Prologue

Corrow, Highlands, 1758

“Claret, sweetmeat, doucets, and figs…aye, that should be enough.” Aila examined the the platter in her hands while muttering to herself, ensuring she had gathered everything her father had requested. The tray was merely silver-plated, lacking the authenticity of real silver, and the copper beneath was starting to show through. Her father, Gowan, would detest the sight of the copper, but she had skillfully arranged the figs to conceal their inability to afford the finest luxuries in life.

Walking through the brothel, Aila winced at the echoes emanating from upstairs. The fabricated moans of the women resonated within the walls, harmonizing with the grunts of men indulging in pleasure. Every day felt the same, enduring these infernal sounds.

I miss Callie. Aye, she could have brought some light to this wretched place.

Aila sighed, readjusting the tray in her hands. The previous year, she had aided her younger sister in escaping this inferno on Earth—her father’s brothel. Callie possessed a knack for wit and good humor, which had made this place bearable until the day Aila knew Callie had to flee. Finding solace in the fact that one of them was liberated from this place, it left Aila and their eldest sister, Fiadh, behind

Perhaps someday we can also escape this place.

As Aila turned a corner in the house, she winced as a woman’s cries grew louder from above. They reached a point where she no longer discerned whether it was pleasure or pain that the woman was enduring.

I’d rather be anywhere but here!

Aila approached her father’s door when the tray slipped from her hands. The doucets rolled off, tumbling onto the floor and rug.

“Nay!” Aila muttered, dropping to the rug and hastening to retrieve them.

“Aila? What’s happenin’?” Fiadh descended the corridor. The taller of the two, she had to stoop her lanky form to assist Aila in picking up the doucets.

“Father requested a platter. I fear whom he intends for me to meet in this chamber,” Aila whispered as she hurriedly gathered the pastries. When Fiadh noticed some fluff on one of the pastries, she blew it away and returned it to the tray. “Fiadh!”

“He will never ken.” Fiadh winked.

A small chuckle escaped Aila. She was grateful for the moment of relief as she smiled at her sister. Much like herself, Fiadh possessed chestnut brown hair, though Aila’s often cascaded loosely around her shoulders, defying any updo she attempted, while Fiadh’s remained perfectly pinned at the nape of her neck. They both bore high cheekbones and wide smiles, but whereas Aila’s eyes were blue, Fiadh’s possessed a rich green hue.

“Aila? Where are ye?” Gowan barked from within the chamber.

Both Aila and Fiadh froze, exchanging wide-eyed glances.

“Ye dinnae think he wants us tae…” Aila trailed off, her throat tightening. Until now, her father had tasked her with aiding the courtesans in their duties. He ran the brothel, pretending to the clients that Fiadh was the true owner, though it was a mere facade, for she had naught to do with it. Like Aila, Fiadh scurried around their abode, changing linens, providing sustenance, and consoling the courtesans when they were treated too roughly by their patrons.

“Nay.” Fiadh’s whisper was harsh as she helped Aila to her feet, placing the final doucets on the tray. “We’ll never become like those lasses, Aila. No matter what, I’ll no’ allow it. We protect each other, aye?” Fiadh bumped her shoulder, a gesture they had shared since they were bairns.

“Aye.” Aila smiled, returning the bump.

“Aila!” Gowan barked from within the room once more, causing them both to flinch.

“Come on. We’re running out o’ time.” Fiadh opened the door and led the way inside.

“Maybe this tray is o’erflowin’,” Aila murmured behind her. She didnae watch her path, so as she followed Fiadh, she didnae notice her sister had stopped. Aila accidentally bumped into Fiadh’s back, causing more doucets and figs to tumble to the floor. This time, an entire claret jug joined the spill.

Fiadh turned, attempting to catch the jug as Aila reached out with one hand to salvage the figs. She failed miserably. As the jug landed on her arm, she lost her balance, taking Fiadh down with her.

