her at all. All she had heard growing up were stories about young women who were sold into a loveless marriage, and as much as she despised that fate, it had come to be hers, too.

“What does it say?” Caitriona asked. In her horror, Muriel had forgotten she was even in the room.

For a moment, Muriel considered lying to her. There was no reason for Caitriona to worry, especially since Muriel was supposed to leave so soon. But she had never lied to her, and it felt wrong to start lying to her now.

“It’s from me faither,” she said. “He wrote that I am to marry.”

Caitriona remained silent for what felt like hours to Muriel. The girl searched her face, her gaze so intense that Muriel felt as though she was looking right through her.

“Ye’re nae happy about it,” Caitriona said.

It wasn’t a question. Muriel wondered just how miserable she must have looked for Caitriona to know immediately that she wanted nothing to do with that marriage. She could feel it, too, in the way the corners of her mouth dropped lower, jaw clenching with the effort it took to keep her eyes dry.

“Nae. I’m nae happy about it,” she confirmed.

Caitriona wrapped an arm around Muriel and pulled her toward the bed, the two of them sitting side by side. Muriel didn’t know what to say, and so she remained silent, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

“What will ye do?”

Muriel drew in a sharp breath. What would she do? There was nothing for her to do but what her father ordered.

“I dinnae have any choice,” she pointed out. “So, I suppose I will go to Lewis and marry this Owen Macleod.”

“Can ye nae speak to yer faither?” Caitriona asked. “Ye said that ye and yer faither are on good terms. Maybe he’ll listen to ye if ye tell him that ye dinnae wish to marry.”

“We are, but ye dinnae ken him,” Muriel said, and some venom slipped into her tone. Her father had done many bad things in his life. He had hurt her mother, too, taking her from her home by force to be his mistress and then throwing her aside when he didn’t want her anymore. Perhaps she should have been expecting it, but he had never hurt her directly before. “Once he makes up his mind, there’s nae way to change it.”

“Sounds like someone else that I ken,” Caitriona said with a teasing smile. Muriel knew that she was right. She had grown up to be just like her father, which infuriated her mother more often than she liked to admit.

Not that Muriel could blame her. She had been his captive and had no reason to love him.

“Unfortunately, there’s one thing that I didn’t inherit from him.”

“And what’s that?” Caitriona asked.

“I’m nae a man.”

With a sigh, Caitriona nodded in agreement. Muriel lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling with unshed tears stinging her eyes. Frustration bubbled up inside her, turning her stomach into a knot. If she had been a man, she would have avoided this fate. Maybe her father would even listen to her more, instead of always doing what he thought was best for her without ever consulting her.

Nae, he’s nae doin’ this because he thinks it’s best for me. He’s doin’ it because it’s best for him.

That was the sad truth, the one that was so hard for Muriel to swallow. If her father had been doing this from the goodness of his heart or out of concern for her, she would understand. But she was nothing more than payment to a man who would help her father expand his influence. She was as good as cattle.

“Perhaps it willnae be so bad,” Caitriona said, though even she sounded apprehensive. Muriel wasn’t the only young woman to hear of those stories of loveless marriages. They all knew how those husbands treated their women—as if they had no worth to them at all.

“And perhaps it will be,” Muriel said as she pushed herself back up, slouching as she sat next to Caitriona. “But what is the point in thinkin’ about it?

Nothin’ will change no matter how miserable I become, so I may as well nae think about it until I must.”

Caitriona nodded once again and, for a few moments, she remained silent. Then she said, “How will you get to Lewis? He cannae expect ye to go all alone.”

“He has sent a man to fetch me,” Muriel said, her mind going back to the name she had read in her father’s letter. Liam Russell McAlpine. Her father had mentioned his reputation, but Muriel had never heard of him. She could imagine him, though, an older man with salt and pepper hair, scars marking his face, maybe missing a finger or two. Those were the kinds of men who usually had a reputation.

“And ye must go soon?”

