Prologue

Lockerbie, Scotland, 1762

Fiadh’s long fingers ran over the fresh mark on her face. The wound was surprisingly deep, starting from beside her eye all the way down to her chin. It was more of a gash than a scratch. Closing her eyes, she shut out the image of her reflection, not wanting to think about it. Yet in the ensuing darkness, the moment the wound had been inflicted on her returned to her.

Ossian had struck her with a blade, lashing out as she argued with him. She’d dropped to the stone floor of his chamber, cradling her face as she felt the warm blood on her skin.

“Dae ye nae understand, Fiadh?” His voice had boomed at her. “Ye are mine now!”

Fiadh opened her eyes again and inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself. That had been last night. This morning, at least she was not with him.

She stood at the far end of her own chamber, away from the bed where she hated to sleep. She stared at her reflection, her green eyes reminding her of her youngest sister, Callie, and her long brown hair reminiscent of her sister Aila. She had always looked like them, but recently she had started seeing more and more of a similarity as she looked in the mirror. She half wondered if that was because she was looking for them in the reflection, wishing she could see them again.

She stepped back, for she despised seeing the puckered skin and the ridged red mark of what her husband had done to her. In time, she supposed she would have a scar, and then she would look just like him, a mirror image of the scar running down his face.

He has marked me like him now. Aye, he means tae make me his forever.

She felt sick and tried to quell the feeling of nausea.

“Me lady?” a voice called from the doorway.

Fiadh flinched in surprise, not having realized she had left the door open. She forced a smile for the young maid who quivered in the doorway. That poor girl seemed to shake wherever she went in this castle. Fiadh had learned long ago how not to shake to hide her fear. If she showed one ounce of fear to Ossian, he took advantage of it.

“Aye?”

“The laird is waiting fer ye in his study.”

“Thank ye. I shall go there now.” Fiadh waited until the maid retreated before letting her smile falter. She looked at her reflection one last time, her eyes dancing across the scar.

Let him hate the sight of it, and the sight of me so that maybe someday, he will decide he has had enough of me.

She straightened the skirt of her rich navy tartan gown and walked out of the room with her head held high. In the corridors she passed the servants, who mostly kept their eyes averted. One or two offered her a sympathetic smile and others cowered back when they saw the mark on her face, clearly fearful of the man who had caused it.

As Fiadh reached Ossian’s study, in what felt to her like the darkest part of the castle, with the gray-stone walls high and tapestries enshrouding every surface, she knocked on the door and waited. At least obeying his summons on this occasion would bring her momentary peace.

“Come,” he barked from inside.

She opened the door and strode in, placing herself as he had often demanded of her, standing at the very edge of the wolf-skin rug, so only the toes of her leather boots touched it. She curtsied, nearly dropping to her knees. She only raised her chin an inch, her eyes darting to Ossian as he sat lazily in his wing-backed chair, his boots upon the desk in front of him.

“Ye took too long tae come.”

“I came as soon as I was summoned, me laird” she answered calmly. Raising her voice now would merely earn her another wound. He looked up from the maps he had been examining, their eyes meeting. Those orbs were as black as she judged his soul to be. She often looked at the sky in the night, and thought Ossian was like the darkness between the stars. Endless, a pure abyss of nothing. His eyes wandered down her, drinking her in thirstily.

She’d grown used to that look. A few times, she had managed to fight him off, but not nearly as many times as she would have liked to.

I made this sacrifice fer a reason, I must nae forget.

He’d originally wanted to marry her younger sister Aila, but Fiadh would have gone to any lengths to protect her from such a fate. She chose to offer herself up in her sister’s place and Ossian had jumped at the opportunity.