“Ah!” Fiadh cried out as they tumbled together onto the floor. Aila took the brunt of the impact, landing face-first in one of the doucets, with the pastry crumbling over her cheeks and lips.

Och, well, that didnae go according tae plan.

“My apologies, this is no’ how my daughters usually behave. Aila! Fiadh! What’s amiss with the pair o’ ye?” Gowan’s voice echoed from across the room.

“We’re sorry, Father.” Fiadh quickly stood, lifting herself off Aila and inadvertently pushing down on her sister’s back in the process.

“Oomph!”

“Sorry.” Fiadh hurriedly helped Aila up. The tray lay completely flattened on the floor, with every edible item now squished on the boards or splattered on Aila’s blue gown. She stared at the mess, then attempted to scrape the pastry flakes from her cheeks.

A rich laugh resonated through the room, unfamiliar to Aila’s ears. She paused in her task, looking up to see a man she had never laid eyes upon before. He occupied a vast armchair in her father’s study. In his mid-thirties, he possessed long black hair curling around his ears and icy blue eyes that flickered between the two lasses. The laughter held no pleasantness but rather an air of belittlement.

Aila took a step a forward, despising the sound, but Fiadh yanked her back, resulting in both of them further crushing the food beneath them.

“Well, well, quite an impression yer daughters make.” The man’s gaze lingered on Aila, sending a shiver down her spine. She shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, uncertain where to direct her gaze. Tearing her eyes away from his, she looked down at her feet instead, noticing cream splattered on her boots. There was a ferocity in his demeanor that filled her with fear. “She’s even fairer than when I saw her from a distance.”

“Aila, step forward,” Gowan commanded. “Give him a better view o’ ye.”

“What did ye say?” Aila’s voice rose, lifting her chin defiantly. Her father stood a few feet away, his dark hair impeccably slicked back. His grey eyes widened, clearly displeased with her defiance.

Fiadh subtly grasped Aila’s elbow, attempting to hold her back.

“Step forward,” Gowan’s words dripped with venom, leaving Aila with no choice. She stepped away from the food and locked her gaze with the stranger in the room. “What do ye think, Ossian?”

Ossian leaned forward in the armchair, his movements deliberate, and tilted his head to the side, observing Aila with the intensity of an eagle eyeing its prey. The icy glare caused her hands to tremble. She linked them behind her back, attempting to conceal the shaking.

I feared it all along. My father intends tae make me one of the courtesans!

Aila prepared her body to sprint from the room.

“A fair face…and quite a spectacle.” Ossian nodded, observing the spilled food.

“The two o’ ye…ye are an embarrassment.” Gowan’s restless shifting revealed his desire to say more. “Fiadh, leave us. Fetch more food. I must talk to Aila alone.”

Fiadh touched Aila’s arm, yet she stood her ground.

“Fiadh,” Gowan warned in a low tone.

“I am staying with my sister.” Fiadh’s determination caused Aila to turn and offer her a grateful smile.

Thank the heavens for ye, Fiadh.

Gowan clearly wished to continue the argument, but he must have feared causing a scene in front of his guest. He glanced at Ossian before giving a reluctant nod.

“Aila, sit.” Gowan pointed to the chair beside him. Aila approached and took the seat across from Ossian, perching on the edge. Gowan sat beside her, moving so close that she could see his foot perilously close to a low-lying dumbwaiter table.

“It is a pleasure tae meet ye, Aila,” Ossian spoke, leaning forward. “A great pleasure indeed.”

She sensed the insincerity in his pleasantries and narrowed her gaze, unwilling to entertain his false words.

“Aye, she will do fine,” Ossian looked at Gowan. “I will marry her.”

Aila’s jaw dropped open. She had been so convinced that Gowan intended to force her into the life of a courtesan that she had never considered this outcome.

I am being sold as a wife!

Her eyes darted toward the imposing figure of Ossian. The mere thought of not just sharing his bed once, but for a lifetime, made her tremble uncontrollably.

