Chapter 1

Chapter 1

A few weeks earlier…

Deirdre lay on the soft sheets of her comfortable bed in the McFerguson keep, her long red hair splayed across the pillow. She stared out of the window as the sun rose over the mountains in the near distance. Her room had every comfort that any young woman could ever have asked for and more; her bed was the kind that could quell a raging giant into the land of slumber, her view so breathtaking that it captured the heart of what it meant to be a Scottish woman living in the Highlands.

And yet, she could not sleep. It had been months since she slept for more than three or four hours a night at most, and oftentimes she didn't sleep at all. Truthfully, she could not remember ever sleeping a full, peaceful night in the last few years. Her body was exhausted, and she made up what little she could with short naps throughout the day, but still, she longed for a good night's sleep.

Aoife claimed that Deirdre's lack of sleep was her own doing, but Aoife made many claims these days. In fact, everything that Deirdre did seemed to be wrong in the eyes of her sister now, ever since she'd found her "prince" at last. Aoife had announced her betrothal to William McLeod, a wealthy merchant from the Brennan clan, a few months before—and it had led to a break in their closeness that Deirdre had never thought would happen.

"How can ye be betrothed tae William McLeod when ye've never met him?" Deirdre had demanded, incredulous. "Ye only ken his father and sisters. Why would ye marry a man ye dinnae ken?"

"William has written tae me. I ken him," Aoife had replied, pride emanating in her every word. "And I'll have plenty of time to get tae ken him more after we're wed and travelin' together on his merchant trips."

"Ye'd abandon us! When the war is still on, when Bram still wants us dead?"

Aoife's eyes had narrowed dangerously when she responded. "There's not been a major battle for over a year now, Deirdre. Do ye not think I've done enough, given enough, tae this 'war'? Our father and uncle's squabbles have turned intae a deadly curse for their bairns. I watch the wee ones growin', and no doubt I'll have bairns of me own in a year or two as well. Am I tae stay here, then, and pass on their grandfather's battles tae them as well?"

Deirdre had gasped. "How can ye say that? Bram killed his own father. He razed innocent villages. He tried to kill us, over and over. This war has gone beyond any of what ye just said. Bram must be stopped. And ye'll marry a stranger ye haven't even met and leave it all behind? What of yer duty?"

Aoife's laugh had been unkind. "Don't talk tae me about duty! Am I to have nothin' of me own?"

"But why this ?"

"It's just somethin' ye can't understand, Deirdre. Ye're too young."

Deirdre's anger had flared. "Young? I'm the same age as Blair and Jocelyn were when they were wed," Deirdre had protested. "When will ye stop treatin' me like a bairn?"

"When ye stop actin' like one!"

Deirdre and Aoife's relationship had changed. Though Deirdre had always been close to all three of her sisters, Aoife—only two years her senior—had always been the one she felt closest to. First Blair, then Jocelyn, had taken on the role of 'mother' to the younger girls in a sense, taking care of them in the absence of another parent until they'd reached freedom here in James's clan. But Deirdre and Aoife had always just been sisters, the two youngest united against a world of confusion and fear. Now that there was a rift between them, nothing seemed to make sense.

It wasn't just that, though, that was stopping Deirdre from sleeping, though of course it certainly didn't help. She had felt the tensions building in the keep again, whispers and angry words that were not meant for her hearing. Something big was coming—something awful.

Four years had passed since their escape, four years free of the home that had become their prison back in Clan McMillan. Four years since Bram had burned Whisperer's Rest to the ground and started a war that had claimed many lives. In the first couple of years, it had seemed that there was a battle every week or so, Bram pushing into the clan and James's men defending. All to protect their Lady and her sisters and claim justice for the innocents dead by Bram's orders.

Aoife was right about one thing, though; in the last year and a half, the battles had quelled. Occasionally, there was a minor skirmish, but no out-and-out fighting for quite some time.

Not that there had been peace. Instead, things had become more insidious. There had been several assassination attempts on each of the sisters in the last year or two, some of which had come uncomfortably close to success. Deirdre herself had been accosted by a man in the market the year before and would have been killed outright if her brother-in-law, Lachlan, had not appeared as if out of nowhere and struck the man down.

"Bram's assassins may be nothin' compared tae our Wraith," Blair had told her two youngest sisters in the aftermath, "But, nonetheless, they are trained and dangerous. Neither of ye are tae leave the keep without a guard under any circumstances. Understood?"

Aoife had been more than happy to obey her sister's order. She enjoyed the comforts of the keep and the lavish lifestyle afforded to them—within reason, of course; James and Blair did not allow obscene overspending like the nobility of England—but Deirdre had quickly grown restless. What was the point, she wondered, in being free if it meant she was trapped again?

The sun had fully risen now, and Deirdre sighed, sliding out of bed. She grabbed for her brush and quickly braided her hair into something manageable, sliding a few pins to keep it in place. There was no point in just laying here thinking, not when her thoughts would just spiral in endless circles that would no doubt eventually lead to resentment. In the past, she would have gone to Aoife, and they would have played one of their spoken-word games. But that was a memory from a childhood past, and now Deirdre had to find her own way.