She could still remember the way he had gripped her in the saddle in front of him on a horse, as they rode away from her father’s brothel together. Fiadh had detested the place, which stood on the side of the mountain, overlooking the loch like a dark shadow. She well remembered the shouts of the courtesans who worked for her father. Fiadh and her sister Aila had worked there as well, as maids, but Fiadh had always lived in fear that one day he would ask her to be a courtesan. Her younger sister, Callie, had taken care of their ill mother, while their father gambled away all their money, after turning their home into a house of pleasure to feed his addiction.

As she had sat in the saddle, glancing back and thinking of the sister she was leaving behind, Ossian had grasped one of her hips and her neck, holding her chin high.

“Aye, statuesque… ye’ll make a fair lady after all.”

Often, he’d repeated that word since, statuesque… she held onto it, hoping that someday it would make her feel like a statue. Immovable, hard as stone, when his words or his fists would not hurt her anymore.

“Stand.” He flicked his fingers, urging her to what he said. As she did so, her eyes darted down to the ring on his finger. The metal shone, despite its age, and a black stone was set in the very middle, etched with a strange geometric emblem. She had seen it many times, he rarely ever took it off.

He treasures it as he treasures nothing else.

“If yer sister doesnae stop looking fer ye, I shall have tae take action.”

“What dae ye expect me tae dae?” Fiadh kept her voice calm as she lifted her gaze to meet Ossian’s. He had revealed to her two days before that there were whispers Aila was hunting for her. “I did me best tae disappear, as ye asked of me.”

“If she keeps causing trouble,” he paused as he slowly stood, his movements and his great height dominating the room, “ye ken I shall have tae stop her another way. I shall have tae see her in a grave, Fiadh. Is that what ye want?”

Fiadh stepped back, moving away from the wolf-skin rug. She felt nauseous, and for a moment she thought she might actually throw up all over the rug.

“Nay. Please dae nae hurt her.” Fiadh shook her head, her voice pleading. “I am sure she will give up in time, just leave her be.”

Slowly, Ossian walked around the desk, his boots striking the ground, his long dark hair flicking around his ears. When he reached her side, his hand lifted toward her. More than anything, Fiadh wished to flinch away, but the last time she had done so, he’d struck her. She stayed perfectly still, feeling his large hand as it closed around her neck. His fingers splayed up under her chin, tipping her face back.

“My statue, eh?” he whispered sickeningly, moving his lips down to the curve of her neck. Fiadh screwed her eyes up tight, praying he would not touch her or kiss her again. She despised the feeling of his scratchy beard against her skin. His touch made her toes curl with fear and her insides squirm. She couldn’t even imagine what it was like to long for a man’s touch. She could live her life contentedly without it. In fact, it was what she hoped for, a future where no man ever touched her.

He reached down and slid off the scarf at the base of her throat. The dark blue silk whipped across her skin.

“Remember what this means, aye?” He nodded at her scar, wrapping the scarf around his hand. “Nay other man can come near ye. Remember that.”

She didn’t nod or utter any words, and just looked him in the eye.

He has made that plain, many times.

A second knock came to the door.

“Enter,” he called to the door. Then he dropped the scarf on the chair beside him and turned his back on her. “Ye can go now.”

Fiadh left as quickly as she could, slipping by the gentleman that had come to call on Ossian. She only caught the briefest of glimpses of him, dark red hair was graying around his ears and a long beard, tied just under his chin. As he walked into the room, his hand outstretched in front of him, Fiadh saw the same ring that Ossian wore.

As she halted in the corridor, she blinked, thinking. So many times, she had seen that ring now. It granted Ossian access to a group of other men, that much she understood, but nothing more.

She raised her hand, feeling for her scarf, but remembering it was still in his study. She turned to the door again, yet she didn’t dare enter without permission. She raised her hand to knock when she heard Ossian’s voice inside.

“When will the first meeting be?” he asked, impatiently, his tone sharp.

Fiadh lowered her hand once more, angling her head and pressing her ear to the door so she could hear every word.

