Prologue

Orkney Islands, Scotland 1516

Dunn Leòideach sat straight up in bed, panting and covered in sweat. His hands gathered into fists around the bedcoverings as he attempted to get his emotions under control. He had dreamt about her again: his mother. It had been fifteen years but, in his dreams, it was as real and vivid as if he were witnessing it for the first time.

He had been sixteen summers when his younger brother Tor came to retrieve him from the University of Aberdeen and told him that their father had been killed. When they returned home, their mother had greeted Dunn with a kiss, told him the tale of his father’s death, and left the great hall to retire to her bedchamber; clear to all that she wished to be alone in her grief. Only a few moments later, a scream had transfixed the air in the courtyard beyond. Dunn and Tor dashed outside and discovered their mother dead on the stones. She had leapt from her bedchamber window. Her lifeless face had haunted his dreams since that day, tormenting his soul.

A hand reached out through the darkness, removing Dunn from his sorrow-filled thoughts. “Was it the same dream again?” Esmerelda’s voice offered consolation.

“Aye,” Dunn sighed, laying back down and drawing her into his arms.

“Do ye wish tae talk about it?”

Unsure of the answer, he said nothing. Esmerelda was getting too close again, and he did not like it. He felt unspeakable pain when he remembered his parents’ lives cut short. Deciding that he did not want to talk about it, he rolled over on top of her as a means of distraction.

“Enough,” he growled, kissing her with the passion of a possessed man. The fact they were both already naked allowed him to bury his shaft deep inside of her with one swift motion.

“My laird,” Esmerelda cried out in ecstasy as he drove into her over and over again until he was spent. He poured all of his rage and sorrow into her, attempting to leave it there. Yet, no matter the pleasure of the act, his heart remained drenched in torment.

When they both reached their climax, Dunn rolled off of her and stepped barefoot onto the cool stone floor. Naked, he walked over to the table and poured them both a dram of whisky. He extended hers, and she took it gratefully. Taking a long slow sip, Esmerelda looked at him with concerned eyes. He did not like it. She was his favorite in bed, dark and beautiful as she was, but that was as far as he was willing for the connection to go. Any time a woman got close to his heart, he would send them away. He could not bear the thought of letting someone in to the point that they could do him true emotional harm. And whenever he were to bed a woman, he made certain that they understood his intentions.

“Dinnae look at me like that,” he chastened, grabbing his shirt from the end of the bed.

“Will ye be returning upon the morrow?” Esmerelda asked, hope sparkling in her eyes.

Dunn studied her face, not liking the longing he saw there. She was forming feelings for him—strong feelings at that. He would have to put a stop to it before things got more complicated than they already were. “Aye, but I will be bringing two other women with me.”

Esmerelda’s eyes turned to flames. “Why would ye do such a thing? Am I nae enough for ye?”

“I am laird here. I can do as I please. It is nae yer place tae question my ways, Esmerelda. Have I ever said that I would be loyal tae ye?” Dunn asked, his eyes meeting her gaze as he put on his boots.

“Dinnae do this. Have I nae done everything that ye have asked o’ me in bed, every wicked and blasphemous thing? How am I nae enough for ye?” A thought seemed to cross her mind as her lip curled in jealousy. “Is this about yer coming wedding tae the Morgan lass?”

Dunn shook his head with one violent motion. “Nae, dinnae speak o’ it! I would rather die a thousand deaths than wed the daughter o’ the man who killed my faither!”

“The king has commanded it, Dunn. Ye have nae choice if ye wish tae hold on tae what lands ye have left.”

He growled in response, knowing she was right. His grandfather had sided with the Lord of the Isles against the Scottish crown. When the lordship of the Isles had been lost to the Clan MacDonald, those involved had been punished. Dunn’s grandfather was killed on the battlefield opposite the grandfather of the woman Dunn was to marry. In spite of this loss, the clan had still been punished, and the mere thought of it turned his stomach sour.

The nightmarish image of his mother’s lifeless eyes flashed through his mind once more. When Dunn’s father had been killed in a disagreement between himself and the current Morgan chief while attending the royal marriage of England’s Prince Henry and Catherine of Aragon, the king had sided with the Morgan laird in the argument. The laird was not punished for killing Dunn’s father, and Dunn’s family had been denied any form of retribution.