After dressing, she left her room, pacing down the corridor past the nursery, and quietly opened the door to look inside. While Callum had his own room now, the three younger children still slept here, and all three were deep in their slumber. She passed Stuart, who had a year left before he too would get his own room, and smiled faintly. In the little bed beside his, snoozed Jack, at that awkward age where he was just finishing being a toddler and soon would enter childhood. Both boys slept with identical expressions on their faces, cousins as close as brothers, and Deirdre prayed that they would always have that closeness.

Deirdre walked a little further into the nursery toward the beautiful hand-hewn crib which rested against the far wall. She leaned over it and saw little Faith snoozing, her tiny arms stretched above her head as she slept. Faith was just under a year old, quite a bit younger than her brother, and though Deirdre would never admit it out loud, she had a special soft spot for her niece. Though she adored all three nephews with all of her heart, her niece made her think of herself and her sisters and the childhood that they should have had.

She reached down and brushed a finger against Faith's soft cheek. The baby yawned, clenching and unclenching her little fist, but did not wake.

"We're goin' to make the world perfect for ye," Deirdre vowed quietly. "Ye'll see."

She stood there for a moment, then started as a shadow fell across the room as someone else stood in the doorway. Deirdre stifled a gasp and turned, but relaxed as soon as she saw who was standing there.

"Sorry tae frighten ye!" Gracie whispered. "I didnae think I'd see ye here."

Deirdre smiled and headed back across the room to the other girl's side. Gracie, Lachlan's sister, was around Deirdre's age and had become a close friend of hers over the past four years since they'd both moved into the McFerguson keep. Gracie had been allowed to live in the castle completely without expectation, but she'd explained she wanted to be useful. So, she had become Deirdre's attendant over the years, not quite a maid but not quite a lady in waiting either.

"Good mornin' tae ye," Deirdre greeted her when she reached her. "Did ye come tae see the bairns?" After all, Jack and Faith were Gracie's nephew and niece as well as Deirdre's. In fact, both children had been named after Gracie and Lachlan's late siblings, one of whom had been Gracie's twin.

The thought made Deirdre shiver. What must it be like, to lose a sibling? Gracie had been too young to remember, really, but she said part of her still remembered Faith, if not the other siblings. Lachlan, who was older, had seen more of them come and go. Deirdre tried to imagine going on after such a loss—if it had been Blair, or Jocelyn, or Aoife, would she still be able to smile as Gracie did? She didn't know if she would. Even the thought of it tore at her soul.

"Aye," Gracie said, chasing away the dark thoughts with her smile. "I suppose ye had the same thoughts. Just give me a wee moment."

Deirdre nodded and waited while Gracie visited the baby, then the children—she showed almost as much affection to Blair's children as she did Jocelyn's, even though the former weren't technically related to her—then returned to Deirdre's side. The two young women left the nursery, closing the door quietly behind them, leaving the children to continue their slumber.

"It's so strange that Callum isn't in the nursery anymore," Deirdre noted as they walked along the hallway. "I can't believe he's grown so big."

"Aye, well, he's always been a wee man, ever since I've kent him," Gracie said cheerfully. "As is proper. After all, he'll be Laird someday. Though, God willin', no' for many years yet!"

Deirdre smiled. She loved Gracie's village accent, which the girl had stubbornly clung to even after moving into the castle. She loved how of the people Gracie was—the very people that made the beating heart of the clan, the soul of Scotland. "God willin', aye," she agreed.

Gracie glanced at her, and her smile faded slightly. "An' ye, Deirdre?" she asked, speaking with familiarity in a way that would have been inappropriate from any other attendant but seemed natural from her—after all, they were family. "Ye've black bags under yer eyes, an' ye're pale as a sheet. Have ye gone another night wi' nae sleep, then?"

"I slept," Deirdre protested, unconvincingly.

Snorting, Gracie asked, "Aye, an' how many hours? Two? Three? Ye cannae keep goin' like this. Jocelyn will kill me if ye collapse intae yer breakfast."

"Och, I've not collapsed yet."

" Yet ."

Deirdre laughed, but a bit of sadness rippled through her too. She loved having Gracie as a friend, but it just highlighted the fact that Aoife, once her closest confidante, had pulled far away from her.

She shook her head, banishing the melancholy. "Come," she said, "Let's go and see if there's anythin' in the kitchen to break our fast at this early hour."

Perhaps, with some food and some friends, she could take her mind off of the melancholy she felt now. Though, if she was honest, she doubted it.

Deirdre smiled at the two new guards, Diarmid and Liam, who had joined the clan a few months ago. They'd been thoroughly investigated before being accepted, James always conscious and mindful of assassins, but both had proven to be hardworking and loyal in the few months they'd been here. Now, they stood posted outside of James's war room, each responding to her smile with a polite nod of their own.

"Good mornin', me Lady," Liam said politely.

"Lady, I'm not," she chuckled. "Ye want Blair for that."

Diarmid obviously bit back a laugh at that. "Aye? Well, Lady Aoife certainly didn't correct us on her title this mornin'."

