Chapter 1

Twelve Years Later

Fennella Mcpherson crouched in the dirt, the raindrops sliding down her tightly bound hair and onto her face. She wanted to pull her hood up to ward off the sudden downpour, but any slight movement could draw attention, which was the last thing she wanted.

The smell of wet earth surrounded her and she breathed it in, calming her soul. The recent row with her half brother had left her angered, but also with a cut upon her cheek for daring to speak against his demands. He had spoken of how she was not performing her duty to her family, to her laird, by turning down yet another marriage proposal.

The Scot had been covered in mud and stank as if he had bathed in it. Besides, Fennella felt as if she were worth far more than a few pigs as trade.

Yet another reason she longed to leave the keep for good, and would have if it weren't for her sisters. She, Moira, and Sorcha were all true siblings of her da and ma, her ma unable to bear a son to take their da's place.

So he went elsewhere for his sons and as a result, three half brothers were born from the women of the village. While Fennella was the true heir to the clan, she could not fight her da on naming Dearg his next in line.

When their da died on the battlefield, her true horror had begun, as now she was the only one to protect her clan, her sisters, and their family's legacy. Without her, the clan would starve and her sisters would be sold off to pay for Dearg's vices.

She could not allow that to happen.

"Yer soaking wet, lass."

Fennella looked up at her second-in-command, pressing her finger to her lips. He nodded as he hunkered next to her, his brawny shoulders brushing hers. Even in the rain, a sound could carry for miles around, but no matter how many times she told Will, he never seemed to understand what it meant to be completely quiet.

For Scots, being quiet was like cutting out their hearts. They were a loud lot.

Turning her attention back to the muddy road, she peered through the torrential rain, waiting for the caravan to appear. One of their scouts had made the bird call that there were travelers even in this weather, and Fennella had positioned herself and Will in such a way that they would ambush the caravan before they had a chance to draw their weapons.

It was a tried and true plan they had used time and time again, one that had attempted to right the wrongs of her clan.

On a full moon night, Fennella would hurry away from the keep, dressed in her brother's breeks, and meet the rebel bandits at an unnamed location, making plans to watch the main road to the keep and divest some weary traveler of goods.

Goods that would only be handed over to Dearg on arrival to the keep. Fennella had watched her brother, the laird of the Mcpherson clan, take goods meant for his people and hoard them away, never once sharing with the clan. The cellars overflowed with ale and grain, though the coffers that had once held their family's fortune were empty.

Anyone outside the keep, especially those that did not pledge their allegiance to the laird, were forced to eat the meager crops they could grow or forage the woods for animals.

Their clan was starving and Fennella felt as if she was the only one in her family that cared.

So she resorted to stealing from her own brother, secretly distributing the goods to the families beyond the keep, the families that needed the food the most. For three years she had directed the rebel bandits to watch the road, taking only what was needed and leaving the traveler with nothing more than a tale to tell.

Her brother suspected no one, though it was a mite difficult to keep the smirk off her face when he raged about the very fact from his perch in the main hall. After all, it was he who would inform in his boastful ways that the traveler was coming to the keep, giving Fennella ample time to set her plans in motion and then watch as they were executed.

Fennella did nothing more than steal from her brother, though many in the growing group of rebels wanted to build a resistance against Dearg and his cruel reign. Afraid that he would catch on, Fennella had tamped down the talks of overthrowing Dearg, knowing that he would snuff out any thought of rebellion by destroying even more innocent lives. She could not allow those deaths to be on her conscience.

One day she would be forced to abandon her mission, but for now, she continued on. Tonight, however, was different. One of the rebels had been injured in the fields and she had stepped in this evening, not wanting to put off this raid. She was nervous, but it was a sight better than waiting for them to finish.

Another bird call cut through the blinding rain and Fennella reached for her bow propped up on the fallen log, already extracting the arrow from the pack on her back. To keep her identity hidden, Fennella wore a mask to conceal her features, pulling the hood over her rich auburn hair. One slip and her brother would immediately know she was the one, and her sisters would suffer. Moira was at the tender age of sixteen, far old enough to wed if her brother chose to do so, though Fennella knew that their ma had wed at that age and become Lady of the keep. By thirteen, she had born Dearg and four other children in rapid succession.

It had been Sorcha that had been her downfall, and she had perished in childbirth, leaving her daughters in the hands of a hardened warrior, who had turned his backs on them in favor of his sons.

Now at twelve, Sorcha was Fennella's responsibility.

Her other half brother, Gavan, was rapidly turning into Dearg with each passing day, preferring to spend his time imbibing in ale than to learn the ways of a proud Scot warrior.

Their clan was failing.

The sound of a wagon clamoring down the muddy road caught Fennella's attention. She raised her hood, tucking it in tight against the pull of the strong wind, before nodding to Will, who was adjusting his own black mask. Will was a farmer's son, one who had lost both his da and his ma in the same season. She had found him in his family's hut, drinking the last of his da's ale, and together they had formed an unlikely friendship. In another time, as another person, Fennella might have had romantic notions about him.

