Chapter 1

From the first moment she clapped eyes on him, Deva MacLean knew that here was the man she would marry. Just like that – it was so instant, so arbitrary, and so completely impossible.

The sun slid through the autumn skies, bringing a shaft of light into the woodlands where she was collecting fruit. Then she saw him.

An unknown young man, riding through the clearing as if he owned it. Correction; an unknown handsome young man.

Deva frowned. She had thought that she was alone, with just her maid, Allyth, somewhere behind her. This was private woodland, trespassers were to be shot first and questioned later, everyone knew that.

Wondering who he might be, Deva put down the basket she was carrying and forgot all about the apples to look closer. Leaning forward, she was about to ask him his business, when she stopped.

His eyes. Glinting through the trees, his fiery eyes drew her in, compelling her to look closer. And when she did, there was no going back. Because there, in front of her eyes, was a picture of perfection.

Just for a moment, who he was, and what he was doing in their lands, were secondary concerns. With her heart stuttering in her chest, Deva looked at the lad. He was unusually handsome, with waves of brown hair framing his strong facial contours. But it was the eyes that held her, glowering in the dim light like hot coals. Deva gazed at their incandescence; they were like nothing she had ever seen; a sun dipped in honey, their rays dazzling her.

Here, Deva brought herself up. She needed to get a grip, and fast. But as she turned to go, something caught her eye.

Something – or someone – had flitted across the glade, but almost immediately, vanished again. And now, a sound; hooves, galloping from somewhere across the glen. Anxiously, Deva looked around.

Nothing.

Then, overhead, an arrow soared, skimming the edges of the trees, and jettisoning into the clearing ahead.

“Get doon, laddie!” she hissed. But he did not hear. For a moment or two, Deva was torn. She wanted to go and help, warn him of the men coming. But a cursory glance told her she was much too far away to be any use. And besides, her long red hair was signposting to the entire world her presence. Right on cue, the wind picked it up and sent it flying across the gray winter skies like a flare.

Her heart thumping hard, Deva hesitated. What should she do? What could she do? She couldn’t just leave him to his fate.

But the hooves approaching reached a crescendo, and finally, she saw them. The two brigands who had fired the arrows came crashing through the ravine with a treacherous zeal.

Now arrows were falling like autumn leaves, searing through the copse close to his head. Heart in her mouth, Deva bit down a scream.

She needed to yell at him, holler, do whatever it took to get his attention, regardless of what it might mean for her.

Boldly, she opened her mouth. “Qu…” she started, but the words she was about to speak were ripped from her by a hand on her mouth.

“Shush!” The instruction was bold, but Deva did not turn. Although momentarily flushed, she was more annoyed than anything to be silenced.

“I watched them from across the glade—they’re armed an’ dangerous, an’ they might hear ye!” the voice warned her. But Deva shook her head ferociously.

“They need to hear!” she hissed, venom burning in her deep blue eyes. But then, she bit her lip and conceded that Allyth might be right. She always was.

Displeased, Deva turned to look at Allyth, her best friend and lady-in-waiting. She had not heard her approaching through the wet bracken and undergrowth.

“We dinnae ken who they are,” continued Allyth, looking at her, her light green eyes aflame, “It isnae safe, so get doon… Miss!”

Being too far away to affect much change, Deva complied. But her hands still shook as she hid in the undergrowth of the Scots Pine tree, which pricked at her uncomfortably.

Fortunately, the arrow had missed its mark, and the young man in the clearing continued his trot, cantering slowly on the jet-black stallion into the center of the woods.

Deva frowned from across the copse. It was as if he hadn’t seen the arrow at all! But with the two men still pushing their way through the woods, Deva’s anxiety rose like a crescendo.

Whatever the danger, she could not sit back and do nothing. Casting her reservations to one side, she leaned in through the foliage.

“Hoo!” her voice sung through the air. Beneath her, Allyth’s fingers dug in, urging her back, but Deva could not.

Maybe she had no desire to be spotted by these men – who were likely bandits. But equally, she couldn’t salve her conscience if something happened to the young man on the horse.

“Get doon,” pleaded Allyth, pulling her back to the safety of the bush. Reluctantly, Deva complied.

Deva peeked through the bushes and spied the lad, sauntering through the clearing as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Hoping fervently that he would be safe, Deva gawped.

She was just near enough to catch a glimpse of his soft-toned olive face. Fastening her eyes upon him, Deva devoured him greedily. This was the first proper look she had gotten, and it did not disappoint.

Even from this far back, she could see he was no ordinary rider. From the cut of his cloth and the patterned blue tartan he was wearing, it was clear that he was a man of some standing. And now he came closer into view, she could see that she had been right.

