Prologue
The decree, as issued by the Elders of the Highland Council, in the year of Our Lord 1747:
In the interest of lasting peace between the Highland clans and the Lowland territories, and in accordance with the Crown’s directive for the stabilization of the northern regions, the following union is hereby decreed and is binding upon both parties named herein.
Alasdair MacRaeh, Laird of Dunalasdair, is hereby bound to wed Isobel Graham, daughter of Thomas Graham of the Lowlands. The union shall be solemnized no later than sixty days from the date of this decree. The lady shall establish permanent residence at Dunalasdair. All debts and grievances currently held against the Graham family shall be considered settled upon the completion of the marriage.
Neither party is required to consent. Neither party may refuse.
Refusal shall constitute forfeiture of all lands, titles, and protections currently held.
So ordered. So sealed. By the full authority of the Elders of the Highland Council.
Chapter One
“Easy.” She kept her voice low, one hand already moving toward the mare’s neck. The animal tossed her head once, sharp and insistent, nostrils flaring as she took in the air.
The mare stopped.
Not the slow reluctance of a tired animal, nor the distraction of something rustling in the bracken. This was a complete halt, ears flat, with the muscles beneath Isobel’s legs going rigid as iron. She felt the change ripple up through the saddle before she had fully registered it.
“What is it, Star?” Isobel murmured, scanning the path ahead. “What do you hear?”
The mare shifted her weight and refused to settle. Isobel let her stand, gently stroking the taut line of muscle beneath the mane with slow, soothing circles. She had been riding this horse,Star, since it was three years old. She understood the difference between nerves and warning signs.
“All right,” she said quietly, more to herself than to the horse. “All right. I’m listening.”
She tipped her head to the side and waited.
The forest had emptied. Not a single sound rose to her ears. This was not the cozy quiet of a late summer afternoon; instead, it was something wiped clean—a silence with a strange sense of absence, as if everything that could run had already fled, and anything that couldn’t was holding perfectly still.
Then she heard it. Steel on steel, distant but unmistakable, cutting through the trees with a clarity that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. A shout followed, raw and guttural, quickly swallowed by the pines.
Turn around. You have heard that sound before, and now you should turn around and leave.
She sat with it for a moment, weighing her options. The logical part of her mind laid out the argument clearly. She was alone, a woman, unarmed, and whatever was happening beyond those trees was none of her concern.
None of my concern at all.
Isobel’s pulse pounded in her veins. She knew better than to ride through the woodlands on her own. She had endured hundreds of lectures regarding the dangers that lurked beyond and yet, she could not deny her curiosity.
Compelled to do so, Isobel urged Star to take one small step forward. She wished just to see what was happening. Then, she would gladly turn around and return home.
The snapping of a twig underfoot was loud, so much louder than it ought to have been, that Isobel jumped in her saddle.
She exhaled a half-laugh that was mingled with a sigh of relief as Isobel raised one hand and laid it on her chest. Her heart raced erratically and she had to take several deep breaths before she could even think clearly through what ought to be done next.
“Come on, girl,” she coaxed quietly as she used both hands to grip Star’s reins. “I’m sure there’s no harm in just taking a quick peek.”
She guided the mare off the path and toward the tree line.
Isobel dismounted where the trees thickened, looping the reins around a low branch and moving forward on foot, her skirts gathered in one hand. The sounds grew clearer as she proceeded: the steady ring of blades, the splash and drag of boots in water, and the distinct grunts of men fighting against each other.
She lowered into a crouch and rested one hand on the side of a Scots Pine tree. Once she was settled, she tilted her chin downward to survey the land. A shallow stream sliced through the base of the slope, flowing swiftly and clearly over smooth stones. Three men fought in and around the water, two against one, and the imbalance between them was immediately evident. The two attackers lunged with frantic energy, swinging wide, wasting effort, and constantly losing their footing. The lone fighter moved differently.
Look away. Just move along.
But she didn’t move. She couldn’t. His dark plaid soaked through, and he was simply… efficient. That was the only word she could think of. He knew exactly how much each move cost, and he wasted nothing.