Prologue

“Lord in Heaven!”

Evanna peered out her window at the ground below. She bit her lower lip, and a frown creased her brow as she considered the fall. The owl that lived in the tree across her window bent its head to the side and hooted skepticism too. Evanna sighed and stepped back inside her room. This complicated things.

Evanna MacLeod was running away from home, and it was all father’s fault. He was being obstinate and completely dismissive of her feelings. Of course, he didn’t understand. How could he? He had been to London once in his life and had never expressed the desire to go there again. The green hills and deep pools of Glenlivet were all anyone ever needed as far as he was concerned, and he felt no need to leave it. Nor did he understand Evanna’s need to see the world and be part of London society.

“It’s naught but posh English bastards with long sticks up their arses,” her father had laughed when she had told him she wanted to visit. “They’ll lay rot to yer sweet nature.”

“But Clara said the balls are heaps of fun,” Evanna had protested. “Imagine the gowns, the jewels, the people! Oh, Da, please let me go.”

“That Clara has nae a lickspittle of sense between her ears, and I will nae have ye learnin’ her foolish ways. I love her father like a brother, but he is much too lax with her upbringing.”

“But, Da-”

“I said nae! There’s naught in London that Glenlivet does nae do better. Write to Clara and ask her to come to visit if ye miss the lass, but yer nae going, and that’s the end of that! Here, have some berries with cream and wipe that frown off yer bonny brow, eh?”

And that had been the end of the argument as far as Laird Julius MacLeod was concerned. Slap her wrist then take away the sting from the punishment by giving her a sweet treat or present – that had always been her father’s way. But it wasn’t going to work anymore. Evanna was seventeen now and had moved on from throwing tantrums. She had bitten the inside of her cheek and kept her own counsel. It wasn’t over. Not till she had her way.

Evanna couldn’t explain why she craved to see the outside world. The only child of the Laird, she had never felt the lack of a motherly figure until the day Lady Ashby had come to visit in her fancy carriage. Tall, dark, and statuesque, Lady Ashby had stood in their courtyard in wine-red silks, a picture of beauty and grace. Little Clara had hidden behind her mother’s skirts, a perfect copy of Lady Ashby.

Evanna, seven at the time, had been mortified by her own dirty stockings and torn smock. But Lady Ashby hadn’t paid any mind. She had embraced Evanna with open arms—the heady scent of honey and wildflowers enveloping the little girl.

Though Evanna hadn’t learned much by way of comportment and ladylike manners in the ensuing years, she knew what she wanted to be when she grew up. She wanted to be just like Lady Ashby.

But that wasn’t the only reason she wanted to run away. Heartache was part and parcel of her desire to leave home for more hopeful lands. But she refused to think about that now. She had much more pressing matters that required her full attention.

Out the window wasn’t an option. She’d break her neck and die, or worse, break her leg and have to face the wrath of her father. Tucking the makeshift rope of tied bedsheets under the bed, Evanna straightened herself to consider her options. The only way out was through the annex that connected the main hall and the church. It was risky. She had a higher chance of getting caught. But she had no other choice.

The church doors were never locked. Something about keeping God’s house open at all hours to absolve the sins of the wicked. Evanna could just picture Father Gilmore, their priest, looking at her from under his bushy gray eyebrows, pinning her to the spot.

Dismissing the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, Evanna started preparing for her escape.

Would it be wicked to use God’s church as a means to disobey her father’s command and run off to a world of balls, gowns, and men in London?

Maybe.

All right! Very likely.

But she had to go.

Stripping down to her shift, Evanna pulled on a pair of riding breeches. She glanced in the mirror and cupped her breasts. They were full and filled both her palms easily. She frowned at their abundance. A length of cotton cloth was produced from her chest of drawers and she started binding her breasts. It hurt and restricted her breathing but there was nothing else for it. Once she was done, she pulled on a loose cotton shirt. These were her customary riding clothes, and though they would help her blend into the night, she feared recognition above all else.

Careful not to make any noise, she slipped on her riding boots before moving on to the most difficult task at hand.

