Bonus Prologue

One month prior

Castle MacGregor was still quiet so early in the morning, even if Evan's study was anything but. He didn't even know how Padraig had managed to corner him, along with every other member of his council, the moment he had sat down behind his desk, eager to spend a couple of hours of his morning in peace after waking up early that day.

It was all because of Padraig, he knew. Evan had the paranoid thought that Padraig had somehow managed to get him to wake up so early, just so he could torture him first thing in the morning.

"Can we discuss this later?" Evan asked, slumping in his seat. The maids hadn't even brought him breakfast yet and there he was, discussing his future.

"Nay," said Padraig in his usual firm tone that left little room for discussion. "This is important, me laird. We thought we would have more time tae find a suitable bride, but with yer faither gone . . . well, a laird cannae remain unwedded fer too long. We must find ye a suitable match."

The mention of his father forced Evan to grind his teeth, molars protesting as he clenched his jaw to keep himself from flying into a blind rage. It wasn't Padraig's fault, he knew. He didn't deserve his misplaced anger.

This was not the first time his council had brought up the matter of his marriage, nor was it the first time Evan had tried to avoid it. There were far more important things to be done before he could even begin to think about marrying someone, even if it was for a strong alliance. Clan MacGregor was strong, even after the sudden death of his father. An alliance was not his main concern.

No, his main concern was revenge. His main concern was making sure the English were kept away from his people's lands.

"I dinnae have time fer this noow, Padraig," he said, leaning back on his seat with a weary sigh, arms crossing almost petulantly in front of his chest. "Ye ken this. I must find out more about Graeme Ruthven."

The look Padraig gave him was one of utter exasperation. Pinching the bridge of his nose, the man said, "Even if ye are correct about laird Ruthven?—"

"I am."

" Even if ye are, it doesnae change the fact that ye must find a wife," Padraig said, ignoring Evan's interruption. "If anythin', if yer correct, it is even more important that we prepare fer the possibility of war. What dae ye think will happen if ye go after him an' reveal he is workin' with Balliol an' the Sassenachs? We will need all the allies we can get."

"We have enough allies." Clan MacGregor had many friends. For generations, his clan had maintained good relationships with the rest of the Highlands, and though perhaps not everyone would rush to his rescue, everyone would surely support him if he stood up to Balliol and the King. Everyone had something to lose if the English maintained control of the Highlands through Balliol—everyone but Ruthven, who would only have something to gain as Balliol's ally.

Padraig turned to the rest of the council, looking at them with a pleading gaze, as if to silently ask them for help. Clearing his throat, one of the older members of the council, Neacal, stepped forward and addressed Evan with a patient smile.

"Me laird, I implore ye tae consider Padraig's suggestion," he said. "We have already found several young women who would be excellent choices fer ye. Ye can pick whoever pleases ye most."

"But ye should carefully consider the Lady Buchanan," Padraig said. Next to him, Neacal sighed, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair and looking as though he wanted to rip it all out. "The Buchanan Clan is strong an' wealthy, and the Lady Buchanan is rumored tae be a bonnie lass. They would make excellent allies."

"The Lady Buchanan is also rumored tae be less than virtuous," said Neacal. "Many things are said about her."

"Och?" asked Evan. Perhaps he could use this to his advantage, he thought. If Padraig wanted him to wed the Lady Buchanan but Neacal disagreed with his choice, then it would surely make the process of choosing a wife for him even lengthier. "What, precisely, is said about the Lady?"

"Only rumors, me laird," said Padraig.

"Rumors must start from somewhere," said Neacal. "It is said her involvement has been instrumental in some conflicts. She remains in the shadows, but she can manipulate those she must even from there."

"Is this how she has gathered all this power an' wealth, then?" Evan asked, now curious to see why Padraig would even consider her. He was not a man who acted without planning first, nor was he a man to tolerate such people around him, which meant that he either didn't believe the rumors or he was so desperate that he would accept that woman just for the power it would bring their clan.

But we're nae in a dire position. We dinnae need them, as much as Padraig seems tae think we dae.

"Nay," said Padraig sharply, taking another step forward. "The Buchanan Clan has always been a powerful one. An' I have met the Lady meself. She seemed perfectly pleasant, me laird. There was naething tae suggest that she is as bad as Neacal claims."

Evan glanced between the two advisors, weighing his options. "I think the truth perhaps lies somewhere in-between. That said, I still think the matter o' Ruthven an' the King is more important than anything else at this moment. I willnae waste any time courtin' a lass when I have more important things tae dae. Ruthven will be at Laird Hamilton's weddin', correct? Alaric an' I shall meet him there an' try tae find out as much as we can about him."

"That is a dangerous plan," said Padraig.

"It isnae more dangerous than allowin' him tae dae as he wishes," Evan pointed out. "It is imperative that we find out the truth about him. We've had several reports that he is a spy fer Balliol an' the King. What other proof dae we need?"

With a sigh, Padraig turned to the rest of the council, dismissing them. Evan watched them go and only after they were all out of the room did Padraig come closer to him, bracing himself against the desk and speaking quietly, as though he feared someone else would hear him.

"It is a dangerous thing, Evan," he said, and it was the first time since his father's death that Evan had heard Padraig use his given name. "Ye are the laird now. This clan needs ye an' I must admit I feel . . . uneasy when ye an' Alaric are away. I always worried about the two o' ye but noo it seems tae me that ye willnae rest until ye've had yer revenge."

All the fight drained out of Evan then. He knew, of course, that everything Padraig did was because he was concerned— concerned about the clan, concerned about Evan and Alaric, concerned about the future and their people. But he couldn't help but think that he worried too much, to the point where it hindered their progress.

"An' yer right," he said. "We willnae rest until we have avenged our faither. Is that so bad, Padraig? Is it so bad that we wish tae avenge him?"

"What if ye end up like him, Evan?" The mere thought seemed to shake Padraig to his core. "I have already buried a good friend. I dinnae wish tae bury the two lads I love like me own bairns."

"Padraig . . . Alaric an' I will be fine," Evan assured him as he stood from his chair and rounded his desk to pat the other man's shoulder. "We are nae bairns anymore. We havenae been fer a long time."

"I ken that," Padraig said. "But it doesnae change the fact that ye still seem like bairns tae me. Let an old man have his concerns, Evan. This is what we dae best."

Evan could hardly argue with Padraig when he got like this, and so he didn't try. Instead, he said, "I'll consider it, alright? I will consider the Lady Buchanan an' every other lass ye have found fer me. But I will dae so after the Hamilton weddin'."

"An' until then?"

"Until then . . . Alaric an' I have serious work tae dae an' we need yer assistance," said Evan. "We need all the resources we can have."

Padraig nodded, his own hand coming to rest on Evan's shoulder. It was the most fatherly gesture he had received since his father's death, and he had to swallow around the knot in his throat, willing himself to stay grounded instead of losing himself in his grief. There was no time for this. He would only grieve his parents once he was finished with his revenge.

"Ye shall have them," Padraig promised. "I only ask that ye remain safe. That ye dinnae take risks."

"I willnae," said Evan, even if he knew his promise to be false.