In the lad’s hand, a fine sgian-dubh glinted in the errant sunlight. By the looks of it, it was made of silver, and the deep colors of the base suggested rubies and diamonds.

But it was in his face that his nobility shone. She didn’t know how, but there was something in that thick brow that suggested breeding.

And when he turned, she could see she was not wrong. The strong jaw and the firm contours of his nose combined to produce a striking profile. Further down, the plushness of his lips only confirmed his outline. At once soft and determined, they combined a haughty masculinity, with just a hint of the feminine.

Inside her, something pulsated, sending a little jolt down below. It had been there from the first moment that she had seen him, making her sizzle and burn.

Then, Deva pulled herself up. This was not the time or the place for such thoughts. And she had other things to think about. Like staying alive.

“Get doon!” Allyth said again, dragging Deva from the spot they were standing in and further back, “I think they’ve spied us!”

A few moments passed, as Deva and her maid hid nervously in a shallow ditch. Pressed hard into the mud, Deva hardly dared breathe as the men charged past, without so much as a glance in their direction.

Inside, Deva felt her heart thunder. When it was certain they had gone, she hoisted herself up out of the ditch, tearing at her skirts and catching her hair in the process. Too bad she had spent all night in curling papers, but never mind. The only thing that mattered was that he had gotten free.

Deva emerged from the swamp, more mud than human, just in time to see him wandering along the glade, his beautiful face completely lost in thought.

Knocked for six, Deva gave a low whistle.

He hadn’t even noticed them! Not only was he unharmed, but the man hadn’t even realized that he was being used as target practice!

Deva could barely contain herself. She was in that strange place, hovering between laughter and tears, in near hysterics.

Then, Allyth snapped her out of her thoughts.

“We should go, Miss,” murmured her maid, and then she hesitated, “I wouldnae usually insist so, but yer father’s nae goin’ tae be pleased if we dinnae get back safe an’ sound…!”

“Och,” huffed Deva, “Father doesnae care for me… I’m nae but a prize to his highest bidder!”

A stab of anger ran through Deva, but her face stayed calm. Although she was not happy about the situation, she had just about reconciled herself to it. Being married off would get her out of the MacLean keep and away from her father.

“I’m sure that’s nae true,” murmured Allyth, but from the way that she shifted her eyes away, Deva knew she had hit her mark.

Warming to her theme, Deva continued, “Well, aye, it’s nae completely true, they’re nae even bidding for me, just throwing clumps o’ dirt in the air, or whatever…”

Allyth’s eyes cut into hers with a flash of mischief. “It’s a twenty-pound lump o’ granite Miss! Nae a lump o’ dirt!”

Although her words sounded serious, they were shot through with satire. Now that the men had passed, Allyth’s mood had restored. “An’ there’ll be a jousting contest too…. So, whoever wins will ha’ truly proven he is a man!”

Deva darted her a glance. “Nae, he’ll ha’ proven he’s a daft lummox who lifted a twenty-pound lump nae-one wants…” she said, acerbically, “If he thinks that’ll impress a lass, then he’s a bigger lump than the thing he’s throwing!”

Allyth grinned, before leading them back out onto the main passageway that led into the MacLean lands.

“An’ worse still, I’m to be this ninnyhammer’s glittering prize!” Deva concluded, with a quick glance up to the skies. The men on their horses had passed and now the biggest risk was the weather. Undoubtedly, it was going to rain.

Beside her, Allyth tugged her urgently, also mindful of the weather.

“All I ken, is that I’m to get ye back to the keep in one piece, else my life is nae goin’ tae be worth living,” said Allyth, “The men are coming for the tournament an’ ye have to welcome them in as the hostess, that’s if we can drag ye out o’ this bush an’ make’ ye presentable in time!”

“The tournament!” said Deva, “It’s all I hear. Well, maybe I can wait to be auctioned off as the glittering prize…!”

But even as she said this, Deva was well aware that her skirts were ripping, her arasaid muddied and her hair, literally, dragged through a hedge backward. Some glittering prize.

“There they go,” Allyth’s voice cut her out of her thoughts, and for a few minutes, the pair watched, as the brigands carried on into the empty canyon beneath them.

Deva waited as they disappeared into the distance, fervently hoping the young man was finally free of them.

For several minutes, Deva stared into the abyss, but the view of the clearing and the valley beyond were obscured by the side of the hills, cutting into their path.

Reluctantly, Deva let him go.

So much for her fancy notions. As if she was even free to give herself in marriage. Or do anything without the say-so of her father. Anything she might want came a poor second to whatever the mighty laird of the MacLeans had decreed.

She was to be bought and sold like a chattel. Or in this case, won as a trophy for flinging lumps of clay into the air.