Pulling out a pair of stockings, scissors, hairpins, and a brush, Evanna sat down in front of her mirror and began taming her mass of golden curls. They fell every which way and reached just below her buttocks. Many governesses had come and gone, each and every one had despaired of Evanna’s untamed spirit matched perfectly by her wild hair.

Evanna sat down to accomplish the impossible. She brushed her hair and pinned it to her head. Unruly strands poked out and she pinned them down too till her head resembled the raggedy mess of Stephen the scarecrow.

Throughout the laborious work, she eyed the scissors. As her arms tired, she considered chopping the whole mess off, but Lady Ashby’s reaction to her shorn head stayed her hand.

“Gah! If only Da would listen to reason. I would nae have to take such desperate measures.”

Biting her full lips, she cut up the pair of stockings and tied it around her head, trapping the wild wisps. Her high cheekbones and pointed chin made her look like a wastrel young boy from the docks. Her blue eyes flashed in determination; she swept her hand against the hearth and rubbed some ash across her brow, cheeks, and clothes. As disguises went, this was a very good one.

For the final touch, she fished out a dirty cap from the bottom drawer of her writing desk and pinned it securely on her head. She looked at herself in the mirror. No one would recognize her, not even her father. Evanna flashed herself a roguish smile and tipped her hat as she’d seen men do when the pretty maids passed by in the village.

Satisfied she got up and dug out the satchel she had packed two nights previously with money she had stolen from her father. Laird Julius MacLeod was rich enough not to miss a little gold and silver. His only child, on the other hand? She was sure he would miss her, but then he should have let her go with his blessings.

The day she had decided to run away, she had written a detailed note to her father explaining where she had gone and why. She placed that on top of her pillow for the maids to find in the morning.

“I’m sorry, Da, but ye left me no choice.”

Adjusting the satchel across her now diminished chest, she sent up a prayer and gently opened her bedroom door. Heart beating against her chest she tiptoed down the hall, making sure to avoid the creaking step halfway down the stairs.

During the day the castle was a cheerful place. High, narrow window alcoves bathed the hall in natural light and brought out the different hues of the many tapestries that hung there. Now, in the dead of night, with nary a candle to light her way, the same beloved castle was a dark, brooding place that hid shadows and potential discovery at each corner.

Throat suddenly dry, Evanna swallowed and covered the distance as quickly and quietly as she could. The annex door loomed like the door to the Otherworld with fairies and fauns waiting for her in the dark.

Evanna hesitated a moment then sprinted lightly down the annex. It was a short distance to the church, and the annex had been built to ensure safe, dry passage to and from the church in case of rain or storms. It was also discreet. Many Lairds had used the annex to smuggle in healers when they were trying to hide embarrassing ailments, or as places to discuss secret plots and exchange treasonous information.

There were no ornaments or decorative hangings here. People hardly noticed anything about the annex as they rushed through it as Evanna did now. She only slowed down when she reached the entrance to the church.

Lit candles in front of the altar shed a little light in the gloom. Evanna peered in to make sure no one was there. Her eyes landed on the large cross hanging at the far wall and guilt stabbed at her again. She was unruly, spoiled, uncouth, and unrefined, but she was still God-fearing.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” she mumbled under her breath as she crept forward.

A loud creak made her jump out of her skin. She scuttled back into the shadows of the annex. The church door opened. Moonlight spread on the floor like spilled milk. A large looming shadow stood in the doorway.

Evanna watched with bated breath as the tall, broad figure walked into the church, went right up to the altar, and knelt.

“O my God.” The person began to pray and Evanna gasped as she recognized the voice. “I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee. And I detest all my sins because I dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of Hell. But most of all because they have offended Thee, my God, who art all good and deserving of all my love.”

Aleck Bryce knelt and recited the Act of Contrition. Evanna watched as he prayed, his dark hair hiding his face. What sin could Aleck be asking forgiveness for?

Dear God, I pray whatever his sins may be, he is granted some peace. My God kens he has nae left me with any, Evanna thought with some bitterness.

Evanna fought back hot tears and considered her hands in the dimness of the passage.