“As soon as he arrives, I suppose.”

Muriel didn’t know when that would be. She could have weeks ahead of her or she could have hours, and that scared her even more than anything else that was to come. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Caitriona and her other friends yet, though she doubted she would ever be. Now that she wouldn’t even be going back to Barra, she didn’t want to leave at all. Before she had received the letter, she had a visit with her mother to look forward to. Now, she doubted her father would even bring her to Lewis for her wedding.

“How about this,” Caitriona said. “I’ll gather the lasses tonight, and I’ll see if I can get a bottle or two of wine from Mrs. MacGillivray’s room.”

Muriel’s eyes widened in disbelief. It was a shock to hear Caitriona even mention stealing anything from the head of their school, let alone being the culprit. Muriel was usually the one to instigate any sort of trouble, and Caitriona usually tried to stop her.

“Caitriona! I cannae believe ye would even suggest that!” she said. “I thought ye were more proper than this.”

“It may verra well be the last night we spend together, lass,” Caitriona said.

“And if I am to do somethin’ rebellious before I leave this place, then this is the time to do it. I can still blame ye for it, and everyone would believe me.”

Muriel knew that Caitriona was joking, but she didn’t tell her that she would take the blame if they were caught. She was used to punishments, after all.

“Fine,” she said. “But dinnae get caught. Mrs. MacGillivray isna verra forgivin’.”

By the time Caitriona left Muriel’s room, it had been plunged into darkness.

Muriel stood and lit a few candles, just enough to have some light in the room, and then sat back down on the bed, taking in her surroundings.

She would never see any of it again. She tried to commit the dark blue, damask print wallpaper to memory, the old, creaky hardwood floor, the small bed with the lumpy mattress that she had somehow come to find comfortable. She wondered what her new home would be like, if it would be as warm and inviting as her little room, though she doubted it.

Muriel didn’t realize how much time she had spent deep in thought until there was an urgent knock on her door. Before she could answer, a crowd of girls spilled into her room, half of them giggling and half of them shushing the rest sternly. And among them, all was Caitriona, with the bottles of wine as she had promised.

“Has Mrs. MacGillivray gone to sleep?” Muriel asked in a hushed tone as she urged everyone inside the room, closing the door firmly behind them.

“Och, aye,” Caitriona said, getting comfortable on Muriel’s bed. “They all have. But we must still be quiet. Ye ken how well she can hear.”

It was true. Mrs. MacGillivray didn’t miss a single sound, and even when she was asleep, the girls had to tiptoe around the building if they didn’t want to get caught. Everyone seemed to remember that for a long while, at least until the first bottle was gone and the second one was opened. Caitriona was the only one who reminded the rest of the girls to be quiet, every now and then sneaking out of the room to make sure that all the teachers were still sleeping and couldn’t hear them, before slipping back inside.

“I dinnae want ye to leave,” Caitriona told Muriel when the other girls had retired to their rooms. The two of them were laying side by side on the floor, and Muriel could see the frosty blue of the morning through the window.

“I dinnae want to leave either,” she admitted. “Maybe I willnae have to. Maybe Owen Macleod will fall in love with another lass and tell me faither he doesna want me anymore. Or maybe Liam McAlpine will perish on his way to fetch me.”

Of course, even then, Muriel would have to go back to Barra. She knew that well. But it was nice to dream that she could stay in Edinburgh a little longer.

“Maybe we should hide ye!” Caitriona suggested. “So then even if this Liam McAlpine comes, he willnae be able to find ye!”

In her drunken state, Muriel found that idea excellent. All she had to do was hide for long enough for Liam McAlpine to give up. She didn’t consider the possibility of him arriving weeks later or her father sending a search party after her.

“Let’s do it,” Muriel said.

In a flurry of excitement, the two girls emptied as much out of the chest that stood by the foot of Muriel’s bed as they could—only there wasn’t nearly enough space for her to fit. Even so, she jumped inside, trying to contort her body to fit the tiny space of the chest, the whole time grunting and cursing under her breath. She was so focused on her task, so insistent on fitting in there, that she didn’t hear the door open.

