Chapter 1

Scottish Highlands

July 15, 1432

Beitris twirled a brown tendril around her finger as she watched the lady and laird, Peigi and Hendry of the Dunbar clan, crane their heads towards one another. No one could question the love they had for each other. It was written in their gazes, their very touch, their every manner of being. Lady Peigi’s head glimmered honey-gold in the candelabra’s light while her green eyes glistened with immense joy as they whispered amongst themselves. She lovingly pushed away Hendry’s fiery hair, exposing the eye patch covering his right eye.

Beitris recalled him losing the eye when the Black Stags had attacked his family, making him an orphan at fifteen summers. The cost of losing his parents had left him solemn, often spending night and day seeking his revenge. However, it had been years since the Black Stags disbanded, and peace was upon them. Beitris had known Hendry since they were children, and she had never seen him as happy as she did now.

It was all thanks to Peigi.

A little boy with ginger hair and sapphire eyes, appearing like a miniature version of Hendry, ran towards them with outstretched arms, giggling mischievously. Beitris chuckled, placing a hand to her mouth while she watched Hendry gather the boy into his arms and tickle his belly. A girl, similar in age, came to Peigi’s side. Her shoulders slumped while she stomped her foot in irritation. The little boy she tugged behind her, looking not much older than two summers, copied the movement and nearly made Beitris snort in an attempt to keep decorum. His chubby face was covered with jam, and he kept stuffing his little hand into his mouth.

Beitris watched the joy come over Peigi’s face as she grabbed her youngest son and settled him into her lap. Her heart twinged as Peigi stroked a stray curl away from her daughter’s face. The love and adoration in Peigi’s gaze made Beitris yearn for something she didn’t know if she could ever have.

Her hand slowly lowered as envy twisted in her stomach. She wished she could have a life like theirs, one filled with love and joy. When she first met Peigi, it didn’t appear that the lass could ever be with the laird and have such a life, given that she was a lowly maid and the daughter of a wretched brigand. However, their love prevailed all.

Beitris lowered her gaze, knowing if she stared any longer, her envy would turn to sadness. This was to be a happy event, a celebration for Laird Hendry of Dunbar’s fifteen years as clan head. If she allowed her sorrow to take hold now, she knew there would be no way of stopping it.

Her hands fisted in her lap, reminded of her father insisting she marry. She wished he would understand. These past few years, after turning down the alliance with the Dunbars so Peigi and Hendry could be together, her father was constantly on the lookout for a new betrothal. Her gaze darkened as she recalled him inviting several possible suitors to the Gordon castle. Each and every one she turned away, whether it be from their arrogance or their need to control her. If she was going to marry, she would rather do it for love like Peigi and Hendry, not just to seal an alliance and calm her father’s worries.

“And what do ye think would happen to ye if I were to pass before ye were well and settled?” his voice echoed in her head, infuriating her even more.

Even the maids at Gordon castle whispered rumors throughout the estate, not caring if their words reached her ears. She could recall them now, which irritated Beitris even more.

“Poor thing.”

“Never had a mother to show her the way.”

“Her father did his best.”

“But I’m afraid it wasn’t enough.”

“Her heart is too wild to warrant a husband.”

“Soon, she’ll be too old to marry.”

As the years went on, the whispers became harder to ignore. Ever since she ended her betrothal with Hendry, there were more and more discussions about who she would marry and when the wedding would take place. She knew very well that she wasn’t getting any younger. No one needed to remind her of that fact. And she knew more than anyone what it was like growing up without a mother to tend to her, care for her. Her father did his best. He taught her how to ride a horse, hold a bow and arrow, and gave her a teacher to instruct her in her reading and writing skills. He raised her to be a strong woman, and she was thankful for that.

Sometimes he deemed her a bit too strong in her ways. However, it didn’t matter. She would marry when she met the right man—one who saw her as a partner rather than his property.

“Excuse me, my lady.”

Beitris turned towards the sound, finding a young squire bowing before her, mere inches from her side while holding out a small letter with both hands. She could hardly see his face due to the shaggy blond curls covering the top of his head. His hands trembled a bit as if he was shy. She was able to catch a faint flush on his cheeks.