Three years ago, when Clara had visited last, a troop of traveling performers had come to stay in Glenlivet. They had jugglers, fire eaters, and bears, but the gypsy woman had captured their imaginations.

She had been unlike anything Evanna had imagined. For one, she was young and beautiful. Her dark eyes flashed and danced as she spoke. The clothes she wore were conservative and there was nary a bead on her person. Finally, face-to-face with the gypsy, Clara had been too afraid to proffer her hand for a reading, but Evanna, in true MacLeod fashion, had thrown caution to the wind and extended her hand.

Immense wealth, honorable family… the reading had started by pointing out the obvious. Evanna was beginning to fear fraud when the gypsy frowned and traced a line on Evanna’s hand. Evanna had shivered as if a cold finger had slid down her spine.

“I see a great journey, many adventures. But – I also see great tragedy and heartache.” The gypsy had smiled apologetically and gently tucked Evanna’s fingers over her palm. “He who you desire will never be yours.”

Evanna MacLeod watched Aleck Bryce with longing. Truth be told she wasn’t running to London, as much as she was running away from Glenlivet. And Aleck Bryce was the reason for it.

Aleck was the son of Callum Bryce, Laird Julius MacLeod’s most trusted noble, and his right-hand man. When Callum Bryce had died from a gangrenous wound sustained when protecting the castle from raiders, he had bestowed his second son Aleck, only thirteen at the time, to the Laird as a sworn sword. Aleck had been part of the household ever since and Evanna’s heart’s desire.

Tall, dark, and brooding, Aleck had never had a way with words, but Evanna had been smitten at first sight. She was his shadow; following him wherever he went, eating from the same bowl, and insisting on training with him as well. She would have slept in the same bed too if her governess hadn’t complained to the Laird.

Aleck Bryce had been the love of her short life. Her whole day was planned around him: when to wake up, when to train, when to ride, when to eat. She would spend hours in the courtyard watching him train with a broadsword, musket, and flintlocks. Her heart would skip a beat as she observed sunlight glisten off his sweating skin, the muscles rippling like taut waves underneath. His broad back narrowed down to compact hips and extended to long legs. Evanna worshipped him.

And what did she get in return? Cold indifference. It was like she didn’t exist for him, or if she did, she was no more than an annoying fly buzzing around a great horse’s mane.

Now here he was, bent on his knees. Part of her wanted to go to him, tuck his dark hair behind his ears and kiss his brow smooth of all worry. She wanted to just imagine his limpid green eyes widening in shock. But she couldn’t. Aleck Bryce didn’t want her. He had made that quite plain.

Shaking the distracting thoughts out of her head, she considered what to do. Here she was running away, and who should come in her path but the very man who she was running away from. Evanna began to pray.

Dear God, I ken I have nae been regular with my prayers, she muttered under her breath. Please forgive me and let me go to London. I will bring ye a golden cross for the altar when I return. Please, God!

Father Gilmore would be horrified if he knew she was bribing God, but she was out of ideas.

Speaking of Father Gilmore! As if her thoughts had conjured the man, he came gliding through the back chambers, head bent and brooding.

“Aleck?” he said. “Are ye alright, son?”

“Nae, Father,” Aleck stood up. “I am troubled by dreams.”

Evanna listened fascinated. What kind of dreams could make a giant like Aleck cower in church?

“The same?” Father Gilmore inquired.

“Aye.”

“Come. A confession should lighten yer heart.”

He guided Aleck to the confessional. Evanna couldn’t believe her luck. God did listen to her prayers! She waited for both men to enter the confessional and the curtains to slide into place. Then she tiptoed to the open door. The night was bathed in moonlight, a slight breeze swung the tall grass to-and-fro, creating enough noise for her to slip out of the house and away. With one fleeting glance of gratitude to the altar, she ran out into the glowing night.

The cold air grasped at her cheeks like icy fingers, the last remaining bite of winter still in its embrace, but she didn’t care. She ran off down the hill to the dirt road that emerged through the fields. Once she reached the road, she began walking west towards the village where a horse was waiting for her. She had arranged it a week ago. Evanna was nothing if not thorough.