Chapter Two

The job should be easy, easier than most that Liam had accepted in the past.

Transporting a noble girl from one place to the next was hardly a job fit for someone of his reputation and skill, but the money was good.

It didn’t take Liam long to locate the women’s school in Edinburgh where Angus MacNeil had sent his daughter. From the outside, the building was unassuming though well-kept, clearly maintained to the highest standard. For a moment, Liam hesitated at the door. It was still early in the morning, the dew from the night still clinging to the flowers surrounding the entrance, the sky still half-dark. It was better to leave as soon as possible, though. There was no sense in traveling around the wilderness late at night.

The door swung open before Liam could even knock, and he was met by the stern gaze of a small, older woman. Liam had faced many enemies throughout his life, but those eyes told him that he didn’t want to cross her.

“And who may ye be?” the woman asked.

“Liam Russell McAlpine,” Liam said hastily. “Angus MacNeil sent me to take his daughter to Lewis.”

The woman’s expression softened upon hearing those words, though not enough for Liam to feel at ease. She nodded for him to enter and then climbed the stairs.

When Liam didn’t follow, she turned around and pinned him with that stern look once more.

“Well?” she asked. “Do ye expect the lassie to bring her own things down here?”

Liam followed the woman, though not without a sigh. He didn’t like taking orders, especially when they came from people with an attitude.

When the two of them reached the room, Liam could hear noises from the other side of the door. The sound brought a frown to his face, and he wondered why it sounded as though there were many people in there.

The woman all but kicked the door down, revealing two very feminine but guilty faces staring at them. Liam couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him, though it was cut short when the woman glared at him from the corner of her eye.

“Mrs. MacGillivray!” one of the girls said, shooting up to her feet from where she had been crouching down into a chest. The first thing that Liam noticed about her was how tall she was, taller than most of the women he had seen in his life. The second thing he noticed was how beautiful she was.

Even in the half-light of the room, her hair, a reddish blonde color, stunned him and her blue eyes were so dark they seemed almost violet, sparkling at him from under her eyelashes. She was a sight to behold, and Liam hoped that she wasn’t the girl he had been sent to fetch. He would hate to hand her over to someone else.

“Miss MacNeil, what are ye doin’? Why are ye in there?” Mrs. MacGillivray asked, her hands on her hips as she stared down at the girls. “Have ye been . . . drinkin’? Out, Miss Caileanach! Go to yer chambers this instant!”

At Mrs. MacGillivray’s shout, the other girl rushed out of the room, scrambling to get as far away from the woman as she could. Liam hardly noticed her, though. His mind focused on one thing: the woman had called the beauty Miss MacNeil.

So, she is Muriel MacNeil. Ach, weel . . . there are other bonny lasses out there.

Liam tore his thoughts away from the girl, reminding himself that he still had a job to do. Behind him, Mrs. MacGillivray had been joined by several other older women—teachers, Liam presumed—all of whom seemed to be very curious as to what had been going on in Miss MacNeil’s room, while his client had stepped out of the trunk and was putting her personal belongings back inside.

Liam walked over to her and offered her a hand with a chuckle, but Muriel refused it with an indignant huff. At that moment, Liam knew it was going to be a long trip to Lewis. There was nothing that Liam hated more than spoiled noble girls, and now he realized that Muriel was one of them. Even her beauty couldn’t make up for it.

“Miss MacNeil, I’m Liam Russell McAlpine,” Liam told her. “Yer faither—”

“I ken who ye are,” Muriel said. “I was hopin’ that ye wouldnae come so soon, but I suppose it cannae be helped. Will we be leavin’ immediately?”

“Aye,” Liam said. “The sooner, the better. I dinnae suppose that ye wish to travel in the dark and the cold?”