“Soon,” the other man answered, his voice strangely light compared to the deep tones of Ossian. “When Yuletide comes and goes, we’ll meet. We’ll pull the clan forces together. When that is done, nothing will stop us from taking the clan lands.”

What clan? What clan lands will they be stealing?

Fiadh placed the palm of her hand to the door, silently moving on her toes as close as she could get, straining to listen as Ossian lowered his voice.

“We must act faster than that,” Ossian pleaded. “I have people in me land. People who would cause trouble. We need tae act now.”

“It is impossible and out of me hands. Aye, I would be glad tae act sooner, Ossian, but we must wait. The other men in our circle need time tae prepare. Once they are ready, we will attack together, and we will be stronger fer it.”

“Aye. Aye, I ken ye are right.” Yet Ossian’s tone was one Fiadh knew all too well. He wasn’t happy, even if he pretended to be in order to hide his true feeling to the man he actually respected, which was a rarity. Ossian liked to dominate conversation and those around him. The other men who wore the same ring as him were the only ones Ossian ever deigned to bow his head to. “The Chattan clan willnae be able tae halt the might of so many men, will they?”

“Nay indeed,” the other man laughed. “Poor Laird Chattan. I almost feel sorry fer him and his people.” That laugh grew louder.

Fiadh backed up from the door, feeling as if her breath had been stolen from her body.

The Chattan clan… the people…

She knew who was there. She may not have been allowed to receive letters from her sisters, but she knew well enough from Ossian’s spies where her sisters lived these days. Her youngest sister Callie was married to a man called Avery, and she worked in Laird Chattan’s castle as his healer. Aila lived within the same castle walls.

This cannae be. What will become of them?

Fiadh walked down the corridor, fearful of being caught listening to Ossian’s conversation. Involuntarily, her hand lifted, and her fingers lightly moved over her scar. She couldn’t let her sisters be hurt. It was the point of her being, the very reason she kept breathing. To see them safe from men like Ossian.

I will dae what I can fer ye, me sisters. I shall stop this attack.

There was certainly one thing she could do to frustrate Ossian’s aims. If she stole his ring, the others in his circle would refuse to recognize him as one of them. Somehow, she had to take it from him.

Chapter One

One Year Later

“Dinnae run. Dinnae run now.”

Fiadh fidgeted with the black ring, turning it around her finger repeatedly. In the dull light that came from one of the candles nearby, she stared down at that ring, examining the angular pattern that had been carved into the black stone. It was a harsh triangle, with three lines that crossed through the very middle.

This was nae an easy thing tae take.

She could still remember the night she had stolen it, vividly. It was the night before Aila and her husband, Ian, had found Fiadh at the castle. Ossian had come to Fiadh’s bed again. Her terror and fear of him had done nothing to dissuade him, and it was only by the grace of God that he’d had too much liquor to possibly finish the deed he had started. As he’d passed out on her bed, she’d scrambled back from the mattress, covering her body with a chemise and two shawls, desperate to hide her body from him. When she realized he had not budged when she had removed his arm and leg from her, she had suddenly had the idea of trying to remove the ring from the hand that had just been draped over her. It had slid off without much resistance while he had continued to snore undisturbed. She had hidden it in the pocket of her chemise, praying he would not realize it was gone come morning or that he would think he had simply misplaced it.

That was a long time ago now.

The day after, Aila and Ian had arrived at the castle with Ian’s friends from the Chattan Clan. Two men, Elliot and Murdoch, had stormed the rooms where Fiadh was being held. She could still remember the ferocity with which they had fought to free her.

When Ossian had been struck with an arrow on the drawbridge in front of the castle, Fiadh had not known whether he’d survive such a wound. Nor did she ever find out if he had noticed the missing ring in the chaos of that day. Elliot had been the one to make her move, shaking her away from the terror that had taken hold of her. He’d urged her onto the same horse as Murdoch, his strangely jokey humor breaking through her fear.

“Trust us. We’re going tae get ye out of here.” He’d winked and returned to his own horse, leaving her staring after him in surprise.