With the loss of both his grandfather and father, Dunn had been forced to take on the lairdship of his clan at the young age of sixteen. The tributes they had been forced to pay to the king for his grandfather and father’s actions had left the clan impoverished. But the one thing that they were rich in was men trained for battle which rendered them a strong ally and a formidable foe. Dunn had made certain that their reputation for ferocity in warfare was well known. If he could not avenge his father, then he would inspire fear of him, and his men would keep any further threat from their doors. This had worked well until the regent for King James V had decided that in order to tame the Viking beast of the Orkneys, as Dunn was known, he would be forced to wed the daughter of Alistair Morgan, his mortal enemy.

“Our people cannae suffer by my hand,” Dunn acknowledged her words. “But whether I wed the lass or I dinnae, it has nothing tae do with ye. Ye kenned from the beginning what this betwixt us was, Esmerelda. It is nothing more than pleasure. It will never be more.”

The flames returned to Esmerelda’s eyes, and she lashed out at him, slapping him across the face. Dunn pulled her into his arms and attempted to placate her with kisses. He was well aware of the effect his masculine beauty had on women. With his tall form, broad shoulders, blond hair, and blue eyes, he struck quite a figure. In all of his years bedding women, not one had ever said no. To his surprise, she shoved him away and spat at his feet. “I curse ye for a whoremonger!”

Dunn released her and moved toward the door. “I would nae be throwing stones when ye yerself enjoy my brother’s bed as well as mine.”

Esmerelda’s cheeks flushed red. “Harken me well, Dunn Leòideach! I curse ye tae love one o’ my kind. She will break yer heart, as ye have done mine, and when she has, ye will return tae me. Ye will beg for my mercy tae release ye.”

Dunn snorted in indignation. “I could never love ye or any other woman. Ye ken well enough that I cannae wed a witch o’ the luchd siubhail. The clan elders would nae allow it. If I am tae wed, it must be tae a virgin o’ good family.”

“Mark me, laird! Ye will love a Romani woman, and she will be yer end.”

Chapter One

Strathnaver, Scotland, Six Months Later

Katarina Buckland smiled as she watched her two younger sisters, Idalia and Leonor, dance around the fire in the center of the encampment. Their eyes gleamed in the fire’s light as their hair whipped around in glorious cascades of ebony. Her father was playing his favorite instrument, a stringed piece with a bow called the Lira da Braccio. It had been given to him by Sixtus IV when he had performed for the Pope in Rome. Her mother’s beautiful voice filled the night air with the sweetest melancholy.

Katarina’s eyes lingered on Idalia, and her heart lightened in relief at her sister’s joy. They had just barely escaped with their lives. Idalia had been promised to the son of another Romani family, August Raymond, but their father had learned the truth about August’s violent nature and had refused to honor the engagement. The Raymond family had attempted to exact retribution, but the senior Buckland had known what was to come and had escaped with his family into the night. They had left England and traveled the length of Scotland to find a place of refuge. On this night, they had stopped to camp beside Loch Naver.

“Come join us,” Leonor urged Katarina, eyes dancing with delight.

Smiling, Katarina stood and joined them. Throwing herself into the music felt liberating. She twirled and whirled in abandon, letting the world and its cares fall away. We are safe. No one will find us here.

A cry broke through the night, silencing the music. Katarina stopped twirling to find a line of soldiers, twenty-four in number as far as she could see, encircling them. They were all wearing blue tartan trews and deadly expressions. Katarina met her father’s eyes across the fire. “Run,” he roared as he dropped his instrument to take up his sword.

Katarina immediately obeyed, grabbing her sisters by the hand, and raced into the darkness. Finding a hollowed-out tree trunk, she shoved her sisters inside. “Stay here and do not utter a sound,” she commanded as she turned back in the hopes of helping her parents.

What she saw upon arriving back was unlike anything that she had ever witnessed before. Blood seemed to rain from the sky as the soldiers slashed their way through the camp. Katarina saw her father and mother fighting back-to-back in the center of the encampment—her grandfather was sitting on the ground, sobbing and holding her dead grandmother in his arms. Before Katarina could utter a warning, a soldier’s blade pierced her grandfather’s back, and he slumped over in death, still cradling his beloved.