“I’d much rather nae,” Muriel said. She moved to the bed as she spoke, collapsing on it and covering her face with an arm. Liam looked at her, arms crossed over his chest, and knew precisely what the problem was.

The lassie is still drunk.

“How much did ye have to drink?” he asked her.

“I dinnae see how that concerns ye,” Muriel said.

“It concerns me because I’m the one who has to keep an eye on ye while we travel,” he told her. “What am I supposed to do if ye cannae even stand on yer feet?”

“Who said that I cannae?” Muriel said. “I am fine.”

“Is that so?” Liam asked, walking to the bed so he could stare down at her.

“Pack yer things, then. Let’s go.”

Muriel peeked out from under her arm just long enough to glare at him, and Liam only smiled back, smugly. He had traveled on his caps and hungover enough times to know that the trip that awaited Muriel would be anything but enjoyable. Still, as though powered by sheer force of will and stubbornness alone, Muriel stood and finished putting all her items in the trunk while Liam watched her.

By the time she was done, Liam could tell from her pale skin and the pained look in her eyes that she wasn’t feeling well, and he couldn’t help but feel bad for her. He pressed a hand on her shoulder, making her sit back down on the bed while he carried her things down the stairs, and then, once he was done, he offered an arm to her to hold.

This time, she didn’t refuse his assistance, and Liam led her to the horses.

Once there, she looked at Liam’s wagon with disdain.

“That’s it?” she asked. Liam didn’t know if she was more disturbed by the lack of a roof or the fact that it was tiny, nor did he care to ask.

“Ye’re lucky I brought one,” he said. “I wanted to have just horses, but yer faither didnae want that. We’d be travellin’ faster on a horse.”

“And what would happen to me things?” Muriel asked. “How would I take it all with me?”

“Not really me problem, lass,” Liam said with a shrug. Muriel’s only response was a glare, and once again, she refused any help from him as she climbed up into the wagon.

Liam tried to ignore Muriel as much as he could, even though she was huffing next to him, squirming in her seat every time they hit a bump on the road. He wanted to point out that none of it was enjoyable for him either, and that the last thing he wanted to be doing was spending days next to someone as unpleasant as her, but he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t have her complaining to her father that he wasn’t nice enough.

“So . . . what are ye?” Muriel said after several hours spent in silence. “A mercenary?”

“Aye, somethin’ like that,” Liam said.

“Do people hire ye to move brides like they’re cattle often?”

Ach . . . so that’s what it is.

Liam couldn’t imagine how Muriel—or any young woman in her position, in fact—felt about her wedding. If he were in her place, he would certainly be upset to be promised to someone against his will. He wondered, briefly, if that was one of the reasons why she was so disagreeable, but then again, none of it was his problem.

“I must admit that ye’re the first bride that I was hired to protect,” Liam said, choosing his words carefully. “Ye’re nae cattle, Miss MacNeil. I’m nae takin’ ye to a pen. I’m takin’ ye to yer future husband. Yer new home.”

“I may as well be cattle,” Muriel said, and her tone was so pained that once again, Liam’s heart ached for her. “What’s the difference? Me faither doesna care what I think; all he wants is to sell me to the highest bidder.”

“Ye should be more kind to yer faither,” Liam said. “The Macleod clan is a verra wealthy clan. Ye’ll have a verra comfortable life there.”

“Aye, wealthy enough for me faither to do anythin’ for that wealth.”

Bitterness laced Muriel’s tone, so strong that Liam was startled by it and decided he’d like to avoid having it directed at him at any point in time. He was getting the impression more and more that Muriel was not the kind of woman with whom he would want to argue, stubborn as she seemed to be. Liam didn’t argue with stubborn people. All it did was anger him.

“I dinnae ken what ye wish for me to say,” Liam said. “I am only here to do what I was paid to do. Nothin’ more, nothin’ less.”

“So ye dinnae care what I think about this marriage?”

“Why would I?” he asked. “I have nae say in it. I dinnae even ken ye, so why should I care? Ye’re just what I must transport.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Liam knew he had made a mistake. He had told Muriel that she wasn’t cattle only to imply then that she was merely an object.