“This is for ye,” he said nervously while still keeping his head down. “It came in on the medicinal cart before the festival. I apologize for my tardiness. It got lost with the healer.”

“No apologies needed,” she said while taking the letter from his hand.

Beitris didn’t watch him leave. She recognized that scrawl. Staring at her name, she couldn’t stop the feeling of doom seeping into her skin, chilling her insides. It was her father’s handwriting. Something must be wrong for him to write her so soon after leaving the castle. She knew he was getting up there in years. It wasn’t long ago a fever had taken hold of him. The red sigil stared at her, the stag watching her with each breath she took.

With quivering hands, she broke the Gordon seal, her blue eyes pouring over the contents while she gripped the paper. As she read, fear was quickly replaced with fiery rage.

My dearest daughter, Beitris, the letter began,

It is with the greatest pleasure I write to you. You must return as soon as the Dunbar festivities have ended, for I have promised your hand in marriage to the only son and clan head, Laird Fraser of the MacClerys. At long last, he has finally returned from his ten years of study in both Edinburgh and France, and I believe he will make a perfect match for you. Think clearly my daughter, for this will make a wonderful alliance for our clan. It has been too long since your parting with Hendry, and after the last suitor you demeaned, I fear you will spend your final years alone in this world. Please, consider Laird Fraser, daughter, and my feelings. I do not want to leave this world knowing you are alone.

I expect you in the next five days or so. Do travel carefully, daughter. Though the Black Stags have disbanded, I fear there are more brigands to fear.

Your loving father,

Laird Stewart of the Gordon Clan.

Beitris’s frown deepened. She stifled the need to tear the letter into pieces, knowing it would do her no good. So, her father took advantage of her absence and promised her to another while she was away. To this, Laird Fraser no less who, according to her father, spent the last ten years living elsewhere. She suspected the Laird MacClery probably knew more of the world than the highland’s ways, giving he preferred traveling than remaining with his clan. He would probably expect her to act like a dignified lady of the French court rather than a woman with her own mind. What were French women like? She wondered, which only made her grimace with worry.

She threw the letter onto the table and grabbed her goblet, downing the contents quickly before waving over a young girl carrying a pitcher of wine.

“More, my lady?” she asked in a high-pitched, shy voice.

Beitris held out her goblet. “Most definitely, my dear.”

As soon as her goblet was filled, she took a very long drink until her mind was no longer plagued with images of her father shaking hands with some laird, selling her to some unknown man without her approval.

Honestly, she shouldn’t be surprised. Her father had nagged her about finding a suitable husband for several years now. This was bound to happen sooner or later. She just wished it wasn’t while she sat with her friends, celebrating their prosperity. Her gaze swiveled towards Peigi and Hendry, who leaned into each other, smiling while watching their people dance and laugh. One moment she wished she was them, and now she knew it could never be. One letter had swept her dreams away.

She was going to be married to a man she never met.

Beitris rose from her chair, stumbling forward as her hem caught on one of the legs. She smiled awkwardly at the ladies and men around her before quickly excusing herself. Her face flushed, and her head swam from the wine numbing her pain and anger. Pushing one door open, she found herself in the kitchen, a place she and Hendry used to spend making mischief by stealing biscuits from the cook. She leaned against the threshold, smiling to herself while recalling those days, feeling as if they weren’t so long ago.

“Are ye alright, my lady?” asked a servant.

“Oh,” Beitris uttered, perking up when she found the woman standing behind her, carrying a large platter of dirtied plates and cups. “Aye, I’m fine.” She quickly strode deeper into the kitchen, moving to the sides so as not to get into anyone’s way. As the door shut, the noise from the hall muted.

Beitris heard giggling and whispers vaguely behind her, but she didn’t stop to eavesdrop. Most likely, the castle gossip was about Hendry rather than herself. On the other side of the kitchen, she knew there was a door leading out to the garden, and she was desperate for some fresh air to calm her blushing skin. Perhaps having that last goblet of wine wasn’t such a good idea, after all, she thought while stepping out into the night sky.