In outrage, Katarina stooped to pick up the sword of a fallen soldier and waded into the fray. She had been trained to fight from a young age for her own protection, but she had never fought an enemy like this before. The men fought with a well-trained ferocity that was brutally efficient. They were well beyond her skill level, but she did not let that stop her. This was life or death, and she would die to protect her family if that was what God demanded of her.

Engaging with the closest soldier, she got a good slice into his neck before he even registered her presence. Katarina felt the sword make contact, and her stomach rolled as blood came spurting out to soak her face and hands. The soldier fell to the ground, dead upon impact. His cold empty eyes stared up at her in accusation. Bending over, she vomited into the grass, unable to stop herself. Swiping the back of her hand across her mouth, she stood just in time to see a soldier charging toward her.

God in heaven, save us!

This time, she did not have the element of surprise and was quickly overpowered. In three blows, the soldier had disarmed her. With a punch to the face, he brought her to her knees. Another blow to the head made her vision blur and her body sway. She could feel herself falling between the lines of consciousness and the realm of the dead. As she lay bleeding in the grass, she saw her father turn to help her, but he was cut down mid-stride. Her mother screamed in agony at the sight and fell to her knees beside him. One of the soldiers grabbed her mother up by the hair and dragged her to the tree line. The woman fought with all of her strength, but it was to no avail.

Katarina lay frozen in horror upon the ground as her mother was brutally raped by one soldier after another. She attempted to rise, to fight, to somehow save her life, but she could not. Her body had sustained too much damage, and she was too weak to move. She could not even move her head to look away.

When her mother’s screams stopped, Katarina knew that she was gone.

The soldiers continued to rape her until the last one cut her throat for good measure, then moved on to another woman. When they came for Katarina, she braced herself for the end, praying that they would kill her first before defiling her body. To her surprise, the soldier who lifted her skirts was stopped by what appeared to be the group leader. “Stay yerself, Hamish. Virgins are worth more intact.”

Growling, the one referred to as Hamish dropped her skirts and hauled her up off of the ground. As Katarina could not walk of her own accord, the soldier was forced to carry her. She attempted to grab for the man’s knife, but her coordination was altered by the head wound. She could not manage it. The soldier tossed her into the back of a wagon, and her head hit the hard wooden floor.

“Katarina!” Her sisters’ voices crying out her name was the last thing she heard before the world went black, and she slipped into blessed oblivion.

***

Alistair Morgan stared down at the women in his prison cell and snorted in disgust. “How are any o’ these pitiful creatures supposed tae pass for my bonnie daughter?”

“My laird.” His master of arms bowed in respect. “Bathed and mended, they will make for an acceptable alternative. Nae one outside o’ our own people and the nuns o’ the nunnery where she was hidden away has ever laid eyes upon Lady Katherine. She is known for her beautiful eyes, but that is all that is kenned o’ her.”

Alistair stood, considering the words. He nodded, then motioned to one of the girls lying on the floor unconscious. “Pry open her eyes.”

One of his soldiers, Hamish, moved to obey. “They are green, my laird.”

“Out o’ all the lassies, she looks the most like my Katherine.”

“Aye, my laird.”

Alistair made a sound of self-satisfaction. “Have her bathed and dressed in Katherine’s clothes. I wish tae see for myself that she is a presentable decoy.”

“Aye, my laird.” Hamish let the young woman’s head fall back to the stone as two of the other girls cried out in protest at the rough treatment. “What should we do with the rest o’ them?”

Alistair waved a hand as if they did not matter. “After I am satisfied that I have found a replacement for Katherine, they can be sold, distributed among the men, or killed. I care not. The young boys can be trained to join our fighting men. In time, they will forget their life as luchd siubhail.”

Alistair left the cell and climbed the steps to the great hall. He found his daughter sitting beside the fire, working on her latest tapestry—her needlework was exquisite, just as her mother’s had been. She looked up and smiled at his approach. “Faither, have ye enjoyed a productive day?”

Alistair bent to kiss her forehead and nodded. “Aye, I do believe that I have. I have found a way for ye nae tae have tae marry that brute o’ a man from the north.”

She smiled in gratitude. “How?”

“I have found a lass who will take yer place in the marriage bed. She is nae as bonnie as ye are, but she will suffice. She is one o’ the luchd siubhail.”