“Nay.”

“I beg yer pardon?” Ossian’s dark gaze snapped back to her.

“I said nay.” Aila found her voice firm. “I have no interest in marriage, and I will nae wed ye.”

Gowan stomped on her foot beneath the table. She leapt to her feet before he could harm her further, circling the chair with a limp. Fiadh stood beside her, offering support and positioning herself between Aila and Gowan, prepared to shield her if he pursued.

For far too long, Aila had remained silent. While Fiadh and Callie had never hesitated to express their thoughts to Gowan, Aila had always held her tongue. She had witnessed little good come from being outspoken.

Now, everything has changed.

“I am flattered…” She swallowed hard, trying to find some semblance of composure in this dreadful situation. “But I cannae marry ye.”

Ossian leaned back in his chair, his unwavering gaze fixed upon her.

“Ye dinnae understand, Aila.” Gowan stepped around Fiadh, forcefully pushing her aside and causing Aila to stumble, nearly losing her balance as she was separated from her sister. “The decision has already been made. Ye are tae pack yer bags now.”

“Father?” Aila shook her head, staring at him in disbelief. “Ye would send me tae a future I dread? For what purpose?”

“Nay more, Aila, nay more.”

“I will nae be silenced!” Aila shouted defiantly, her voice resounding through the room. It felt as though her words erupted from the depths of her being, a powerful explosion. “I will nae marry him, and nae words ye speak will compel me to do so.”

Aila fled from the room, sprinting so fast that she nearly slipped on the scattered food, yet managing to maintain her balance. Swinging the door open, she raced down the corridor, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. She sought refuge, heading towards the servants’ staircase, desperate to find a hiding place. Midway down the stairs, she succumbed to her emotions, sitting on a step and resting her head against the banister, sobbing as she tried to shield herself from the world.

“Aila?” Fiadh’s voice trailed after her. “Aila, I’m here.” Fiadh appeared on the stairs behind her. Instead of pulling Aila up and urging her to move, she sat down beside her, enfolding her in a comforting embrace. Aila’s tears no longer fell on the banister but on her sister’s shoulder.

“How could he do this?” Aila pleaded, her words stuttered through her tears.

“Our father has nay heart. Ye and I ken that too well.”

“I am nae one of his courtesans, yet he treats me as if I’m some commodity to be sold! It’s nae a matter of him lacking a heart, but of him possessing the darkest soul on this earth.”

“Aye, I cannae argue with that.” Fiadh gently wiped away Aila’s tears, cupping her cheeks. “Aila, trust me. Nae harm will befall ye. Ye will nae have to marry that man. I’ll ensure it.”

“Ye cannae make such a promise—”

“But I am making it. Trust me.” Fiadh pulled Aila closer, allowing her to cry. Aila buried her face in the fabric of Fiadh’s gown and did not lift her head for some time, consumed by her sorrow.

“Aila? Aila! Yer father needs tae see ye.”

Aila awoke in her bed to find one of the maids rudely shaking her. Rolling over, she pushed the maid away.

“Chelsea, what are ye daeing?”

“Ye cannae go back tae sleep. Yer father wants tae see ye right away, and I cannae bear his wrath.” Chelsea left the room before Aila could fully comprehend her words. Slowly, she climbed out of bed and dressed herself. She didn’t bother tying up her hair but instead combed it so that it hung loose past her shoulders. With a heavy heart, she walked out of her room, taking slow steps.

She loitered outside her father’s study, unwilling to face him after what had transpired the previous evening. She hadn’t heard if Ossian had departed, and the thought of him still lurking in the house filled her with dread.

Nay matter what my father says, I will still refuse. I’ll never consent tae marry that man!

She paced back and forth outside her father’s study, delaying the inevitable. Eventually, she took a deep breath and pushed open the door. She wrinkled her nose at once. It was evident that one of the courtesans had spent the night with her father, as the room reeked of their cloying perfume—a nauseating floral blend.

