Chapter 1

1

I t wasn’t the damp ground below her or the unusually loud volume of the morning birds. It wasn’t even the distant cracking of the branches that woke her from her deep slumber. It was the unmistakable heaviness of her tongue that caused her to sit up quickly and reach for her chamber pot.

Ugh, I’m going to be sick.

The light was blinding this morning as she shifted in her blankets until her soft fingers slammed against the unyielding bark of a tree. Thalia’s eyes wrenched open with an audible groan.

She had never seen so many shades of green. Emerald grass below her. Verdant foliage rustling in the light morning breeze. Moss-covered trees and lichen spread across the large boulders.

Her hands dug into her eyes. “What?” The wool blanket fell and gathered around her hips, and she shivered.

Am I dreaming?

As Thalia shifted to try and stand up, she felt the rocketing air of a loosed arrow travel across her face with the precision of a lion’s attack.

THWAK!

She was instantly aware that if the archer had wanted to, he could have lodged the arrow in her skull, but it instead buried into the tree behind her.

“Hey!” she yelled and scrambled to her feet.

She grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around herself tightly before jumping behind the tree, using it as her shield. The sound of boots breaking branches stilled her heaving breaths, and she waited for the archer to retrieve his arrow and leave.

Was Maximillian trying to kill her?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the rhythmic sounds of the foreign language that the archer used, “Bu chòir dhut a bhith marb!”

She remained silent, hoping he would leave her be. What on Earth did he just say to me? What language is that?

“Chì mi thu.” the man’s low, growling voice let out. He sounded impatient and angry. The sounds he was making confused her.

Thalia’s heart pounded in her chest, threatening to give away her position when she heard a branch break even closer to her hiding spot.

Shit.

“Chì mi thu! Seall dhut fhèin!”

What in the blazes is he saying? Where am I?

Another loud THWACK! of an arrow hitting the tree startled her out from the safety of her not so subtle hiding spot. She squeezed her eyes shut and raised a trembling hand while the other gripped the blanket around her shoulders with all of her might.

“Please — I’m sorry. Please don’t kill me.”

The archer’s silence urged her to open one and then both of her eyes. The man was incredibly large, standing even taller than her father had. He looked at her with unbridled confusion.

“You can just tell Maximillian that you killed me, and I’ll disappear. Please. Don’t kill me,” she said quickly and then snapped her mouth shut to halt her quivering bottom lip. Thalia blinked until her blurred vision cleared, and she then rolled her shoulders back, facing the assassin with steeled nerves. “Fine. Go on then.”

If he is going to kill me, I will not go down in a fit of tears.

He held up a hand and shouldered his weapon. The man was older than she was though she guessed that war had aged him even more. The muscles in his neck rippled as he twisted around to yell into the darkness of the foliage.

“Me Laird! Is Sassenach e.” His bellowing call echoed in the silence.

Me Laird? My Lord? Is this Gaelic?

The man relaxed his features and managed to say something in his native language, softly, before the other figure came into view. “Bidh thu ceart gu leòr.”

I was the ‘Sassenach’. He’s told the other one that I’m a Sassenach.

“Na bi gad eagal, Sassenach.”

The way his voice softened makes it seem like he just told me I’ll be okay.

“I cannot understand you, sir. But if I understand your tone correctly, how could I possibly be okay if I’m in Scotland?”

“Aye,” the man nodded his head and cracked a smile that Thalia assumed was supposed to relay kindness, but it was darker and more menacing than that. “Scotland.” He gestured around them.

She sighed and rolled her eyes, her hands flailing exasperatingly.

Shit. I was in England last night, but now — Shit, shit, shit…

Her mother was sure to be turning in her grave at her daughter’s foul vocabulary if she could hear her from this far away. Though, Thalia had heard her father say it enough times to know that there were truly no other words for this situation. She was in Scotland.

I’m in Scotland.

Thalia winced as her eyes reconnected with the assassin, as if she said the curse out loud. His features were amused, and the straining smile had softened as well. His face didn’t convey the confusion from before, almost as if he understood the situation.

“Do you —” she started to ask if he understood her when suddenly, her eyes darted over to a movement in the darkness just over the assassin’s shoulder. The ominously large, stalking figure stilled as if on instinct, as if she had caught it.

The threatening shadow came into the light as her assassin followed her gaze and turned to face it, and Thalia lost the warmth of the wool blanket as it fell to pool at her feet.

A shiver coiled its way up her spine, and gooseflesh left its mark along her heavy limbs as he neared. Her fear was caught in her throat as the beast of a man closed the distance between the shadows and where they stood. Her eyes dropped down to his boots, as if he wouldn’t be able to see her if she didn’t see him.

Every fiber of her being urged her to face the monster. If these barbarians are going to kill you, you need to face them. Your fate is sealed.

Her eyes traced the lines of the beast’s body, hoping that her gaze could set him on fire. His hands hung in fists at his side, and the sleeves of his dirty, white shirt were rolled up past his elbows. The long, tendonous fibers in his arms were accentuated by deep scarring and burns. Unlike the archer, this man did not carry a weapon. Those hands were lethal, and she knew it instantly.

The sizable creature stood still as Thalia’s eyes burned a path across his broad chest and then traced the strands of his long, black hair up to his face. Her gasp sliced through the heavy silence.

A monster.