Katherine frowned. “I ken that they are luchd siubhail and that ye believe them tae be o’ nae real consequence, but I must admit to feeling pity for the woman ye have chosen. If she is tae wed the Viking beast o’ Orkney, should she nae be given a choice? I have never laid eyes upon him myself, but his reputation is fierce. I will nae have another woman suffer for me. If the king wishes this torment on me, then I will do as the king wishes.”

“Ye need nae worry, Katherine. Ye will never have tae face any man ye dinnae wish tae. I will protect ye. The king asked too much when he pledged yer hand tae that brute. I will nae have my daughter sullied in such a manner. Ye are meant for a better man than he. The lass is willing tae take yer place,” he told the lie with ease, with her being none the wiser. If he was to get her to agree, he would have to make the deception true.

“Ye are certain she is willing?”

“Aye, I am,” he lied again, nodding.

“And I will be allowed tae wed whomever I choose?”

“Aye, ye will wed a man o’ noble birth and bearing, perhaps even o’ royal blood. I will arrange it myself.”

“A prince perhaps?” Katherine asked hopefully, the fear she had of having to wed the king’s choice finally leaving her eyes.

“Mayhap even a king.” He smiled down at her dotingly.

Alistair Morgan was a cruel man. He knew it and felt no shame for it. However, when it came to his daughter, he oozed sweetness. She was his one true love in life, and he doted on her every whim. When the king’s missive had arrived demanding that she be united in marriage to the Viking beast of Orkney, he had immediately put into action a plan to trick both the brute and the king. It had taken him six months to find a woman who looked enough like his daughter, but at long last, he was close to achieving his goal.

“What if the king discovers yer ploy?” Katherine fretted her lip between her teeth.

“By then, it will be tae late. The decoy and the Viking will have been wed before God and the law.”

“The king would be displeased.”

“Aye. He could punish us for the deception, but I have a plan in place tae ensure that he will never ken the truth o’ the matter.”

“How is that, Faither?”

He smiled ominously at the thought of his plan. “Ye leave that tae me.” He knew if he told her, she would never agree. For the Viking and the decoy would not live long enough for the truth to be told.

***

Katarina awoke to a splitting headache. Her head was pounding with pain to the point where she could feel her heartbeat pulsate in her eyeballs. Suddenly, she felt hands upon her person, grabbing and pulling at her. She could hear women crying all around her, and for a moment, she was confused. The memory of what had happened before she lost consciousness came flooding back all at once with such fierce vividness that she retched onto the stones beneath her cheek. A hard slap to the face jolted her fully awake.

“This is the one the laird wants?” a man’s voice questioned from above. She opened her eyes to find three men standing over her. “She is nae much tae look at in her present state.”

Katarina looked down at herself. She was covered in blood, her dress was rucked up around her hips, causing her to fear the worst. Did they… She could not bring herself to put the action into words, even in her mind. Hesitantly, she glanced under her skirt but did not see blood coming from between her legs. She had bruises on her limbs, but that seemed to be the extent of the damage there. Her head hurt worse than any other part of her body.

“Aye, she is the one. It is the eyes, ye ken.” The one called Hamish gestured toward her face. “They’re green like Lady Katherine’s.”

“Och, aye. I see it now.” The questioning soldier nodded in agreement. “Who is tae bathe her?”

“The laird is tae send one o’ the maids down. She will stay in the captain’s quarters.”

Nodding in agreement, the soldiers each grabbed one of Katarina’s arms and hoisted her up onto her feet. She was too stunned to speak, but she could hear her sisters crying out in protest behind her. She was dragged down a long stone corridor until they reached a solid wooden door at the end. One of the soldiers pounded on it with his fist, and it gave way to reveal a sturdy woman of middle age.

“Och, what have ye done tae the poor lass?” the woman asked, bustling forward to take Katarina into her ample arms.

“Calm down, Agnes,” Hamish ordered, his tone brusque but not without warmth for the older woman. “It is the laird’s wishes that we be carryin’ out.”

The older woman looked Katarina up and down in sympathy. Sighing, she shook her head in disapproval. “Help me get her in the bath. I cannae say I approve o’ his lairdship’s choice, but it is nae my place tae say.”

“It is nae,” Hamish agreed. “Send for me when she is done.” He and the other soldier hauled Katarina over to a chair near the tub that had been placed by the hearth, and then they left the room.