“Father?” Aila called out in a hushed voice. He stood up from his armchair, surveying some papers. To her relief, Ossian was nowhere to be seen. However, her father’s expression mirrored the gravity he had worn on the day he discovered Callie had fled.

Aye, he will hate me for this.

Suddenly, he grinned. The abrupt change caught her off guard.

“Father, I…” Struggling to find the right words, she swallowed hard and stood a little taller. “I’m sorry for what happened last night. I apologize for ruining yer deal, and I promise ye, I’ll work twice as hard to cover the losses incurred.” She paused, surprised to see him still smiling. It was not the reaction she had expected.

“Ye’ll have tae work twice as hard, aye.” He stepped forward, slamming the papers he held onto the table before shifting his focus to her. “But ye’ll do it, nae because of the deal, but because Fiadh is nae here tae do her own work anymore.”

“I beg yer pardon?” Aila glanced around the room, half-expecting Fiadh to emerge from the shadows, but it was just the two of them. “Where is she?”

“She offered herself in yer place.” He frowned, as if the very notion confounded him. “She was determined that ye wouldnae wed that man. Ha! A peculiar decision, indeed.” He circled around her, and she instinctively turned to face him, feeling trapped like a caged animal. “By now, she’ll have taken her place, ready tae be Laird Ossian Farquharson’s new lady.”

Aila couldn’t utter another word. Her blood turned cold as she comprehended the full extent of what had transpired and how her father had delivered the news devoid of any emotion.

Fiadh is gone, and she sacrificed her own happiness sae that I wouldnae have tae marry that man.

“Fiadh,” Aila whispered, her voice breaking as her heart shattered into pieces.

Chapter One

Three years later, Clan Chattan

“Ah, come now, Aila! I ken ye were up tae somethin’.” Ian peered around the castle wall, observing the young woman as she stealthily moved away from the premises. She cast nervous glances over her shoulder, her striking blue eyes scanning the surroundings. It was evident that she was cautious about being followed, but she had yet to spot Ian. “Whaur are ye gan?” Ian whispered to himself, keeping a safe distance while he observed her.

Aila had been residing in Laird Chattan’s castle for a few months now, and not a single day had passed without Ian suspecting something amiss. As Laird Noah Chattan’s brother, it fell upon Ian to ensure the well-being of all castle guests, particularly since Lady Scarlett Chattan had recently given birth to their son, and her attention was preoccupied. Ian took this responsibility seriously, and the moment he had encountered Aila, he sensed that something was awry.

What are ye hidin’, lass?

As Aila sneaked away from the castle, pulling up the hood of a dark black cloak to conceal her face, Ian discreetly followed suit. Since she wasn’t mounted on a horse, he saw no need to do so either. He trailed behind her on foot, traversing the drawbridge where the stench of horse manure filled the air, and passing by the market stalls at the town’s periphery, where the enticing aromas of freshly baked bread and cured hams lingered. Aila never paused to peruse the market; instead, she strode forward with determination, swiftly departing the town and venturing into the forest.

“I kent she was up tae somethin’, yet naebody believed me,” Ian muttered to himself, pausing by a stall. He exchanged a few loose coins with the vendor and procured a large leather hat, which he pulled down low over his brow, obscuring his long face and the dark blond hair cascading around his ears.

When Aila had first arrived at the castle, it had been a tumultuous time. Her sister, Callie, who had served as a healer for the Chattans, had been injured during a mission she and her now-husband Avery undertook to dismantle the brothel they once belonged to. Ian had heard firsthand accounts from Callie and Avery themselves about Gowan Mathieson’s tyranny, exploiting women and forcing them into selling their bodies for his own gain. He had falsely pinned the reputation of the brothel owner on his eldest daughter, Fiadh, but his dominion over that establishment and the courtesans had come to an end. Callie and Avery managed to escape as Gowan attempted to murder them both with the assistance of his courtesan, Ella. Callie had brought her sister Aila along in their escape.