Fiadh now released the ring as she toyed with it, reaching for something else. Her dark brown hair was tied up with a single green ribbon. The dark green silken ends hung down over her shoulder, reminding her of the bearer of that gift.

Elliot.

The last time they had seen each other at the Chattan castle, he’d left not seeming quite like his usual self. His humor, his constant need to jest, had slipped away. He’d taken Fiadh to the side and offered up his gift of the green ribbon.

“Tae remember me.” These had been his parting words. Before she had even asked why it sounded like he was saying goodbye for good, he had rode away, and she was left staring after him.

“Nae now. There are other things tae think about,” she whispered as she released the ribbons and placed her palms flat on the small wooden table in front of her, pockmarked by the wood worm as she waited for her visitors, with the blackened ring staring up at her.

She had come to the back room of a tavern in Bannockburn. This was the place she had heard whispers about. It seemed men who were part of this circle would sometimes meet in this room. The innkeeper had been most reluctant to let her in here at first, but when she showed him the ring, he’d had no choice.

There was a sound at the door and Fiadh stood up, not wanting to seem small and insignificant as she waited at the table. In the shadows cast by the great timber beams and the darkness of the night, it was difficult to make out the two figures that walked into the room. The first was hulking, the second smaller and lither. He halted when he saw her, his boots squeaking on the flagstone floor as his face appeared in the candlelight.

“Who are ye?” the smaller man barked, with his voice as high pitched as a robin’s chirp.

“I am here tae find out where and when the next meeting with the whole circle will be.” She held out her hand, keeping her manner calm as she presented the ring to him.

The small man stepped forward, peering at the ring before he nodded to the man beside him.

“Ye are nae part of the group.” He shook his head. “Nay lass is permitted.”

“Nay? Then why dae I have the ring?” Her question seemed to puzzle him. He cocked his head to the side, his eyes never blinking as he looked at her. “I am nae here tae cause trouble. I just want tae ken when the next meeting will be.”

Her sisters thought they were all safe. They had their happy lives, and Fiadh was reluctant to disturb that illusion. But she could not pretend that everything was easy and at peace. Whether Ossian was alive or not didn’t change the fact that a circle of men, possibly including other clan lairds, intended to attack the Chattan clan. For her sisters’ sake, Fiadh had to discover the truth.

“Ye hunting fer secrets, pet?” The larger man walked around her.

Fiadh was the tallest woman in most rooms, but she couldn’t compete with his great height. He moved to stand behind her, like a stalking bear. She looked at him sharply, then down at the ground between them, issuing a silent order to step back. When he made no move to do so, she laid a hand to the long basilard at her hip, thrust into a scabbard on her belt.

She had learned long ago that a dirk was not enough of a threat. She needed the longer blade to make her intentions understood.

Nay man will ever touch me again.

“Just one,” she answered simply. “I am here tae find out about this meeting. Tell me where it is, and I shall be on me way.”

“Ye see, we thought this might happen,” the man with the high-pitched voice said, urging her to look back at him as he placed his hands flat down on the table between them. “When we heard there was a lass asking around about our circle, we had tae find a way to draw ye out, lass.”

Fiadh tried not to show the shock on her face and kept her lips pressed firmly together.

I have fallen in a trap.

She had believed the lie she had been told when asking around, that this was a meeting place for such men. She must have simply been told it to capture her.

“Now, pet.” The large man moved toward her again. “Tell us where ye got that ring and we may leave ye unharmed.”

She reached for the basilard and didn’t hesitate in pulling it out, turning it threateningly toward him. He backed up instantly, holding his palms in the air as if he were calming a wild animal.

“There now.” He smiled, rather wickedly, as if she had amused him. “Why dae ye want tae go causing trouble? I am sure ye and I could have some fun, pet.” He reached for her, moving sharply, but Fiadh was too quick. She had long grown accustomed to avoiding the advances of a man, and she would not be taken in now.