The woman named Agnes clucked her tongue in disapproval as she removed Katarina’s clothing. Her skin was covered in bruises and abrasions but nothing fatal. She would live if the head wound did not kill her first. Once Katarina was naked, Agnes inspected the wound on her head. “There was nae cause for such violence tae a young lass such as yerself.”

Katarina silently agreed with the woman but said nothing. She had yet to find her voice in the haze of fear, panic, pain, and what appeared to be a severe concussion, if the world spinning around her was any indication. Agnes, having finished her examination, lifted her into the tub. Unexpectedly, the woman was as strong as an ox. Drawing a pitcher of warm water from the tub, she poured it over Katarina’s head. The water stung the wounds on her scalp but felt good otherwise. After everything that she had endured, the warm water offered some solace to her aching body.

“Now that’s better, is it nae?” Agnes asked as she took a handful of soap and began to gently wash Katarina’s hair. “We will have ye looking bonnie in nae time at all.”

An image from her childhood flashed through Katarina’s mind, nearly choking her from the pain of her recent loss. Her mother had washed her hair just so. But with that memory came the horrific images of her mother’s demise. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run or fight. But being too weak and stunned to do any of those things, she sat in the tub and wept instead. She wept for everything that had been, that which had been lost, and for fear of what was to come.

If Agnes had noticed her crying, she said nothing. She went about her business, scrubbing her clean and making tsking sounds as she went. When Katarina was finally clean enough to suit the older woman, Agnes helped her stand up. As she stood there, the woman poured another pitcher over her body from her head to her toes to rinse away the remaining soap.

“That is better. The laird will be pleased. Ye are ready.”

“Ready for what?” Katarina feared to even ask.

“Ready for the wedding, o’ course.”

“What wedding? Who is getting married?”

“Ye are, lass. The wedding is yers.”

Chapter Two

Katarina stood in stunned silence. Mine?

Without warning, the door to the room swung open, exposing the menacing countenance of a man old enough to be her father. His eyes raked over her naked form as he circled her in examination but she was powerless to stop him or cover herself. She was barely able to remain standing of her own accord. “What is yer name?” he asked, his voice demanding.

Katarina struggled to find her voice, but when she at long last spoke, it came out more as a hoarse squeak than actual words. Agnes took pity on her and wrapped her in a warm blanket, assisting her out of the tub and onto the chair.

“Speak up,” the man ordered impatiently. “Ye are nae a mouse.”

Katarina’s anger flared, giving her strength. “Katarina Buckland,” she managed to answer hoarsely. “Who are you?”

“I am Laird Alistair Morgan.” He shook his head in disapproval of her. “Och, ye dinnae speak properly. The Viking will ken that ye are nae my daughter.”

Katarina frowned in confusion.

“Ye are nae Scottish?”

Katarina shook her head and immediately regretted it. She looked to Agnes for help, but the woman remained silent. She must be afraid of him too.

“Repeat after me, exactly as I say it. Do ye understand?” He glared down at her as if she were an imbecile.

Katarina was furious and mimicked him harshly. “Do ye understand?”

His brows arched in surprise. “That is nae bad. Try again.”

“That is nae bad,” she repeated mockingly.

The man, clearly not realizing he was being mocked, nodded his approval. “That’ll do. From this day forward ye will speak as a true Scotswoman. If I hear ye speak in any other way, I will have ye beaten. Ye will undergo lessons on how tae be a Scottish noblewoman o’ good breeding. Ye will learn quickly, or ye will be punished. Ye are tae take my daughter’s place and wed the Viking beast o’ Orkney. Ye will pretend tae be her until a time o’ my choosing. Do ye understand?”

“And if I refuse?” Katarina knew that she was playing with fire, but she no longer cared what happened to her—she only cared about her sisters.

“I will kill the rest o’ yer family.”

Katarina attempted to lie. “I have no family. Your men killed them all.”

The man stepped forward and slapped her across the face. “Speak correctly even when ye lie, or ye will be disciplined. We both ken that yer sisters are rotting away in the bowels o’ my home even as we speak. I can either let my men have their way with them and then kill them, or I can keep them safe and alive. The choice is yers.”

Katarina swallowed the bile that threatened to choke her. “When am I tae be wed?” she asked, gritting her teeth in determination. She would not let this man win. He would not touch a hair on her sisters’ heads, not if she had any say in the matter.