“London, here I come!” she whooped as she jumped into the air in excitement. Childhood behind her, she had the world opening up in front of her, and she couldn’t wait to see it all.

Chapter 1

Aleck felt tainted.

He sat on the grassy knoll not far from the stables watching the sunrise above the horizon. The yellow rays chased the darkness away, but his mind was still full of gloom as he recalled last night’s confession.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” he had begun. “It has been three days since my confession. I have sinned against my Laird.” Aleck had hesitated, as he always did.

“And what is the nature of yer sin?” Father Gilmore prompted.

It was the same every time. Aleck would begin and Father Gilmore would guide him. Aleck often wondered how Father Gilmore could still show him kindness after hearing his confessions. But then Father Gilmore was a man of God, and Aleck was steeped in sin.

“I dreamt that I stole from my Laird, I corrupted his wells with poison, and I coveted his seat.” Aleck drummed them off quickly, hoping that if they came out in a rush, he could be rid of them faster. But the taint remained. Like always.

“The Devil is wicked, but he is also clever,” Father Gilmore had spoken through the partition, his words measured and reassuring. “He kens ye harbor nothing but love and loyalty for yer Laird. He kens yer fear of disappointing MacLeod and uses it as a tool against ye.”

It was well-meant but Aleck wasn’t convinced.

The dreams left him feeling like he was covered in a thin layer of corruption and filth. No amount of scrubbing in the bath or washing himself rubbed it off.

Nasty dreams. Filthy dreams. Punishable dreams if anyone found out.

They mustn’t! They wouldn’t. Aleck made sure of that. Even in confession he never told too much. He would mention the betrayal, the poisoned wells, the coveted seat but never what came after – the main event. Maybe that’s why he felt polluted – he had made no proper confession of his sin to God.

The early morning sun beat down the soft winter mist, forcing it to disperse. Aleck was glad of it. Winter had been exceedingly harsh this year, and he looked forward to the spring. He got up, brushed the grass and dew off the seat of his breeches, and walked towards the training yard on the other side of the castle.

Many of the Laird’s men-at-arms were already gathered there, loosening their limbs for the morning’s rigorous training. Aleck spotted Joseph Algee and Royce Glackin by the far wall, feasting on bannocks. They were second sons to minor nobles and Aleck’s friends. Joseph was tall and wiry and resembled a nanny goat. Royce was built like a barrel and just as short.

“Ye look a sight, Bryce,” Joseph nodded in greeting.

Royce threw a bannock to Aleck. He caught it gratefully. The bread was still hot and tasted of manna so early in the morning. It lightened his dark mood.

“Where were ye last night?” Joseph asked.

“Were ye worried for me, love?” Aleck teased, blowing him a kiss.

“Not on yer life.” Joseph grimaced.

“What do ye think Lockard’s got planned for today?” Royce asked.

“Mud, muck, and misery, no doubt,” Joseph mumbled through his full mouth. Flecks of semi-decimated bread flung out of his mouth like people jumping out of a castle on fire. “When do ye think we’ll get a turn on the muskets?”

“When yer aim with the bow and arrow gets better,” Aleck laughed.

“Muskets are nae the same as bows and arrows,” Joseph protested. He was taller than Aleck, with a spatter of dark freckles all over his pale body. Though twenty-one, he was a simple man without the graces of his station. “Lockard should ken we will nae get any good at it if we do nae practice.”

“He’s a right bastard,” Royce agreed. “There are only a few muskets to go about, and he’s made sure only his favorites get to practice.” He eyed Aleck with a mixture of resentment and admiration. Immensely competitive, he and Aleck shared a complicated relationship. Aleck knew he could count on Royce in trouble, but on the practice yard, they were always being pitted against each other.

“Gunpowder’s expensive.” Aleck shrugged.

Joseph continued as if he hadn’t heard Royce’s quip. “If he makes me work the lance one more time, I swear to Jesus, I’ll—”

“Ye’ll do what, lad?”

The three men turned around to find Lockard, an old man with more scars on him than the dummy standing in the practice yard. He was Laird MacLeod’s Master at Arms and had been with him when they fought the Seven Years’ War. Lockard was as old as sin and just as cruel on the training ground.