She closed her eyes and sighed, feeling content in the silence with the soft chirping of crickets surrounding her. The wind rustled, chilling her heated face. The fresh floral scent of the budding flowers made her stomach settle, and the worry ebb away. Opening her eyes, she continued deeper into the garden with arms stretched wide. Her fingers grazed the soft petals of the primroses and heather.

Did the MacClery clan have such a beautiful garden? She wondered while stopping in the middle of the path. Were the people kind and joyful, like the Dunbars? Her hands clasped together in a tight hold, and she couldn’t stop the worry twisting her insides once more. She knew no one from the MacClery’s. Never had she visited their castle or met their clansmen. She had heard their name once or twice before but didn’t recall much about them. Would she even find it possible to make a new friend or two there?

“Good evening.”

A gasp escaped Beitris’s lips as she whirled around to find a man before her on the path. She stared up at him with wide eyes while pressing a hand to her throat.

“Do not be alarmed,” he said while taking a step towards her. His lips twitched upwards into a smirk as his gaze ravaged her body. “I only came for a bit of air.”

“O-oh,” Beitris breathed. Quickly, she looked around herself, finding no one on the surrounding walls. The man stood between her and the door. She briefly wondered if anyone would come if she shouted.

“It’s alright, lass,” said the man while closing the distance between them, holding his hands outwards as if he was taming a frightened mare.

Beitris took a step back, not knowing if she could trust this man. The moonlight illuminated his blue eyes, glimmering with amusement while his dark scraggly hair stuck to his face. He was handsome, despite the scruff growing along his jaw and the scars marring his forearms. She noticed even deeper scars going up his bicep and hiding underneath his wrinkled leine.

“I won’t let any harm come yer way.”

Beitris jutted her chin out. She didn’t know why, but something was odd about this man. He seemed kind, yet her insides were telling her to run.

“Please, allow me to accompany ye this evening,” he said while holding out his hand between them.

Her gaze flicked from his face to his flattened palm. His fingers wiggled for a moment as if they were beckoning her towards him.

“It’s dark, and a lady like yerself shouldn’t be out on yer own.”

Beitris sighed, finding no ill will in his gaze nor his logic, and placed her hand in his. His warm fingers curled around hers, and with a sharp tug, she stumbled into him, bumping her head against his hard chest. She blinked up, her eyes widening with alarm as he stared down at her. His tongue darted out to moisten his bottom lip, and once again, a creeping feeling crawled down her spine, telling her she must leave at once.

“Apologies,” she murmured while straightening herself.

“No apologies needed, my lady,” he said while guiding her deeper into the garden. “Does the lady have a name?”

Beitris glanced over her shoulder. They were walking further and further away from the kitchen door. Her heart was slamming in her throat. Even though this man had done no wrong, she couldn’t help the fear rippling through her.

“Why do ye want my name, good sir?”

The man tossed back his head, releasing a bitter laugh. “Sir, she calls me.” His eyes narrowed on her. All amusement she once found in that gaze dissipated and was replaced with something dark. “Perhaps I wish to have something to call ye by, my lady.”

Beitris’s gaze lowered. She needed to get back to Hendry and Peigi’s celebration. His hand tightened around her wrist when she stepped away from him. Her lips trembled as he turned her towards the tree, where the branches were low, and not one guard would be able to spot them from the wall.

“If I give ye my name, may ye let me return?” she whispered, feeling the bark of the tree digging into her back.

The man leered down at her. Beitris’s jaw clenched as his gaze dipped to her lips. “Perhaps.”

“It’s Beitris,” she rushed out. She tried to move around him, but he pulled her back to him, pushing her against the tree.

“Beitris, Beitris,” he sang. “The only daughter of Laird Gordon.”

Beitris shivered. She searched for a way to move around him, but his body blocked all escape. “Sir, I must-“

His lips slammed against hers, stifling her words. She pressed her lips together as his tongue prodded her mouth. An arm circled her waist, dragging her towards him. She gasped as she felt something digging into her leg, allowing his tongue to enter and slide against her own.