She took an instinctual step back and watched as his eyes fell on her tightening fists before meeting her gaze once more. The archer shifted and said something in their language, no doubt catching his master up on what had transpired. She heard the word ‘Sassenach’ again and then ‘Scotland’ clearly before he stepped out of view of Thalia’s immediate peripherals.

You need to get out of here, Thalia. Think.

“Who are you!” she demanded, her voice strong and superior. “Where have you taken me?” Her questions were not yet answered, but she was determined to not go down without a fight. “My father will be furious!” she lied and felt the sting of her father’s absence before forcing it back into its box.

Not like this.

The monster’s marred lips curled into a smirk as he took in her frantic demeanor. She stilled, sensing his assessment.

You need to lie better than that, child.

When it spoke, the creature’s voice set her entire body ablaze. “Ye are like a wee doe caught in a hunter’s snare, thrashing about for your unimportant answers.”

Thalia’s mouth fell to the forest floor. He speaks English?

His tone was both mocking and disdainful, as if he had heard her obvious thoughts at the sight of him. “Who are ye, and what are ye doing on me lands?”

“Who am I? Who are you?” she asked, and she chanced a quick glance away from the beastly man to find the archer watching them from the stump of a felled tree. She was trying to hide the fact that she was measuring the distances between each of them.

Could either of them catch me if I bolted right now? Surprise is in my favor.

“Do ye think your desperate squirming will save ye?” the man said clearly as he watched her take in her surroundings.

She slowly sidestepped without responding to him in order to open up her getaway path, and he obliged knowingly while he responded, “Ye are in the Highlands of Scotland, and your troubles seem to just be starting out.”

He studied her intently, his deep ochre eyes distracting her momentarily as they glinted with the rays of the rising sun as she continued to map out her escape. The archer shifted on the stump, so his shoulders faced her.

“What can you mean, sir? I am not here of my own accord.”

“Ye have been dropped into my world, and perhaps if ye were nae so quick to demand answers, ye would find things a tad more agreeable, Sassenach.”

At the mention of ‘Sassenach’ she halted her feeble progress and realized that in their sidestepping game, he had closed the distance to her — as had his companion. She was trapped. His stare hardened, a challenge in his eyes.

“Now, do ye have more to say than your trembling, or do ye wish to remain bewildered out here in the forest?”

Thalia stood her ground and lowered her chin. Her long, black hair accentuating her sharp features, returned his challenge with ferocity. “Go on then,” she said finally. “He paid you. Let’s get on with it, so you can go and collect your prize.”

The monster’s gaze intensified and lingered on her, finding her plight entertaining. “I daenae ken what ye are whimpering about, lass.”

“Right. You just so happened to speak English in a forest where I’ve been kidnapped and dumped? You can’t even dain to think that I’ll believe anything you say.”

“Do ye nae believe what the lad here told ye? That ye are in Scotland.”

“Sure, your man told me as much, but he could have been lying.” She twisted and pointed right at the archer, who had been mindlessly sharpening his blade along his leather belt a few paces behind them.

“Cillian is his own man.”

Cillian is the archer, then. Her eyes met the loyal hunter, and a flint of humor flashed across his otherwise stoic face.

“He called you His ‘Laird’, did he not?” Her request for clarification was sharp and pierced the morning bird song melodies clumsily.

“Aye, I’m Laird Crawford. Ye will hear him call me that as he has sworn to me, but I am no master. He might also call me Finn. That’s me name. I’m Finn Morrison, Laird of the Crawford clan.”

Finn Morrison, the Laird. Interesting.

The woman rolled her eyes and shook her head for emphasis. “Right. I’m sure he’d say that as well.”

Finn leaned back to his man something directly. The men spoke in Gaelic to ensure that she felt left out and unwelcomed, but Cillian instantly tore into fits of laughter. His partner’s amusement tugged at the corners of Laird Crawford’s mouth as well as they relished in the moment. When he leaned back to address her again, he could see that her face was strained to make sure she didn’t give away her embarrassment about being wrong.

He held up a hand, halting Cillian’s laughter and relenting the embarrassing revelation. “Now, I’ve told ye who I am. Ye have yet to introduce yourself to us. For all we know, ye could be an assassin.”

She let out a loud, uncontrollable guffaw and watched as his eyes narrowed. This was a serious inquiry into her identity and purpose, and he would not parry around with flippant ignorance. Cillian stood, his loosing hand on the bow.

“ You kidnapped me and brought me here to what? Kill me. He obviously paid you a handsome sum to kill me, but you brought me here instead. Why? To keep me? Why should I tell you anything? Tell me why. Did Maximilli—” The strength in her voice faltered, and the words caught in her throat as one of her knees gave out. She tried to take a bold step toward him to balance herself but failed.

Her gaze clouded and slowed as she tried and failed to focus on the ground. Her mind spun while her body struggled to maintain balance. She spun around violently, searching for someone. Finding Cillian, she reached out a hand and took bounding steps toward him and slurred, “I have to get back to England. I have to get back to my sisters. He’ll kill them. Please…”

Please don’t keep me locked away here. I have to get back. Please…

Unable to find Cillian, she twisted around, and Finn reached out, ready to catch her. Her eyes strained toward the back of her head and then her vision with dark. He caught her before she hit the ground and hoisted her up into his chest.

“Alright, lass. I’ve got ye,” she heard him say quietly.