“Ye have a fortnight tae learn all ye need tae. Should ye fail, ye will wish that I had killed ye.” With that, he turned and left the room.

***

Orkney Islands, Scotland

Dunn and his brother Tor had just finished butchering a stag for the kitchens. Covered in blood, they headed down to the beach to bathe. “Have ye decided what ye plan tae do about the king’s order?” Tor asked as he removed his shirt and shoes.

Dunn shook his head as he did the same. “I dinnae ken that I have a choice. It has been six months, and the lass has nae died, nor has Morgan refused. Our clan is in nae position tae be denying the king anything. We dinnae have much left for him tae take.”

“Ye plan tae wed her then?”

“I dinnae see that I have a choice. The king commanded me tae. But he did nae say that I had tae bed her. Nae bairn o’ mine will bear Morgan blood.” Dunn dove into the water and resurfaced a short distance away.

Tor snorted. “When have ye ever turned down a lass that wished tae lay with ye?”

“There is a first time for everything.”

“It is said that Lady Katherine has eyes as green as emeralds. It is said that just one look o’ those emerald eyes and a man’s soul is lost.”

It was Dunn’s turn to snort in disbelief. “Ye cannae believe anything a Morgan says. Nae man in Scotland has laid eyes on Lady Katherine unless he was o’ her own clan. She is probably ugly as a pig’s snout. The tales o’ her beauty are only spoken o’ as a farce.”

Tor dove into the water and came up beside Dunn. “Beauty or nae, it is a dangerous match.”

“Aye, it is at that. Nae doubt she will serve as a spy tae her own faither against us. A Morgan cannae be trusted.”

“Ye will be in danger long ‘afore ye wed her. Simply traveling to retrieve her puts ye in danger. Where would our people be if ye were lost?”

“Under yer trustworthy care,” Dunn answered with a reassuring smile. “If aught were to befall me, ye would do what is needed.”

“I was nae trained tae be laird,” Tor reminded him. “Trained to be a warrior at yer side, aye, but nae laird.”

“Ye have been by my side for five and ten years. Ye have seen what my eyes have seen, heard what my ears have heard. Ye will do well.”

Tor shook his head. “I dinnae want it.”

“Nor did I,” Dunn reminded him.

“It is yer birthright.”

“Aye,” Dunn nodded in acknowledgment, “but nae one I asked for.”

Tor’s eyes filled with understanding. Dunn had been thrust into the role too young before he was ready, and despite the pain and uncertainty, he had performed admirably. “Let me go in yer stead. Let me retrieve yer bride. I will learn all I can o’ her along the journey and report tae ye what I find.”

“The king was clear that I must retrieve her myself.”

“After our faither died, the king forced ye tae swear an oath that ye would nae step forth onto Morgan lands. Now, he asks ye tae do the very thing that ye swore ye would nae. If ye dae retrieve her, ye will be breaking that oath. It feels like a trap tae me. Let me go. I will return tae ye unharmed, I swear it.”

Dunn gave this some thought. Tor was right. He had sworn a vow, an unbreakable vow upon pain of death. He studied his brother’s face. They were near identical, save for some minor differences. They both had long blond hair and blue eyes, but Tor wore his with a single small braid near his face, whereas Dunn wore his back in a long braid with the sides shaved, granting him a more menacing look in battle. A scar ran down the side of Dunn’s face from forehead to jawline, but instead of detracting from his beauty, it simply added a more dangerous air. Tor had a small scar on his chin and another at the nape of his neck. If only Laird Morgan had never seen either of them before or had only seen them as children, they might have been able to fool him by trading places. However, Dunn knew they couldn’t pull off such a trick.

He shook his head. “I cannae let ye do this. If there is any danger tae be had, then it is mine. Ye will remain here and look after our people. If this is a trick o’ Morgan’s, they will need ye tae lead them. Can I trust ye tae do this for me? Give me yer word ye will nae follow after me.”

“Aye,” Tor nodded solemnly. “Ye have my word. I will protect our people, but ye have tae promise me that ye will look after yerself. Dinnae fall prey tae Morgan’s wiles.”

“Aye, ye have my word as well.” Dunn made the promise even though he knew there was no certain way to keep it. Exiting the water, he donned his clothing once more, waving to his brother to carry on swimming. “I must prepare. I will come and find ye before I depart.”