Beitris struggled in his arms. He tasted of wine, and his foul scent nauseated her senses, making her want to gag. His tongue kept prodding hers, demanding she respond. She was desperate to be rid of him. Nothing about this was romantic or magical. It was filled with lust and the need for dominance. This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go, Beitris thought angrily. She didn’t know if she was angrier with him or with herself for being so foolish to enter the garden atnight without a proper escort. All she wanted was a bit of air. She whimpered and pressed her hands against his chest, her fear heightening when his hold tightened.

She stomped on his foot, and the man grunted, stumbling backward and allowing her room to push him away. His lips slid from hers, and without thinking, she raised her hand, smacking it across his face. The man stilled. His head tilted to one side. The darkness made it difficult for her to see his expression, but the air was tense. Without waiting another minute, Beitris sidestepped him and picked up her skirts. She ran as fast as she could to the kitchen door and threw it open without looking behind her.

Beitris didn’t stop until she was in the great hall. Her hands shook as she straightened her dress. She inhaled deeply to calm her pounding heart. Her stomach churned while memories flooded to her of his hands clutching at her body, his tongue demanding entrance. She clamped her eyes closed and forced those thoughts away, telling herself she would leave right after her fast was broken in the morning and then she would never have to see that terrible man again.

Chapter 2

Scottish Highlands

July 18, 1432

Fraser stared at the walls surrounding Castle Dunnegan. . Saturated from the morning drizzle, moss crawled over the darks stones of the castle making it appear like an enchanted palace of the fae. Castle Dunnegan was nothing like the bustling streets of Edinburgh, filled with people selling their wares and crowding the closes—nothing like the exquisite craftsmanship of Paris’s finest hall. In all his years away from the estate, he had imagined what it would be like to return home. The beauty of his birthplace was nothing like his memories. It was far more glorious.

And it was home.

The large fortress rested on the top of a steep hill surrounded by a vast meadow. Sheep and cattle lazily grazed while dogs protected their flock. A smile came to his lips as he pulled at the reins, halting his horse from proceeding any further so he could gaze upon the beauty around him. Two guards he hired for the journey sat on either side, appearing as worn and weary as Fraser felt. They had just emerged from the forests that took up most of the MacClery land. It was good to know his journey was finally coming to an end.

Fraser’s smile widened while he urged his horse forward. After two months of travel, it was nice to see a familiar place. It had been an adventure returning to the highlands. His time was filled with scouting for brigands and scavenging for food when there was no town nearby or the road was too long. There were hardly any inns to rest in, and his back ached in want for a comfortable bed to lay his weary body upon. They spent most of their travels on uncommon paths due to highwaymen known for stealing merchants’ goods. Thankfully, the journey was mostly safe. They encountered a scuffle here and there, but Fraser tended to himself, and his men were paid well for the hardship.

The early morning drizzle seeped into his worn clothes. His leine was frayed at the hem, and there were holes in his wool stockings from long days of riding. A chill rippled through him as he urged his horse faster. He had forgotten about the cold Scottish summers during his time away. The French summers were warm and filled with outdoor celebrations and sunshine that left his skin tanned. Edinburgh had the drizzle and gusts known to Scotland yet lacked the bone brittling chill that came with the highlands. He regarded the memories fondly. However, he missed neither Edinburgh nor France, for they were not home.

A decade passed since he last laid eyes on this castle—a decade since he left the highlands to complete his higher education in Edinburgh. Soon after that, he went to France to strengthen his clan’s financial alliances. All that time away, and he never journeyed back—never saw his father one final time before his death.

Fraser grimaced while recalling the last time he saw his father. As the portcullis of the castle rose, he recognized the very courtyard he bid his family farewell. His father was a dour man. He had been strict in every way imaginable and rarely smiled. The former Laird MacClery wanted his son to be the best. Each day Fraser lived in this castle, he was met with a list of duties and a hint of frustration from his father.

“Yer the only one to carry on the family line,” Fraser remembered his father saying. “Our clan has been plagued with civil strife for years. What will ye do when another conflict emerges?”

Fraser understood his father’s worries. He understood why his father was hard on him. It made him into the man he was today. He only wished he had one last opportunity to say farewell to the man who had supported his studies, no matter how strict of a father he had been.