She drove the basilard down across his wrist. An almighty bellow erupted from his lips as Fiadh turned and grabbed the table, upturning it toward the smaller of two the men. It collided against him, knocking his body to the floor, just as the candle dropped to the flagstone floor, the light snuffing out.

Fiadh ran in the darkness for the door, relieved to find it open. She sprinted through the busy inn room, casting a quick glare at the innkeeper who either intentionally or inadvertently had helped to set her trap. He looked back, his gaze so sharp she realized that he too must have been a part of it.

Run, Fiadh!

She leapt toward the door, pushing through various drunkards who called out in complaint.

“That one of yer harlot lasses making a run fer it, keeper?” one man shouted at the innkeeper. “Ye need tae keep her locked up like a dog!” As laughter ran out, Fiadh was tempted to take a swipe at him with the basilard.

She reached for the door, kicking it open and bursting out into the street. It was a black night, with the only light in the cobbled road coming from the lanterns in the windows of the tavern. She ran into that darkness, backing up from the tavern and not looking where she was going – when she backed straight into something. Then a hand reached her shoulder…

“Ah!” she yelped, turning around to face her capturer.

“Fiadh?” a confused voice said in the darkness.

Elliot caught Fiadh around the waist as he moved her into the light falling from the tavern windows.

It cannae be her. What is she doing out here?

He’d left her behind at Chattan Castle, not that it had been easy to do so. He had had to return to McDowell castle across the border. He’d said goodbye and presented her with a gift, in the slim hope that Fiadh would read into it what he truly wished to say to her.

Elliot carried more than one secret with him these days. One of those secrets was what he felt for Fiadh, and the other was the reason he had had to leave, and why she could never know what he truly felt.

“Fiadh?” he said again when he saw her clearly in the rich orange light from the lanterns. She was red in the face from running, her chestnut hair falling out of its updo, and her green eyes almost golden in this light. In her hands was a basilard, and he took the handle with her hand, looking at the way she clung onto it as she fought hard to catch her breath.

“In the name of the wee man, what are ye doing with this? Come tae get revenge on me, eh?” he said with an easy smile. “All those times I should have asked ye tae dance at the Chattan feasts and didnae?”

“Elliot!” she snapped, her voice harsh. “Now is nae the time.” She tried to run away, but he couldn’t let her go that easily. It was Fiadh!

“What is it? What is wrong?” He wrapped his arm around her, protectively. Ever since he had helped her free from Ossian Macauley castle last year, he’d been protective of her. It was somehow easy to take her in his arms and surprisingly, Fiadh had never pulled back, even though she was far too beautiful for him. Those green eyes flashed in panic, the full lips parting, making that white scar of hers flash in the amber light.

“We need tae run. Now.” She pulled on his arm, that basilard quivering between the two of them.

“Fiadh…” He trailed off as the tavern door behind her burst open once again. Two men piled out, one small and another so comically large that he had to bend down to avoid hitting his head on the timber beam.

“Ah.” Elliot froze as he saw the way the men were looking at Fiadh. “Dae ye wish tae tell me what is going on, Fiadh? As I am nae sure it is best ye leave it up tae me tae figure this out meself.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I may come tae all sorts of the wrong conclusions.”

“How can ye jest at a time like this!?” she spluttered and pulled the basilard away from his grasp, holding it in front of her as she backed away down the cobbled street.

“What other way is there tae be?” He winked at her and reached for his sword, sliding it out of the scabbard he kept discretely tucked under his belt. “So, my good men, what will it be?” He moved to stand in front of Fiadh, making her back up further in surprise. “I was coming here for a quiet dinner before I continue on my journey. Ye can either let me have that dinner and run away now, or I’ll have tae deal with ye first.”

“Kill him,” the small man ordered to the large one with a jerk of his head.

