Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

M arrying a complete stranger was the fate of many noble girls who wedded their husbands for a strategic alliance. However, Bonnie MacLaren never imagined she would be one of them. Marrying for political gain was one thing; marrying a man she only knew by name, having never met him before, was another.

Then again, she was meant to make his acquaintance soon. Laird Graeme Ruthven was waiting for her on the Isle of Arran, where they would both be attending the wedding of Tavish Hamilton and his bride, Amelia. The council of the MacLaren Clan had made it clear that Bonnie— as the heir should something happen to her brother-in-law and laird of the clan, Macauley Sinclair—was to wed as soon as possible to a man of their choosing, in an attempt to prevent another effort for a hostile takeover.

Bonnie could hardly blame them. After her cousin, Faolan, had attempted to hold onto his role as the laird of the clan by threatening to marry Bonnie against her will, the council was more eager than ever to marry her off to someone just so they wouldn't have to deal with the headache of another suitor with ulterior motives.

The sky was dark, clouds gathering above Bonnie's head as she and her two trusted guards travelled from Castle MacLaren to the shore, where they would take a birlinn to the Isle of Arran. So far, the winter had been mostly dry, bringing them less rain than usual, but the cold bit into her skin and seeped into her bones—a chill that turned all the more humid as they approached the coastline. It was still early in the day, and yet the grey clouds blocked the sun, forcing Bonnie to hold tight onto her cape as the wind whipped her face and hair.

"We're almost there," one of the guards, Finlay, called over the whistling of the wind. "Ye willnae have tae endure this much longer."

"I've endured worse," Bonnie said and then added with a teasing smirk, "like yer company."

Finlay turned to look at her in mock offence. "If me lady protests me presence, I am more than happy tae return tae the castle an' relieve ye o' the burden. Now, whether ye make it tae Arran without me is a different matter."

"What dae ye think will happen tae me on the way?"

"I can only guess Lachlan will inadvertently kill ye afore yer even on the birlinn ," said Finlay, prompting an unimpressed sigh from the other guard.

Bonnie laughed. In all the years she had known Finlay, the man could never help himself when it came to Lachlan—or anyone else, really. He always had a joke to offer and loved to tease those around him. Being a few years older than her, Bonnie had always thought of him as the big brother she never had. They even resembled each other a little, in their colors if not their features, their eyes and hair a similer shade of deep brown. Where Bonnie was small, though, slender, with a delicate nose and mouth, and a rounded, doll-like face, Finlay was a wall of a man, well-suited to his profession.

Lachlan, on the other hand, could only be described as willowy, Bonnie thought; boyish, even, with his unruly mop of blonde hair and his bright blue eyes. He worked well with Finlay, though, making up for the speed the other lacked when it came to battle.

"Maybe that would be fer the best," Bonnie said with a sigh, remembering the reason for her visit to Arran. Part of it was the wedding, of course, but part of it was so she could be paraded in front of Laird Ruthven so that he could decide if she was good enough for him; like a prized mare whose only value came from her appearance and how many children she could bear.

It was never meant tae be like this.

Bonnie had entertained the idea that she would one day marry for love a few times and it sounded idyllic—the kind of thing that had few chances of ever occurring as she was the eldest daughter. But then Cathleen had married Macauley, and he had taken on the mantle of the laird of the clan. Bonnie had held onto the hope that perhaps with a man like him in charge, a man trusted and respected by everyone around him, she would have the chance to find love, after all, and if not love, then at least a husband who would be a good match for her—someone she and her family could get to know slowly, someone they could be certain wouldn't hurt her or the clan.

And yet all those hopes had now been ruined.

"Dinnae speak like that," Finlay said, though his gaze was understanding as he looked at her. "Yer only obligation is tae meet him."

"Fer now," Bonnie said. "But if he agrees an' the council agrees, then we all ken me opinion on the matter will be irrelevant."

There was nothing Finlay could say to that, Bonnie knew, and so he didn't respond much to her relief. She didn't want to hear any comforting words, because in the end, they wouldn't matter. Words couldn't change what awaited her at the other side of the sea nor could they bring her any comfort.

It was better to say nothing at all.

"Well . . . let us make it tae the weddin' first," said Lachlan in the best approximation of a cheerful tone that he could muster.

"Aye, the laddie doesnae like the sea," said Finlay.

"I have a name," said Lachlan. "An' I am only two years younger than ye."

"Ye dinnae look like it."

Bonnie chuckled as she listened to them bicker, their teasing helping to take her mind off Laird Ruthven at least for a while. Soon, she would have to face the reality of her situation, but as long as she was with Finlay and Lachlan, the three of them leisurely riding down the wide path, then she could still pretend that they were only visiting to attend the wedding.

After a few more hours, the harbor appeared before them and Bonnie gazed at the horizon, where the sea met the sky. It was clearer there, the clouds thinning and allowing some of the sunlight to creep in. She hoped the weather would remain clear and that their trip to Arran would be tolerable, if not entirely pleasant, but there was no telling what the sea would bring. She had travelled a few short distances before and most of the time, the waves had left her nauseous and eager to step once again on solid land.

"Alright . . . me an' Lachlan will leave the horses here," said Finlay as they dismounted, pointing to the left of the harbor. "Ye can go ahead tae the birlinn an' we'll find ye shortly."