“How does one prepare for what ye are about tae do?” Tor wondered, his voice tinged with sympathy.

“I dinnae ken.” Dunn shook his head. “But I dinnae have a choice.”

***

Strathnaver, Scotland

Katarina stood in front of the fireplace as Agnes dressed her in Lady Katherine’s clothing. The gown was beautiful, red with golden thread that accented her dark hair and sensuous curves. She looked at her image in the polished metal of the shield hanging on the wall. Her emerald-green eyes shone in the firelight as if something from one of her father’s dragon stories. They burned with a fury that threatened to melt anyone who dare cross her path, yet beneath that fury lay a deep abiding sorrow. A single tear slid down her cheek, disappearing in the raven curls of her hair.

The door opened, and a guard stepped inside. “His Lairdship has instructed me tae take ye tae see yer sisters.”

Katarina’s head snapped around to stare in surprise at the guard’s face. The quick motion made her head feel like it would explode, and she teetered precariously for a moment. “Sit ye down here, lass,” Agnes instructed, taking her by the arm.

“The laird instructed this?” Katarina asked, confused as she allowed Agnes to guide her to the nearest chair. She had assumed from the way Laird Morgan had spoken to her before that he would keep her sisters from her to make her pliant.

“Aye, he did.” The guard’s eyes traveled over her in the dress. A spark of lust flared within their depths, but he said nothing about his thoughts. “If ye are able tae walk, I will take ye tae them.”

Katarina leveraged herself up out of the chair and stood uncertainly, clinging to the wooden frame. She took a tentative step forward, then another. “I can walk,” she confirmed, more to convince herself than the guard.

Agnes stepped forward and offered Katarina her arm. “I will help ye, lass.”

“The laird said that she is tae come alone,” the guard interrupted, raising his hand to stop Agnes.

The woman frowned but obeyed, releasing her hold on Katarina’s arm.

Katarina moved toward the door—unsteady but mobile enough to do it herself. She followed the guard down the corridor to the cell he had first taken her from. When he opened the door, she noticed all of the other women had been moved to places unknown. She did not want to know where for the mere thought of it made her sick to her stomach. All that remained were her sisters. “Katarina!” they cried as one, clambering up from the stone floor to throw their arms around her.

“Where did they take you?” Idalia demanded to know, her eyes filled with tears.

“What are you wearing?” Leonor asked, her eyes traveling down the length of the red dress.

“I have come to an agreement with the laird. He will allow ye both to live if I marry his daughter’s betrothed in her place.”

“This cannot be true,” Idalia wept, shaking her head in denial.

“Do not do this,” Leonor demanded, grasping Katarina’s hand firmly.

“She does nae have a choice,” the laird’s voice commanded from the cell doorway. “If she does nae do as I have instructed, she and ye will die brutally at my hand, yer maidenhead having been soiled by my men.”

“Ye cannot do this,” Idalia sobbed, placing herself between Katarina and the laird.

The laird stepped forward and slapped Idalia’s face. “I can and I will. I am the laird, lass. Learn yer place.”

Katarina took Idalia by the shoulders and moved her back a safe distance. “Do not touch her.”

Laird Morgan stepped forward and grabbed Katarina by the jaw. “Ye will speak as a Scotswoman, or ye will nae speak at all.” He shoved her back, making her crash against her sisters.

Katarina righted herself and squared her shoulders, her blood boiling. She would strangle the man with her bare hands if she could. “If I do this, ye are nae tae lay a hand on either o’ my sisters, nae ye or yer men,” she spoke as instructed, praying that she did so correctly. “Nae a finger or a boot.”

The laird chuckled at the specific nature of her request. “Ye are learning,” he noted with approval. “I will nae lay a hand, finger, or boot on yer sisters. Nor I or my men will ever touch them, provided ye do exactly as I say.”

“How will I ken that ye have kept yer word?”

He studied her face for a moment in thought, then nodded. “In a month’s time, ye may return tae ascertain their well-being. Yer husband will expect such a visit tae be made on yer behalf as my beloved daughter. Nothing will appear amiss about it. Until that time, dinnae seek them out, or I will follow through with my threat.”

“How can I trust ye?” Katarina asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Ye have nae choice.”

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