His eyes softened as he continued through the courtyard, finding a woman standing at the opening to the keep. She was thinner than what he remembered. Her black dress hung off her shoulders while she clutched a thick shawl to her face. He stopped his horse before her. The rain fell harder now, soaking through his clothes and chilling his skin. Water dripped from his dark, matted hair  to the beard covering his jaw. Carefully, he dismounted his horse, handing the reins to the stable master.

As he approached the woman, the wind whipped harder, making several strands escape from under her shawl. He noticed how grey her hair had become, how wrinkled her appearance looked. Ten years had flown by within a blink of an eye. During that time, he had become a man, while she had become a widow. She placed a hand against her mouth. Dark circles marred her widening eyes.

“Mother,” he murmured while holding out his arms.

With his movement, she lurched away from him as if she worried he would strike her. His head tilted while his brows furrowed in confusion, wondering why she looked so fearful. She was his mother. He had never harmed her before, nor would he ever. His father taught him that only weak men harmed the women around them. Strong men listened and learned from those not in a position of power, for they were the ones who suffered under others’ rule.

“Mother,” he tried again, worry ebbing his voice as he took another step toward her.

“Fra-Fraser,” she stuttered, closing the distance between them and wrapping her arms tightly around him. “Yer home. Yer finally home.”

He leaned into her touch. “‘Tis been too long,” he murmured while she pulled away.

She wiped the tears from her eyes and turned away from him, pressing a hand to her mouth again while retreating inside the keep in silence. Fraser followed his mother, unable to stop the worry from churning his stomach. He hadn’t seen her in ten years, and she turned away from him as if his touch burned. Her shoulders slumped forward and shook as if she bit back tears. She seemed smaller than last he remembered as if her whole frame had shriveled.

Something was wrong.

“Mother, is-“

“We should get ye cleaned up,” she rushed out, her words bouncing off the dimly lit walls.

The doors closed with a thump behind him, silencing the pattering of rain. Droplets dripped on the floor where he stood while darkness seeped into every corner of the dimly lit hall.No maids or guards stood to welcome him. Had he come too early?

Or was there something else?

“I’ll have a bath drawn for ye tonight,” she continued while walking through the dark corridor. “ We have much to discuss. I’ve already laid out a fresh change of clothes for ye in yer rooms. Ye can change, and then we can talk about-about-” His mother shook her head, unable to finish what she was about to say. She sniffed, her head bowed low while she continued down the hall.

Fraser watched her go, not knowing if he should follow her and ensure her health. She was acting strange. Her eyes had hardly met his. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but he knew this definitely wasn’t it. The silence was deafening. Never before was his home so shadowed in darkness. He remembered running down these halls, laughing while his mother scolded him. Soldiers had guarded every corridor, ensuring order.

But now, everything seemed strange in this place, as if he had stumbled upon another land. He had been away for too long. He should have returned sooner; he knew that. His mother had been alone for two months now, and during that time, she grieved without any family to console her heartache.

With a sigh, he turned away from her and trudged up the steps towards his old quarters, where he found a fresh leine laid out for him on his bed with thick wool hose and clean boots. The garments were old. He recognized them from days when he was a young boy and knew they would be a snug fit, given he had filled out over the years. Once he was able, he would have to call upon the tailor.

Looking around, he noticed his room was just as he left it, with a trunk lying across from his bed and a desk by the window, overlooking the meadows. He could see the edge of the wood where he had just come from. Puddles were already forming on the path towards the castle. With a heavy heart, he realized in the next coming days his things would be moved to his father’s quarters and study.

Fraser shook his head. Those matters could wait, he told himself while stripping off his drenched leine and hose. The fabric stuck to his chilled flesh, and he was happy to be rid of them and in freshly cleaned clothes. He had spent most of his journey wearing the same attire and knew he must smell terrible.

The leine was tight around his shoulders and his waist, yet he was thankfully able to move. The wool hose was even tighter around his muscled thighs, but the boots were a perfect fit. As soon as he was dressed, he returned to the foyer of the keep, hearing humming coming from inside the great hall. He padded inside, his attention caught by the family banners decorating the large walls with the MacClery coat of arms. It was strange for him to be here after so long. It was oddly welcoming, yet the darkness shadowing the room, and his mother’s humming left an eerie feeling shuddering through him.

