Chapter One

Scottish Highlands 1537

"A storm is brewing."

L aird Errol Keith had been laughing. Sitting on the high ground with a fine supper in front of him, he'd been in good spirits.

But Errol turned his head and looked down the aisle to the head table. Aodh had spoken and stood there silently. The man looked as ancient as the towering trees clustered together in the center of the forest.

His skin hung in deep folds around his face. He wore a sheep hide, complete with woolly curls across his back like their ancestors had, and a wide leather belt in the Danelaw fashion.

The old man was known for his gift of seeing the future. The hall slowly grew silent. Failing to heed one of the old man's prophecies was guaranteed to end badly.

"A storm is brewing off the shore." Aodh pointed with a gnarled finger to the side of the hall. "In the crucible of evil, it's suckling strength from the breasts of those who have perished in the icy grip of the ocean. When the veil is thinnest on Midsummer's Eve, past sins will reach across into our world to claim justice."

Silence reigned in the hall.

"If there are any who seek justice, let them come forth," Errol declared. He looked around those clustered in the hall, but everyone had their attention on Aodh. A fair number of them weren't even daring to draw breath.

"Brigitta is stirring." Aodh pointed at Errol. "Yer bloodline owes her a debt. Her mortal flesh is gone, yet her restless spirit remains. On Midsummer's Eve, she will come for her groom." He looked to Errol's right where his son Diarmuid sat. "Only a mortal wife will save ye from Brigitta's allure."

All around the hall eyes widened. People made the sign of the cross over themselves. Errol kept his hands on the tabletop, refusing to show weakness in front of his men.

But inside he went cold. His very blood was chained to the ghost inhabiting the Maiden's Tower inside the oldest part of Keith castle. An innocent girl who had been treated unjustly; many would go so far as to say cruelly.

His grandfather had imprisoned the girl on their wedding night rather than allow the union to smooth over the rivalry between their families. Now Brigitta's spirit inhabited the Maiden's Tower whenever the wind howled. The girl was long dead, but she was not resting peacefully.

"It's fine and warm, Aodh, the tables are full." Diarmuid spoke up. "Let us leave the talk of storms for after the summer, eh? Eat and drink yer fill."

Several retainers scooted down the long benches they sat on to make room for the old man.

Aodh didn't take the seat. He pointed at Diarmuid. "Yer fate is tangled in the net of treachery woven by yer bloodline. When the wind howls and the moon is covered, ye shall dance with Brigitta. The innocent must be paid the debt they are owed."

*

Long after his father retired to bed, Diarmuid ventured up onto the walls. The night was fine and warm. His shirt was still untied at the collar. Across the yard stood the oldest tower of the stronghold.

The Maiden's Tower.

It was square and three stories high. Nearing a century old, it was said by the villagers that it sat on top of a stone circle made by the druids.

That might be nothing but a winter's tale. Cleverly crafted in front of the hearth, when the days were short and dark, and there was little to fill one's belly with save for ale.

But Diarmuid did admit there was something about the Maiden's Tower that was not quite normal. The birds didn't roost in its eves. Now in the heart of summer, there were nests along the keep walls and other buildings. But none on the Maiden's Tower.

The villagers claimed Brigitta's ghost sang at night, frightening the birds away.

Perhaps he could dismiss the rumors, but birds were wild creatures. Something had to be keeping them away.

He heard the sound of footfall behind him. His cousin Barclay joined him on the wall.

"Did ye come up to get a look at yer bride?" Barclay jested. He leaned over the edge of the wall, through an archer hole. "Did ye catch a glimpse of Brigitta?"

"Ye would not be so amused if Aodh had pointed at you while muttering his predictions," Diarmuid answered. But he smiled at his friend and cousin.

"I suppose not," Barclay conceded. "Are ye worried?"

It was a serious inquiry. Here on the wall, Diarmuid could be free with his opinions.

"I am not practicing me dancing steps for fair Brigitta, if that is what ye are asking."

Barclay chuckled and clasped him around the shoulders. "Well, that is a relief. I am not ready for either of us to be snared by the bonds of matrimony. Ye can nae leave me to be the only rogue in the family."

"The lasses would nae forgive me for that," Diarmuid jested in return.

Barclay flashed him a smile. "Let's find some of those lasses, eh?"

His cousin was always one for flirting. Barclay wasn't in the direct line of the lairdship, so he had more freedom when it came to his behavior. Duty was always on Diarmuid's shoulders. He was accustomed to the weight. It was his responsibility to bear it.

Tonight, he didn't feel at ease following his cousin. For certain there would be music and fine company, but he felt tethered to the wall. As though moving away was ill advised.

His strange mood didn't make any sense and felt like it was coming from the Maiden's Tower.

A sensation rippled across his skin. It was a cross between a chill and something unknown. He stared at the Maiden's Tower, trying to decipher just what it was he felt.

Something fluttered near him. Diarmuid jerked at the disturbance in the air. He turned his head to discover an owl perched on one of the curtain wall outcroppings.

It was a large owl with amber eyes. The creature didn't seem concerned with Diarmuid in the least. It stared at him for a long moment before it once more took flight, gliding silently through the night, back to the Maiden's Tower.

So, there were owls that nested in the Maiden's Tower.

Diarmuid felt the tension in his shoulders ease. The lack of birds around the tower made sense now. He chuckled softly before shaking his head. The haunting of the tower was no more than a nest for predatory owls. Aye, that must have been it. Relief washed over him, he wouldn't have to worry about getting married this week!

*

Ailsa had never set eyes upon the sea.

She'd read about it. Devoured books in her quest to learn more about the world beyond her father's estate. And now, she was almost there. In moments she would see the blue expanse that called to men with whispers of adventure.

But the streets around the docks were clogged with carts. Her driver shouted at them but there was nowhere for them to go. Everyone had to wait for those further ahead of them to move.

She couldn't wait any longer.

"Here now, where do you think you are going?" Her chaperone Mol demanded.

Ailsa was already out the carriage door. "I will be at the ship!"

Mol was sputtering. But with the door open, Ailsa got her first full breath of sea air.

It was truly intoxicating!

She let out a delighted little sound of amusement before she grabbed the front of her skirt and lifted it up. She took off through the street, easily weaving in and around the carts filled with food of all sorts. Cheese. Barrels in every size. Hens clucked in warning from their thatch woven cages and even some goats cried out. All leading down a path to the sea.

She broke through the last row of buildings, her eyes widening in wonder. In front of her was the vast ocean. It was larger, bluer, and far more magnificent than any words had depicted.

It was worth the price of being bound to a man she had never met. For if she married close to home, she would have gone her entire life without seeing the sea.

Ailsa was content with the union her father had made for her. She would get to travel somewhere new. She spotted the ship, Fortunes Gift . Moored in line with numerous others, there was a gangway connecting it to the dock.

She made her way toward it, knowing that she would never return to what lay behind her. Childhood was over. In front of her lay a myriad of possibilities if she was bold enough to face them.

Ailsa did not look back.