Deva bristled at her fate but dampened herself down, determined to make the best of it. It was not to be, and there was nothing she could do about it. At least it looked as if the young man had gotten away.

He had gone, and he wasn’t coming back. Most likely, she would never see him again.

There was nothing else to say.

Chapter 2

“Sachairi?”

Niven called out, his voice ringing across the treetops in the glen. All around, an aura of silence met him. Even the birds had stopped singing, and now, there was a deadening quiet in the copse.

Bringing his bold face toward the copse, Niven looked to the horizon.

Nothing.

“Sachairi? Padraig?” he called again but was met with resounding silence.

Worried, Niven looked around. Squinting into the pale sun, he gazed futilely in search of his missing crew.

No-one.

And if that weren’t enough, he was also utterly, totally, and completely lost.

With a sigh, Niven tugged at a map, whilst inside his head, his uncle berated him. How could ye be such a walloper, son?

He had a point. How could he have veered so hopelessly off course? Losing his two companions was just the icing on the cake.

Hopelessly, Niven scanned the parchment in his hands. All he could see was trees, no mention of the valley, or the thin strip of land he was on. Then again, the map was at least ten years old, and by the looks of it, things had changed.

Reluctantly, Niven concluded that he was alone, and should press on ahead, hoping to catch up with the errant crew. Planning to give them a good drubbing when he finally found them, he looked around again.

Niven sighed. Maybe he didn’t mind so much. In fact, a little time alone would not be so bad. It was just unfortunate it was in such uncharted terrain.

Finally, the space and the silence gave him a chance to concentrate on all that had built up in his head since setting off that morning.

Sorcha. Just the sound of her name was enough to sharpen the spike in his heart. When he’d heard about the tournament, it’d sounded like a great way to impress her. Some jousting, and then, Highland games. He was certain to be a winner.

And yet, when he told her, all she did was laugh.

What, ye, toss a caber? Are ye sure, sonny, ye might do yerself a mischief!

Niven bristled at the memory. But it had been the kick he had needed, and from that moment onwards, he had made up his mind to do it.

And if he won, well, it wouldn’t exactly hurt, would it? And she had been the prime reason he had been so keen to do it. Of course, he had wanted to help Uncle Rory as well.

For years, he had wanted to unify the surrounding clans, and now, with the MacLean laird proposing his daughter as a prize, it seemed as if Rory’s ambition would be realized.

If Niven won, Rory would be marrying into the second strongest clan in the region, and potentially create an unstoppable force in the Highlands.

And Niven had his own reasons for taking part. If he would win, then maybe Sorcha would give him a second look; maybe even take his hand in marriage. It was about time someone did, he was twenty-eight after all.

By the time his uncle was twenty-eight, he had been married twice already, and now at the ripe old age of fifty, seemed set to do so again. Inwardly, Niven had begun to despair that he would ever make a match.

Pushing his wavy brown hair from his eyes, Niven sighed. He was grateful to Rory for taking him and his brother in after his parents died. But playing second fiddle to such a dynamic character was difficult.

It seemed that every woman who came within a mile of the wily old goat ended up head-over-heels in love with him, leaving little room for Niven’s prospects. This tournament had been his first real chance of proving himself, but that wasn’t going to happen if he never got there.

Putting down the tatty map, Niven was just about to give up and go with his instincts when something stopped him.

Lost in thought, he had not heard them approach. The footsteps crept through the undergrowth, advancing with stealth until it was too late to run.

The first thing that Niven knew about it was a hand, grabbing at him and a jab of cold against his chin.

Then, looking down, he saw.

A knife.

*****************

She wanted to grab his hand and warn him that he was being followed. From across the valley, Deva watched in horror.

The men could be seen cutting in through the wooded glade, across the ridge to the copse where he was.

“Nae again,” she cursed her heart quickening. She should have realized they wouldn’t have given up so easily.

Abruptly, she turned to Allyth. “I kennt we should have stopped and helped, afore,” she scolded, but it was herself she was angry with.

Seeing Allyth’s pale face cloud over, Deva felt a pang of guilt. She shouldn’t take it out on her. Leaving had been her decision, not her maid’s.

Now all she could do was watch, as the men dismounted and pushed their way across the glen, leaning on their bellies through the long grass.

Snakes.

Deva felt her stomach turn. She tried to warn him, but, just like before, he could not hear. Her heart beating in triple time, she glimpsed through cupped hands, the ambush.

“Nae,” she cried, futilely. She turned to Allyth.

“Come, to the horses,” she snapped, and this time she was in no mood to argue. Seeing the look in her mistress’s eyes, Allyth nodded and followed.

Together, they mounted the pair of Highland ponies, waiting by the roadside. With a brief pat of the mare’s head, Deva leaped up, and soon they were charging crazily over the muddy glen.