The wagon grew closer and Fennella stepped out onto the road, her arrow pulled back tightly against her wet cheek as she waited.

There was a brawny Scot on horseback in front of the wagon; she aimed the arrow at his chest. "Halt!"

The rider stopped, his eyes flickering over her. Fennella was struck by his size, how he dwarfed even the massive steed he was traveling on, but she kept her arrow steady. "Kind sir, we will be divesting you of your wagon."

"Mah wagon?" he asked, his thick Scottish burr cutting through the night.

Fennella nodded as Will and the other two rebels approached the wagon, their swords drawn. "We have no reason tae harm ye."

The rider arched a brow. "Ye an" who else lass?"

Frowning, Fennella took a step forward. "You will be on your way shortly, as long as you do not give me reason to place this arrow in your bleeding Scot heart."

To her surprise, he chuckled. "I confess, this is the first time I am bein' robbed by a wee lass."

"'Tis won't likely be yer last," she said coldly, nodding to Will. Will let out the call and more rebels came from the wood, their arrows drawn on their seemingly difficult traveler. Now that they were outnumbered, he would have no reason to put up a fight.

The Scot looked around at the group of men, all masked and ready for a brawl. "Is this all, lass?"

"It"s enough tae tak" ye doon if ye choose tae fight ower yer goods," she said evenly, inwardly frustrated that he continued to doubt their ability. "Which we wull be divesting ye o" at this moment."

At her signal, Will motioned for the man driving the wagon to climb off the seat. Once he was secured with a bit of rope to a tree, he peered inside, letting out a low whistle.

That meant it was far more than they had hoped for, and Fennella's mood lightened. Spring was coming and the fields would need to be replanted if the clan was to survive the next winter. Her brother did not know of the fields that lay beyond the wood, out of any path that he would travel.

It was the only way she knew to keep hope alive within the clan. "We will be taking yer wagon."

The rider didn't react to her words, instead resting his hands on his saddlehorn. "Yer making a mistake lass."

"'Tis my mistake to make," Fennella said calmly. "I will be needing you to dismount yer horse."

"Are ye planning oan taking mah horse tae?"

Fennella shook her head, motioning for him to dismount. "A horse is a man's prized possession."

He grinned. "Next tae his boaby."

She glared at him and his grin faded, but he did dismount, leading his horse over to the side of the road. Fennella caught sight of the Claymore nestled in the cleft of his back, wondering if she could take him down with a mere arrow. Somehow she didn't think she would.

He was a warrior, and given the large sword on his back, a fine one at that.

Once he was standing on the side of the road in the tall grass, Fennella motioned for Will to get the wagon moving, where they would hide it in the woods before divesting it of the goods and scattering them before morning. Even if the traveler found the wagon after days of searching, there would be no sign of his goods, not in the wagon nor in the village.

Keeping her arrow trained on him, she motioned for another rebel to tie him to the tree along with his own man, who was silently watching the robbery. "Ye know ah will find ye," the traveler finally said as he allowed the rebel to tie him to the tree without a fight. "An" whin ah dae, ah will demand payment fur mah goods lost."

Satisfied that the ropes would hold him briefly at least, Fennella lowered her bow, relaxing the arrow. "I would expect nothing less, Scot. Someone will be by to let you free sooner or later."

"Ye play a dangerous game lass," he called out. "A game ye cannae win."

Fennella walked away as his threats called out behind her. If only he knew how often she had played this game, risking her life and that of her sisters to keep the clan alive.

No, she knew she could win the game...for now.

Fennella followed the wagon ruts until they moved off the road and into the grassy pasture that would lead to the woods. It wasn't until she had put some miles between her and the traveler that the knot in her shoulders eased some. There had been something about him, about the way that he had followed her every movement with his eyes.

She found Will and the others in the clearing, surrounding the wagon to protect it. "What's in it?" Fennella asked. "What did you see?"

Will grinned. "Mair than ah had expected fur us tae fin" lassie."

She walked over and peered in, surprised at the amount of food stores and ale packed away under the canvas. There were also silver candlesticks, and dried pelts, one so white that she longed to run her hand over it to feel its softness. The traveler had not looked like a trader, but a hard warrior, so why did he have such goods in this wagon?

And why was he taking them to Dearg?

Fennella sucked in a breath, a notion clearing in her mind. These weren't just trading goods, these were wedding gifts, which meant Dearg was marrying off one of them to the brawny Scot!

"I must go," Fennella forced out, her tongue thick in her mouth, bile rising in the back of her throat. Dearg could not mean to marry off one of her sisters. They were too young, too inexperienced in the ways of life outside of the keep.

And against that Scot, they wouldn't last a season.

"What dae you want us tae dae wi" this?" Will called out as Fennella started toward the keep.

"The same as we always do," she called back, not bothering to turn around. If they were truly wedding gifts of sorts, then it was best to use them in order to help clan and not her brothers.

Stripping off her mask, Fennella threw it into the woods, not bothering that she would not have it for the next raid. Something was not sitting well with her and she intended to find out what Dearg was up to.

For if he had plans for her sisters, she would be ruining them.

* * *