Since then, Gowan had been arrested for evading taxes and tithes, languishing in the dungeons of the neighboring clan under Laird Buchanan’s jurisdiction. He had left behind an empty brothel house. Callie rejoiced at her father’s demise, his malicious ways finally put to an end. However, Ian remained unsure of Aila’s true sentiments.

She was always so reticent, preferring to fade into the shadows of a crowded room. Unlike her outspoken sister, Aila seldom spoke and kept to herself. Her enigmatic behavior left Ian suspicious, yet when he shared his misgivings with others, he encountered a dearth of evidence.

“All I’m sayin’, brother, is that she was with Gowan Mathieson for many a year,” Ian had warned his brother, Laird Noah, the night prior. “Ye cannae be certain o’ what lies in her heart, unlike Callie, who escaped and forged her own path. For all we ken, Aila might sympathize with her father and now be harboring secret intentions. She could even be plotting his release from that dungeon one day.”

“Ian, ye have nae proof.” Noah was a steadfast and just laird, as well as a good brother. Though they shared a dram o’ whisky, Noah did not dismiss Ian’s suspicions but demanded concrete evidence. “If ye wish to be certain that she cannae be trusted, then ye must find some evidence to support yer claims.”

“Very well. I shall find that evidence.”

Noah withdrew to attend to his wife and son, leaving Ian alone with his whisky. Once again, he caught a glimpse of Aila skulking about the castle in the dead o’ night. And now, she was up to her old tricks this morning.

I shall find that evidence, even if it means tailing Aila wherever she goes.

He trailed her through the town and into the forest. Here, he had to keep an even greater distance, for she chose a path through the trees that was seldom trodden, and his presence behind her would have been too apparent. As he tracked her amidst the Douglas firs and past a shimmering loch, constantly seeking refuge behind neighboring trees, Ian reminded himself of his purpose.

I dinnae trust Aila, and as a brother to the Laird, it is my duty to keep this clan safe, regardless of the foe.

Aila froze on the trail and turned around. Ian swiftly pressed himself against the nearest oak tree, melding into its trunk to conceal himself. He listened intently, but the ground did not echo beneath her footsteps, nor did twigs snap. She had stopped and showed no intention to move forward.

Ian dared to steal a glance, observing her from behind the tree.

Therein lay one complication with his suspicions of Aila, now starkly evident as she scanned the spaces between the trees, searching for something or someone.

Aye, she possesses a grace.

Aila’s movements exuded an enchanting elegance. From the very first night she arrived at the castle, he knew she was a beauty. Her piercing light blue eyes seemed to delve deep within him. Her chestnut brown hair, forever escaping its confines, enticed any man who passed her with its soft curls.

Her allure infuriated Ian. He understood he should feel naught but indifference towards a woman who behaved with such secrecy and suspicion.

Abruptly, she stiffened and peered through the trees. Apparently, she had found whatever or whomever she sought. Departing from the trail, she ventured deeper into the woods. Ian trailed at a distance, endeavoring to divert his gaze from the fact that, as she walked, she swept the hem of her cloak to the side, revealing the snug fit of her dark sapphire blue gown adorned with a tartan strip across the brocade. It accentuated the curves of her figure in a manner more enticing than it should have been.

Concentrate, Ian!

He chided himself as he pursued her, concealing himself behind a colossal gray boulder when he witnessed her halt beside another person. They stood too far away for him to discern their conversation, and he dared not draw nearer lest he be discovered. Nonetheless, Ian gleaned one detail about the man she encountered.
Weapons adorned his hip, and a thick cloak cloaked his shoulders. A long, slender white scar traced a path from his bald head down his cheek.

Wait…is that a mercenary?

How likely are you to recommend this preview to a friend? *

0	1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10

Submit