"Aoife's been a princess since she was born," Deirdre replied. It was supposed to be a joke, but it came out with a little more of a bite than she'd intended.

If the guards noticed, neither of them commented on it. Instead, Liam just said, "It's a privilege tae serve all four of ye, Miss Deirdre."

Deirdre fully believed he meant that—though she had a suspicion that the man enjoyed serving Aoife in particular more than any of them. She'd caught the way he looked at her sister, the way his smile widened when she was around. She wondered if Aoife noticed, or if she was too tied up in ideas of her 'prince'.

And she wondered if anyone would ever look at her that way.

Her head was full of such things as she entered the war room and took her customary place by Aoife's side. They sat with James's council members at the smaller table, while at the high table sat James and Blair and their top councilors—Lachlan, a few of James's closest advisors, and Jocelyn, the only other woman.

Jocelyn had gained her place there a few years prior with a speech she'd given, rallying the clan to defend their home. The men treated Jocelyn with as much respect as they did her husband, calling her the She-Wolf, despite how much the bookish, quiet woman protested that she was nothing of the sort. At least, not unless she had to be. Between her and Blair, the power of the two women on that top table was staggering, and Deirdre was both awed and humbled by the strength of her sisters.

That being said, she wished they'd not let it get to their heads so much. Sometimes, it felt like her older sisters were so determined to shoulder every burden that they treated her like a child. Deirdre knew she'd been shielded and perhaps a bit spoiled when she was younger, being the baby of the family, but she was no child any longer. She just wished the rest of them would see that. She wanted to fight, too. She wanted to show the same strength that her sisters had time and again.

She knew she had to be patient, though. She'd had to fight and argue to even be included in these meetings, which the others had wanted to exclude her from "for her own sake". But she'd protested that, in order to stay safe, wouldn't it be better for her to know what was going on? Though they hadn't liked it, they finally relented—but only just.

And so, for now, Deirdre sat quietly as one of James's senior advisors started the meeting by announcing, briefly, the latest news from the clan. Bram's men were still steering clear of the borders for now, which was good to hear. After four years, the farms at Whisperer's Rest were once again thriving, and slowly, families were beginning to repopulate the once-abandoned village. In addition, the clan's numbers had risen significantly in the last few months due to marriages and births. All in all, it was good news.

While Deirdre was glad to hear the positivity, she knew it wouldn't last for long. The atmosphere in the room was taut, as everyone was waiting for the same thing she was: Lachlan's report on the security of the keep and the surrounding areas. Sure enough, when Lachlan stood and spoke, the news was less cheerful. They'd caught a few stealth invaders just a week before, attempting to sneak through the castle town and into the keep disguised as traders. Bram had not given up on them, not even a little bit, and the danger still lurked around every corner.

Then James stood and began to speak. "I understand that this is not what we wanted tae hear, friends," he started calmly. Blair gave him a fond look, and James beamed back at her. It made Deirdre smile to see, but also brought the same question back again. How would she ever find someone who looked at her that way? "But we're a strong people, and a strong clan. Take heart in the news that our allies are growin' in number, though our conversations with Brennan are still somewhat stagnant. Clan Brennan has committed tae neutrality, and…"

Clan Brennan? But…

"That's not what I heard," Deirdre blurted out before she could stop herself.

All eyes turned to her. Deirdre blushed, and Aoife elbowed her hard in the ribs and hissed at her to stay quiet. She knew she should—but she just couldn't keep it to herself. Not something this important.

"The villagers are sayin' that Laird Brennan met with Bram," she said, loudly and clearly. "They're sayin' that?—"

"And how would ye ken such a thing?" Blair asked, slicing through the shocked silence of the rest of the room. "Deirdre, have ye been down in the town again? How many times must we tell ye?—"

Deirdre cursed internally. She'd known she'd be reprimanded, but surely they could listen to what she had to say first? It was too important, after all, to ignore. "That's not relevant," she insisted. "I'm tryin' tae tell ye that Clan Brennan is sidin' with the enemy. They?—"

"Deirdre, it's been made very clear we can't guarantee yer safety unless ye follow our rules," James interrupted now, sounding tired. "I give ye freedom of the keep, but?—"

"Can ye just listen? I'm?—"

But Jocelyn spoke over her now. "It's not safe for ye tae be out by yerself. What were ye thinkin'? Ye were nearly hurt in that village not so long ago, are ye mad tae go there alone?"

"Listen tae me!"

"It's not a matter of listenin'," Lachlan said calmly. "My job and the job of my men is tae protect ye. We all in this room agreed ye'd not leave without an escort. Ye must understand that."

Deirdre's blush deepened. "I do understand, really. But…"

Aoife made a tutting sound. Under her breath, so as not to embarrass her to the councilors, she said, "Honestly, Deirdre, can ye not grow up a little bit? We're not bairns anymore."

That was it. Deirdre couldn't take it anymore—especially not that . She abruptly pushed away from the table, her chair scraping hard against the stone ground, and got to her feet. Then, before anyone else could stop her, she rushed out of the room.

Let them have their meeting without her. She knew when she wasn't welcome.

Though lately, that felt like always.