The bannock lost its taste. Aleck swallowed quickly and got up. Lockard would have them do unnecessary exercises now, just to prove a point. Might as well get ready for it.

“Ye accuse me of playing favorites, Glackin.” Lockard jabbed a crooked finger in Royce’s chest. “That’s an accusation I do nae take lightly. So, I’ll give ye a chance to prove yerself, eh? Why don’t ye try yerself out against my best man?”

“Sir, I-” Royce glanced nervously at Aleck.

“Nae Bryce, boy.” Lockard snarled. “Colin! Fergus! Davis! Come show these mewling kittens what real fighters are like!”

Aleck stared down at the old man. He was frail now, but you could tell he had been a formidable opponent not so long ago.

Nodding to Joseph and Royce he led them to the middle of the muddy practice yard where Colin, Fergus, and Davis stood flexing their considerable muscles. They were a few years older than Aleck, Joseph, and Royce and battle-scarred.

Aleck knew he could hold his own, but he wasn’t so sure about Joseph who was reed-thin, and Royce who let his emotions guide his actions.

The crowd parted and formed a parameter around the six men. Some of the men began calling out their favorites. It was a break from their usual morning exercises, and the men were enjoying themselves at the expense of the three in trouble. Aleck even saw Simon, a runty little rascal, take bets on the side where Lockard couldn’t spy him. By the looks Simon gave them, Aleck and his friends weren’t the favorites to win.

“Are ye sure ye’ve naught any gypsy blood in yer family, Jo?” Aleck asked, eyeing up their opponents.

“Nae. Why’d ye say?”

“Ye were right on all counts. Mud, muck, and misery. We just have to make sure it’s not us will be the miserable ones.”

“Ye have a plan, Bryce?” Royce asked, turning his head to get the crick out of his neck.

“The beginnings of one.” Aleck bit his lip as he considered their options. “Royce, ye take on Davis. He’s taller but ye can unbalance him. Once he’s in the mud make sure he gets an eye full.”

“Compromise his vision.” Royce nodded. “Got it.”

“Jo, Colin’s yer man. He fell off a horse recently, and his left leg is still bruised and sore. Strike it. Hard and without mercy. If ye do nae, ye’ll be begging for his.”

Joseph swallowed but nodded so his hair wobbled into his eyes.

That left Fergus, the most menacing of the three. Aleck knew him well. He knew everyone in the yard well. They were his friends, his brothers. And so, he knew that Fergus was the best fighter among them. He was also brutal and wouldn’t take it easy just because they were all loyal to Laird MacLeod.

“Are ye waiting for your mothers to clean yer dirty nappies?” Lockard snarled. “Get on with it.”

Aleck licked his lips and nodded to Fergus, acknowledging him as his opponent. The other two paired off with their opponents.

“Fergus,” Aleck greeted, as he walked closer to the hulking man.

“Aleck.” Fergus nodded back.

The two lunged at each other. Aleck managed to avoid the first few blows but the third hit him square across the jaw. A cheer went up in the crowd.

Laughing at Fergus as he rubbed his stinging cheek, Aleck feinted this way then that, making Fergus dance on his feet.

Fergus threw punches that hit the air while Aleck danced around him like a fly buzzing about a cow’s head. Fergus did look like a dull ox grazing in the pasture with his wide-set eyes, and a large forehead. This wasn’t how Fergus usually fought. A big man, he was used to pummeling his opponent into the ground. But Aleck wouldn’t let him land a punch.

Frustrated beyond belief, Fergus roared and lunged in for a punch to the gut, but it was just the move Aleck had been waiting for. He stepped aside, easily avoiding the fist, planted a punch of his own in Fergus’s side, speeding Fergus’ descent into the mud face-first by landing a kick on his backside.

The crowd cheered. Aleck had enough time to grin at Lockard who was frowning darkly before he strode forward to help Joseph tackle Colin to the ground. Royce was roaring as he sat on Davis’s back, making sure he couldn’t get up.

Ruffling Joseph’s hair, Aleck walked over and held a hand out to Fergus. The man looked up at him, and for a moment Aleck thought he’d rip his arm out, but Fergus laughed, a sound similar to cannon fire, and took Aleck’s hand gratefully.