“Come on, lassie,” urged Deva, as her poor horse struggled to keep up.

Usually, she was more accustomed to sedate walks over less capricious terrain. In truth, the poor thing was getting on in age and really should have been put out to pasture years ago. But Deva was fond of her, having ridden her since childhood, and had pleaded to keep her against all odds.

“Ye can do it, Titania,” she murmured, as they rounded the glade, and came out to the lake in the center of the woods.

Then, she stopped. Without warning, she was almost upon them, and the two brigands were standing just in front.

But they hadn’t seen her at all. In fact, they only had eyes for the lad, alone on his horse.

Edging closer, the larger brigand came up to the horse rider, a sly grin on his face. In his hands, he held a knife to the lad’s throat.

Abruptly, he dragged him to the ground, sending the lad’s black stallion scurrying into the trees. Now, he had him in a headlock, with the knife glittering in his face.

“Ye’ve got two choices, lad. Say aye, an’ we only take all yer jewels, an’ yer coin …” grinned the mercenary.

“But say nae, an’ we still take yer jewels, an’ yer coin, an’ yer miserable life as well, so then, which is it to be?”

*****************************

“Think about this nice an’ careful,” sneered the brigand, “Because it might be the last decision ye make.”

Immediately, Niven’s eyes were on the slack-jawed man in front of him. For the time being, he was in control, but Niven could see lapses in his concentration.

Although he was pointing a knife at his throat, he wasn’t paying much attention to what he was doing. Instead of watching closely, he was looking around, guffawing with his friend.

Niven’s heart sped up, but inside, he remained cool. Neither of them were the brightest sparks. He had met their type before.

“So, come on, then, lad, speak up, has the cat got yer tongue?” the taller lad sneered, but crucially, he didn’t look.

Without waiting for another moment, Niven swung around, surprising the lanky brigand with his fist.

Before the man could even get to his feet, he had turned to deal with his friend – not the sharpest tool to start with. It was a gamble that paid off.

It seemed like neither of them had expected his resistance, and with one clean hit, Niven had dispatched the pair of them, sniveling and dribbling into the grass.

And before they had the chance to get up, Niven kicked back at them, just for good measure, before making for his own horse at the edge of the woods.

“An’ the answer’s nae,” he added, with a corpulent thump to the nearest robber. The weak and twisted brigand bent double, moaning in pain.

Without giving him a chance to get up, Niven sped away, but he didn’t get far before he tripped over something else, hidden deep in the undergrowth.

Whump! With no warning, Niven was flat on his face. Struggling through the weeds, he clutched his sides in sudden agony.

He looked to find his léine soaking with blood. Beneath him was a sword, glinting out from the thick rushes growing underfoot. And attached to it was a hand.

He had been stabbed.

Beneath him, the lank-haired brigand smiled, twistedly. Somehow, he had succeeded in crawling across the glen side, unseen, and puncturing him with a blade.

Immediately, Niven dropped it, and it tumbled into the mud beside him. Before the bandit could swipe it back, Niven fastened his fingers around it and took it for his own.

Immediately, he pointed it at the man’s face, who swerved it and momentarily, this was enough to deter them.

Dragging himself up, Niven tried to ignore the stinging at his sides and get himself together. With the sound of water running, coming down from the loch nearby, he examined the wound. On closer inspection, it seemed to be nothing more than just a glancing blow.

Feeling sure it would be alright, Niven got swiftly to his feet. There was no time to lose, with the two brigands slowly regaining themselves and moving forwards at speed.

“Here he is,” said the lanky man, his oily blond hair sticking close to his angular face, “he willnae get far now he’s had a tickle off auld Will…!”

They were already pulling themselves out of their pit and in hot pursuit. A quick glance told him they were worse for wear from their fall, so before they could get any nearer, Niven rounded on them once more.

Bringing his bow up to his eye, Niven took aim. The unsavory pair were advancing, ever closer, cut hazily against the steel-colored skies. And then, something odd.

For just a moment, it all blurred as if he was looking through a steamy window. Shapes jarred and danced in his eyes.

Just for a second, all was lost, then he came to. And before they had a chance to advance any closer, he pulled the bow, and a hail of bolts flew across the open glade.

Instantly one caught the dark-haired lad squarely in the forehead and he folded like an uprooted weed. Before he could suffer the same fate, his companion turned and fled, leaving Niven finally alone, in the center of the clearing.

Dazedly, Niven made for his horse, when suddenly the world swayed around him. This time, he could not blink his way free, and he groped, helplessly trying to find his feet.

But there was no way out of this miasma. The world swirled, crashing at his head, and casting him deep into a pit with no end.

It all faded, except for the voice.

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