Bonnie nodded as she handed Finlay the reins to her horse. She adjusted the quiver which held her arrows along with the bow that was strapped to her back, as she had refused to take such a long trip without any weapons, and then headed to where Finlay had gestured. Here, the wind was stronger, mercilessly whipping her skin and pulling strands of her hair out of its updo, but there was nothing she could do other than hurry against it, keeping her eyes half-closed as they watered.

When she reached the edge of the land, she looked up to see that there were two boats there instead of the one she had expected.

Which one are we meant tae take?

Bonnie looked over her shoulder to where she had last seen Lachlan and Finlay but they weren't there. With a heavy sigh, she took a few steps back, looking for them, only to find out that they were nowhere to be seen.

She looked back at the boats. One of them was smaller, bearing nothing but the essentials. The other had a small room built on the deck and was a little larger, but otherwise the same.

Well . . . I can ask the men.

First, she walked to the larger boat, climbing up the plank. From the moment she stepped foot on the deck, she could tell that it was going to be a long, unpleasant trip.

How I hate the waves!

Looking around, it didn't take Bonnie long to notice that there were few men on the boat and no other passengers, which seemed rather strange. She had assumed there would be more people who would be going with them to Arran, but perhaps the council had arranged for the boat to take just her and her two guards.

"Excuse me," Bonnie called to one of the men who was winding a piece of rope. "Are ye headin' tae Arran?"

"Och aye," said the man. "Who are ye, lass?"

"Me name is?—"

Before Bonnie could finish her sentence, she began to feel a strange movement—one that the waves didn't explain. Wide-eyed, she looked at the shore, which was getting smaller and smaller by the second, while neither Lachlan nor Finlay was there with her.

"Where are ye goin'?" Bonnie asked, panic tinting her tone. Her heart leapt to her throat and her hand shot out to hold onto the nearest thing she could find: the hoop of a barrel that stood near the mast. "We . . . me guards! Ye left me guards behind! We must turn around at once!"

"What guards?" the man asked. "We are nae meant tae bring anyone else. Nae one told me we're bringin' a lassie, either."

Bonnie glanced at the other boat, which was still at the harbor and cursed under her breath. "I'm afraid I am on the wrong boat!"

The man's gaze followed hers to look at the other boat still at the harbor, before dragging his gaze back to Bonnie. "Well . . . this is certainly a problem."

"Turn around!" Bonnie begged the man. She was close to falling to her knees, close to tears, close to jumping into the sea and trying her luck as she swam all the way back. "Please!"

"We cannae turn around now," the man said. "We have our orders from the captain. We maintain course."

Bonnie looked helplessly at the man, then at the other boat, then back at the man, but he was already moving on to his next task, seemingly unbothered by the fact that Bonnie was on the boat all alone, while her guards had no idea what happened to her.

Finlay an' Lachlan will be so worried. What will they dae? Will they ken I got on the wrong birlinn?

As she looked around for anyone who could help her—or at least listen to her—her gaze fell on the small room she had spotted before. It must have been the captain's quarters, she thought as she approached it, determined to make the man listen to her.

It wouldn't take them that long to turn around and bring her back to the harbor. They were still close and Bonnie could spare the extra gold they could ask for it. She just had to reason with the captain, she told herself, and then everything would be fine.

She didn't have the presence of mind to knock. In her panic, she threw the door to the small room open, the words already tumbling past her lips before she even took a good look inside.

"Sir, please, tell yer men that we must turn back," she said, voice thin and reedy and on the verge of hysteria. The longer it took her to explain, the longer it took the man to listen, the more difficult it would be for her to make it back. "I am nae meant tae be here, it was me mistake, but in me defense, I didnae ken that ye would leave right that moment! Me guards, they are back at the harbor an' we were meant tae take the other birlinn but I didnae ken that an'—"

Once again, Bonnie fell silent before she could finish her sentence, upon taking a better look at the dark room. There were no windows there. The only light came from the open door and from a torch that hung from the far wall, which shed a warm orange light on the scene before her eyes.

There was a man tied to a chair, beaten bloody and bruised. His face was smeared in crimson, drops of it dripping from his mouth on the floor below him, and his left eye was swollen shut, the skin colored a deep purple. It seemed that he couldn't even raise his head to look at her, abused as he was.

Next to him stood another man, one who made Bonnie instinctively take a few steps back the moment she laid eyes on him. He was tall and broad, perhaps even more so than Finlay, with a mane of hair as dark as spilled ink. His eyes were just as dark, betraying nothing in the half-light of the room, and the beard that covered the lower half of his face gave him an even more menacing appearance.

What has he done? He is goin' tae kill him if he continues!

Could this be the captain? But why was he torturing that poor man on the chair?

Bonnie didn't know how to ask. In fact, she didn't know if she should ask at all, considering what the man had done. What if she provoked him and he unleashed his fury upon her?

Slowly, she began to backtrack, almost tripping on the hem of her dress as she tried to leave while keeping her eye on the man and reaching behind her for her bow and arrows. She hadn't gotten far, though, before he began to approach her, that predatory gaze now fixed on her.

"Where do ye think ye're going, lass?"