Lockard didn’t look amused, but he wasn’t scowling either, so Aleck thought the matter put to rest.

“That showed them, eh?” Joseph slapped Aleck on the back.

“Wipe that smile off yer face, if ye ken what’s good for ye,” Aleck muttered. Joseph had no sense. “Do ye want to give Lockard a chance to foist us with stable cleaning duties, do ye?”

Joseph looked suitably horrified.

Aleck was about to pick up his lance for practice when someone called his name.

“Aleck!” Margret, the chambermaid came running towards him, her cheeks flushed, eyes wide. “The Laird needs ye. Now!”

“What’s happened?”

“Come fast!” She didn’t wait for him to follow. She sprinted back across the yard and towards the kitchens, resembling a headless chicken.

Aleck looked at his friends, shrugged, and followed Margret at a leisurely pace. What could be the cause of so much commotion so early in the morning? Aleck wasn’t sure, but he had a very good idea who was responsible.

“I donnae care how many people find out, I need her brought home now! Evanna will nae step a foot out of her room, so help me God!”

Of course, Aleck sighed as he entered his Laird’s bedchamber. Evanna MacLeod. It’s like the lass was sent to cause nothing but grief to her poor father.

Laird MacLeod was a powerful man, not only in wealth and social stature but also physically. He was tall with a large gut and an even larger beard that he liked to fist when he was agitated or thinking on a grave matter. His hands were so firmly grasped around his beard at that moment that Aleck was sure he’d rip most of it out if he wasn’t careful.

“Ye asked for me, my Laird?” Aleck made his presence known.

“Ah! Aleck! Just the man I need. Read this.” Laird MacLeod thrust a note in Aleck’s face. “The foolish, insolent, stubborn girl!” Aleck read the note. It was brief, written in a spidery hand no proper lady would ever admit ownership to. But Evanna MacLeod was a law unto herself. She was the only lady Aleck knew who could out spit a street urchin and out drink many men, and burp just as loudly after.

Dear Da,

I’ve decided to go to London anyway. Clara has enough dresses for both of us, so you need not send any. I’ve borrowed sixteen gold pieces from your purse. I shall return them when I come back. 

Your devoted daughter,

Evanna.

“What makes her think she’s ready to be presented? Can nae tie her hair, will nae learn how to sing or speak like a lady, and she’s gone off to make a sorry fool of herself in London! What kind of men do ye think she’ll attract, eh? The kind that’ll take her down dark alleys and the path of sin. That damned fool!” The Laird raged on as Aleck read.

Aleck folded the note and handed it back to the Laird. “What would ye have me do?”

The Laird stopped his pacing and rested his hand on Aleck’s shoulder. The weight was grave, and the squeezing fingers emphasized the importance of the Laird’s next words.

“Yer the only man I can trust with my daughter, Aleck. Bring the fool back.”

“And if she refuses?”

The Laird’s nostrils flared, and his eyes shone with worry. “Then ye convince her in any way possible. I will nae have my only child out there in the wild fighting the unknown. I ken ye have little patience for her childish ways, and I suppose I am to blame for it. But, please, ye must find her and protect her.”

Aleck nodded solemnly and held the Laird’s hand. “Ye have my word. I’ll bring her back.”

“Go! Quickly. Might be ye can catch her on the road.”

Aleck didn’t stick around to hear more. There was nothing more to be said. He made one quick stop to his room where he packed spare clothes, his sword, a small dagger, and a little money. Once that was done, he ran towards the stables where a horse was waiting for him. Peter, the yard boy, handed him a sack full of food, and Aleck was on his way.

The day had started as ordinary, but now he was galloping down the country road, blowing up dust, the wind slapping his cheeks. Blood rushed to his temple when he thought of Evanna and her idiotic ways. She had gone and landed herself in hot soup again. How many times would she bring shame to her father, the man he had sworn to protect? Aleck wasn’t sure if he would find her on the road, or in London. One thing he knew for sure, he would keep his promise to the Laird—he would keep his promise to his father.

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