He turned to his mother, his eyes widening as he found her staring up at a large portrait of his father. Her hands were clenched into tight, white-knuckled fists while her entire body trembled. Fraser walked towards her, sidling up close and gazing up at his father’s painted dark eyes shrouded in dark hair. His father appeared strong, powerful in the painting, and his mother looked happy, standing by his side with her hand on his shoulder. Looking between the two, Fraser could see he was a blend of both, with his father’s dark hair and his mother’s blue eyes.

“Ye-yer the laird now,” she said, her voice soft and shaking.

Fraser lifted his arm, going to wrap it around her shoulders, but stopped himself when she flinched in response. Perhaps it was the shock of her husband’s death that had her behaving in such a manner. It had been a shock to him, as well. His father had seemed well. Often they exchanged letters and never had the man mentioned any ailment. Guilt had seized Fraser’s heart when he received the last letter informing him of his father’s passing. It had been so sudden; he didn’t know if he could believe the words written on the paper. He had cursed himself for foolishly not returning sooner. He didn’t know why he insisted on staying, only that by living abroad, he believed he was furthering the MacClery clan name. His father had urged him to return home sooner, yet Fraser always assumed he had time.

He assumed wrong.

“Ye have no time to waste,” his mother said harshly while turning away from him.

Fraser stared at her back, confused by her words and her cold manner. “What do ye-“

“Ye must marry to procure an alliance.”

His frown deepened, and he fought the need to argue with his mother. It had been less than an hour since he returned to Castle Dunnegan, less than a week since he returned to the highlands, and already his mother was discussing his future bride. Assuredly, he had plenty of time to look for a wife; he thought while watching his mother’s trembling shoulders.

He took a deep breath. His mother was only looking out for him, he told himself. Father’s death probably took its toll on her. He had been a strict man, but a loving husband. Of course, his mother would take his death hard and worry about things that need not be worried about.

“As soon as I am fed and rested, I will arrange a celebration of my return.” Fraser smiled brightly, hoping his willingness would make her feel more relaxed. “I’m sure there will be plenty of bonnie lasses keen to bless me with their hand.”

“Nae,” his mother whispered hoarsely.

His brow furrowed, and he closed the distance between them. With one gentle touch on her shoulder, she whirled around. Her bloodshot red eyes fastened on him while she rushed out, “I have already spoken with Laird Gordon. He has promised his only daughter to ye.”

Fraser blinked, not quite understanding her words as they washed over him. “What?” he breathed.

“She and her father will be here within the next two weeks.”

Fraser’s mouth opened and closed. His fists clenched as both confusion and rage blurred within him, leaving him wobbling on his feet and his head dizzy. “Two weeks?” he repeated, his voice slightly louder than intended, making him wince at the harshness of it.

His mother’s curt nod only worsened the churning in his stomach. “Most probably less depending on good weather and nae brigand to trifle with.”

He was to wed a woman he had never met. How could his mother do this? How did she even know they would get along well? He hardly knew of the Gordons. The name was familiar, but his father had never hosted them within his halls. They had never broken bread together or drank from the same cup.

Had his father’s death made his mother desperate? Was she so terrified of currying favor she made an alliance with a clan she hardly knew?

Fraser needed to sit. The thought of marrying a girl at this very moment made him feel ill. Instead, he pressed his fingers to his temples, massaging the dull ache.

“Fraser,” said his mother, her voice filled with worry.

He sighed and turned towards her, straightening his back. His mother looked so small and tired standing before him. She had lost her husband two months ago. Clearly, she was still in mourning. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears, making his heart twist with guilt for wanting to deny the alliance. Maybe if he just met the girl, came to know the Gordon clan, then perhaps a marriage between them would be in the future.

Fraser forced a smile and nodded his head. “Alright then,” he said. His mother’s eyes widened in surprise. “We best prepare rooms for our guests and scrub the halls for their arrival. I shan’t suppose they’d enjoy a dismal-looking castle. We’ll have a celebration in their honor.”

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