“I didnae mean it like that,” he added quickly, trying to get ahead of the damage that he had caused. “I didnae mean—”

“I dinnae care what ye meant.” Muriel’s tone was curt, but Liam could almost feel the barbs hidden under her words.

Muriel fell silent then, and so did Liam. He didn’t know what to tell her, though he supposed it was better that way. The less they talked, the less annoyed both of them would get with each other, and that was the only way their journey could be painless. Liam simply enjoyed the silence and their surroundings, humming softly to himself as they passed through the land.

It was only much later when the sun had already begun to set, that Muriel spoke once more. “May I request that we sleep outside tonight?”

“Outside?” Liam asked. He would be lying if he said that Muriel’s request hadn’t surprised him. He was expecting her to balk at the mere thought of sleeping in the forest instead of a warm, comfortable room with a bed and a fluffy mattress.

“Aye, outside,” Muriel said. “We’ll pass by Loch Leven, will we nae? It seems like a good place to set up camp.”

“Are ye certain that ye dinnae wish to sleep inside?” Liam asked. “We can find an inn; there are towns nearby, and we still have some light.”

“Nae, I’d rather sleep outside,” Muriel insisted. “I wish to sleep under the stars. It’s been so long since I last did that, and noo seems like the perfect opportunity.”

Liam frowned, though he didn’t try to argue with her. It seemed strange to him that anyone would want to sleep outside in the cold when they could just find an inn with a room—and food and drink, which was perhaps even more important to him—but it wouldn’t be the first time that he slept outside. Besides, he didn’t want to antagonize Muriel too much, thinking that perhaps he just needed to show her that he was not her enemy. As long as her requests were reasonable, he had no problem fulfilling them.

“Verra weel, we’ll set up camp outside,” he said. “By the loch. But if ye get cold, dinnae blame me for it. I warned ye.”

“The fire will be enough,” Muriel assured him. “Besides, I’m the bairn of a pirate chieftain. Do ye really think that I’ve never spent a night in the cold before?”

“Och, I dinnae ken,” Liam said. “Ye dinnae seem like the kind of lass who would.”

“And what kind of lass do I seem to be?”

“The kind of lass who would complain about getting’ her dress soiled.”

The look that Muriel gave him was an amused one, as though she found the mere thought of being upset by something as trivial as that silly, and Liam had to re-evaluate his first impression of her as a spoiled girl.

Still, it didn’t make her any less infuriating.

“Ye ken nothin’ about me, so it would be better if ye kept yer assumptions to yerself,” she said politely, but with that same heat under her words that was a clear warning. “And whatever ye think ye ken about me is probably wrong.”

How can a lass so bonny be so frustratin’ at the same time?

Liam shook his head, but he didn’t say anything else. When they finally got to the lake, he tied the horses nearby and began collecting wood for the fire, while Muriel made her way around the clearing, examining the bushes that surrounded the lake with an interest that Liam found both strange and a little endearing. The heat of the fire was a pleasant change from the chill of the air, and for the first time, he realized just how stiff his fingers were after holding the reins for so many hours. Also, for the first time, he thought that maybe Muriel had been cold all along.

“Come sit by the fire, lass,” he told her as a way to get her warm without expressing his concern. Muriel joined him as he held his hands in front of the flames, trying to get the blood back into them.

“Look what I found,” she said, showing him some berries that she had in the folds of her skirt, which Liam regarded with suspicion.

“They’re nae poisonous, are they?”

“Of course nae,” Muriel said, and to prove it, she popped one in her mouth.

Liam took one, marveling at the sweetness that burst on his tongue when he bit into it.

Perhaps this willnae be so bad after all.

“I wish to talk to ye about somethin’,” Muriel said then, drawing a pained moan out of him. He already knew what she wanted to tell him—the same thing she had been telling him all this time.

Or perhaps I spoke too soon.

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