“Ah, shame. I was looking forward tae that pigeon pie.” He smiled easily then swiped out with the sword, long before the hulking figure before him could even get close. That lunge was a pure distraction before he reached forward again and again. He struck the man in the shoulder first then slid upward, cutting the man under his chin. He swung around and elbowed the man in the gut, forcing him to bend down, winded, just far enough for Elliot to strike the hilt of the sword across the back of his head.

The man dropped flat to the cobbles, so hard that the lanterns in the windows nearby shuddered, the flames dancing back and forth.

“Now, fer ye.” Elliot moved toward the other man.

Abruptly, the man reached for something beneath his shirt, his fingers trembling. He pulled out an antler horn attached to a string and blew into the end. The cacophonous and hooting sound rang out between them.

“Ah, Fiadh?” he called to her, backing up.

“Aye?” She was already inching back herself.

“Time tae run. I think that means there is more of them.” He reached for her free hand, grasping it and pulling her away.

Elliot sprinted down the hill with Fiadh close behind him. His boots narrowly managed to avoid slipping in the puddles and on the damp stones, but Fiadh was not so lucky, and she fell into him more than once.

“Eager tae see me again, are ye?” he teased her as they reached the bottom of the hill.

“Elliott!” she snapped.

“I’ll take that as an ‘aye.’ We hardly have time fer ye tae drop tae yer knees and thank God fer me presence now.”

“Ye are so arrogant. Ah!”

He cut her off as they rounded a corner to find his horse tied to a hitching rail by a trough. He grabbed Fiadh’s waist and tossed her onto the back of the saddle. She put her basilard away as he put his sword away, then he climbed off in front of her.

“Ye ken me, Fiadh,” he said, grasping at the reins and freeing the horse from its place. “I’ll always dae what I can tae see ye smile.”

“Right now, I’ll settle fer being far away from here.”

“Yer wish is me command.” Elliot flicked the reins, urging the horse to dart away down the street as quickly as possible. They rode with such speed that Fiadh was forced to wrap both arms around his waist.

Elliot tried not to think of that feeling. If he concentrated on it too much, then he would be distracted indeed, his mind going to places it should not go.

How many times since he had met Fiadh had he wondered what could happen between them? How many times had he looked her in the eye, distracted by the small smiles she would sometimes give when he went out of his way to jest with her? Far too many!

It didn’t help that he often dreamed of her. It seemed no other woman could distract him from her, even if he tried. A need for Fiadh burned in his veins, and it would not be sated.

They left the town with the horn still being blasted somewhere in the distance. Elliot turned the horse’s paths between the trees, into the nearest copse, intent on hiding from anyone that came running. When they were far enough away for the sound of the horn to fade, with only the hoots of owls nearby to keep them company, Elliot slowed down.

He caught his breath as the horse bowed his nose toward the ground. He then halted the horse completely and turned around. Fiadh leaned back from him, her arms no longer wrapped around his waist so tightly, though her fingers still danced along the edge. It made a stirring curl in his abdomen, one he had to quell sharply.

“What is it?” she asked, that same innocent look that was always in her eyes.

“Dinnae give me that.” He shook his head sharply. “Ye wish me tae pretend I didnae just find ye running from a tavern with two men at yer heels, and a basilard in yer hand?”

“Ye’ve been in worse fights, I am sure.”

“Ah, ye ken I like it when ye jest.” He smiled, but it fell as fast as it appeared. “Yet I cannae bear tae banter when I have just made one man bleed and ye and I have raced into a forest tae hide. So, tell me, Fiadh. What on earth have I just rescued ye from?”

She bit her lip, looking down between them. At that look, Elliot was nearly driven mad.

Och, there are many other ways I could make ye bite yer lip, Fiadh. Just give me the word, and I will.

“We need tae find somewhere tae hide, Elliot.” Her evasive answer made his brows raise.

“I see ye are as enigmatic tonight as ye have always been.”

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