Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

"I have found the part that was missin'. Ye have witchcraft in yer lips; there is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the tongues of the French council?!"

As Leona listened to her father read the words aloud, his voice echoing through his study, she stifled a nervous laugh. Straightening and composing herself, she took a deep breath and looked Laird MacLoughty in the eye. "Father, I dinnae ken that ye were such a romantic."

Across the room, she heard her brother snort. Graham did not look at her; his gaze remained fixed on their father, his face twisting as he tried to contain his laughter. Their father, however, did not see the humor in this. He moved swiftly to her, towering over her petite frame as his nostrils flared.

"Daenae start with that smart mouth, lass. I am nae in the mood."

Leona bit down on the inside of her cheek and swallowed back her retort. She knew she wasn't doing herself any favors. Bram Ainslie, the Laird of MacLoughty, was well-known for his fiery temper. His anger was often soon extinguished and soon forgotten. But as she stood there, staring up at him, she wondered just what she had gotten herself into. The man was on fire with rage.

"Father, I can explain–"

"I daenae wish to hear it." His voice rumbled like distant thunder. With a huff, he turned from her and set his sights on her mother. Catriona sat, the image of perfection, unphased by her husband's ramblings and rants. "Did ye ken of this?"

"I dinnae," she said in a soft, tender voice. Her eyes flashed to Leona, wordlessly expressing her own annoyance. There was no doubt in Leona's mind that her mother believed her, but she also knew there was no convincing the man while he was in one of his moods. Leona's mother returned her green eyes to her husband, tilting her head slightly. "What shall we do, me laird?"

He frowned. "We will be takin' a trip to MacNicols' Keep."

Silence fell over the room, heavy and thick. The laird's words sank into them all, and Leona felt it sink even deeper still. "Father, please listen to me. It is nothin' like what ye–"

"Quiet, lass! If ye wish to act a fool, ye will learn from it!" He shot a look at her, disappointment tinged with red. "Tell me, Leona. What part of ye was the bastard missin'? And how would he ken of yer lips? Do ye think me a fool?"

Best not to answer that one. Leona stood there holding her tongue.

Her father rushed to his desk, grabbing the letter on the top of the pile. It seemed to take every ounce of his restraint not to tear it apart right then and there. "It has the damn Lennox seal on it. Ye cannae talk yer way out of this."

"Father–"

"Daenae speak another word."

Leona let out a long, even breath. Her own temper began to surface, but she held it in place and stared forward at nothing at all. There was no convincing him; she knew that. 'Tis me own fault. She should have done a better job ensuring that the letter would only find her own eyes.

Cursing under her breath, she watched as her father stormed towards the door. He paused before stepping into the hallway, looking back and speaking to them all, though his glare was aimed at her alone. "Prepare yerselves," his tone told her it was not a suggestion but an order. "We leave before midday. Daenae make me wait for ye, or there will be consequences."

Her mother stood, sighing and straightening her dress. She turned to Leona, her lips pursing. "I daenae ken what ye have done, lass. But he willnae settle until it is dealt with." Her gaze shifted to Graham. "Wipe that smile from yer face. This will likely be havin' consequences for us all."

With that, she followed after her husband.

Leona turned to her brother. "Ye need to speak to him, Graham. Ye may be the only one he might open his ears to. He is likely to get us all killed."

"Dear sister," he smirked. "I dinnae ken that ye have such a tender relationship with Caelan Lennox. Ye must have used some form of witchcraft for him to believe ye're a missin' part of him."

"Ye ken as well as I do that it is nothin' of the sort."

Graham chuckled. "Oh, such eloquence !"

"Graham–"

"Aye, I ken it. But he willnae hear me." Graham stretched out in the chair, craning his neck from side to side until there was a slight popping sound. Lazily, Graham stood and looked down at her. "'Tis like talkin' to a thunderstorm with him, lass. Even for me. He willnae stop rumblin' until he passes through. Whatever ye've done, ye best think of a way to undo it before we reach Castle MacNicols."

Leona cursed under her breath.

"And mind yer tongue, lass. It doesnae suit a lady of yer standin' to be speakin' like some… well, ye for sure daenae have the sugar touch –"

"Graham," she hissed as she clenched her fist. "Shut yer big, loud–"

Leona shut her mouth as her father appeared in the doorway, looking unimpressed with both of them. His gaze drifted from Graham to her, settling there as he shook his head slowly. If her mother had managed to calm him, it was all for nothing. He was turning as red as his beard.

She was not afraid of his tantrums or of him. Bram Ainslie, despite being hot-headed and near-sighted, was a good father in his own way. He loved his children a lot; he was just far too traditional for Leona's liking. There were expectations of her that she wasn't sure she could ever truly meet.

"What is takin' ye so long? Go prepare yerselves! If ye're nae ready soon, I will make ye ride there with just the clothes on yer backs!" He all but spat the words out. "And daenae think that I won't, lass. Go, now. And as for ye," he turned his ire towards his son. "Ye will nay be afforded the luxury of ridin' in the carriage. Ready yer horse, son, or so help me ye will walk all the way there."

Without a sound of protest, Leona walked from the study while biting her tongue. She wanted to protest, to explain to him that this was a misunderstanding. But she knew he would never listen. He never hears me, no matter how loud I yell .

Her steps echoed against the stone floor as she made her way to her chambers. Her frustration was building as her patience began to thin. Somehow, before they reached the Isle of Skye, she would need to think of a plan.

I could try to convince Laird MacNicols. Explain that it was all an honest, foolish mistake. She shook her head and sighed. Nay, doubt he would listen either.

Leona was used to men around her ignoring her words, even when she was in the right. She was a smart lass but often overlooked because she was being born a woman. At a young age, she had been educated in nothing more than how to run a castle, to care for children, and to tend to whoever would someday become her husband. But Leona craved more than to pop out bairns and tend to a home. Something called to her, but she couldn't quite find it.

Leona often dreamed about something more. Those dreams were fueled by the words she would read in secret in the latest hours of the night. Tales of love, adventure, and destiny. The dreams and the words were bittersweet.

Pushing the thought to the back of her mind, she focused on the task at hand. Now was not the time to daydream. It would take days for them to reach their destination, even longer still with the carriage. Surely, by then, she would have come up with something– anything to fix this before it got too out of hand.

"I heard already, m'lady." Marion said as Leona entered the chambers. The maid stood in the middle of the room, her eyes wide and almost shimmering with delight. How she would know it already, Leona couldn't be sure. Marion seemed to have a gift of knowing everyone's business, sometimes before they knew it themselves.

Word sure does seem to travel fast within these walls.

Turning to her window, she could see the mess of commotion out in the yard. Her father's men scrambled about, and the carriage was being checked over. She herself would have preferred to ride her own horse for the journey, but she knew her father would not allow it - so she did not bother to ask.

Leona sighed. "Will ye help me pack, then? It will be a long trip."