Bonus Prologue

BONUS PROLOGUE

V ery little struck Darren MacLean as ominous, but the heavy parchment letter, sealed with the king's signet certainly made him uneasy. It hadn't yet been a full season since he had sought audience with the king regarding the feud between himself and Donall Ranald, and he'd hoped to avoid royal notice for as long as possible.

A letter with the formal seal of the king meant a royal edict or a formal proclamation, both of which he could not ignore. At least it had come by courier, however, rather than a messenger with a summons. Whatever the command was, he would have some time to think about how to enact it.

Staring at the sealed envelope wouldn’t make it any easier to deal with the contents, whatever they were. With a grimace, Darren slid the point of a letter-opener under the wax seal and broke it open. He opened the envelope carefully, and removed the missive inside. A moment later, he had it unfolded and set on his desk.

Three minutes later, he sat back, letting loose a curse word that even his most battle-hardened guards would have raised an eyebrow at. He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and looked at the parchment again, praying the words had changed, or that he’d read something incorrectly.

To Laird Darren MacLean of the Clan MacLean of the Isle of Mull,

Greetings,

His Royal Majesty, upon further consideration of the events leading up to and occurring during the feud perpetuated between yourself and Lairds Conor and Donall Ranald, has determined that there shall be further steps taken to ensure that Clan Ranald is not left without a laird, and that nay further dispute shall be enacted between your two households.

It has come to His Majesty’s attention that Laird Ranald’s household has among its members a young woman of marriageable age with no formal contract for betrothal or other consideration to her name. Furthermore, His Majesty’s informants have discovered that her pedigree, as the proper-born, legitimate daughter of the previous laird, and the sister of the current Laird Ranald, makes her an acceptable match with which to seal an Alliance By Marriage between your two clans.

It is therefore His Majesty’s Royal Command that ye, as the Laird and only unwed male of the leading family of Clan MacLean, shall take as your wife Alayne Ranald, and assume temporary responsibilities over both your clan territories, until such time as Laird Ranald is granted leave to return to his ancestral seat, or a second son is born of your union with Lady Alayne, and raised to the appropriate age to claim those duties for his family.

Ye are hereby commanded, furthermore, to fulfill the terms of this Command in full, including consummation of the marriage, within no more than two months of receiving formal notice of the King’s Will. Failure to do so, without presenting a true and unalterable reason such as an inability to fulfill the duties of a husband, as verified by a trained Healer, shall result in the imprisonment of all responsible parties within the King’s dungeon, to await His Majesty’s pleasure for punishment, and the raising of a younger son or cadet line to the lairdship of both clans.

Yours,

By The King’s Command

The line below the final salutation was an illegible mass of flowing script that Darren knew was likely the name of whichever Royal Scribe had been given the task of drafting the letter. It didn’t matter. The king’s seal was set firmly below that, proof that the order was legitimate.

He felt as if some higher power was laughing at him, tormenting him. He’d refused Alayne’s hand once before, after all, and with good reason. The terms of the marriage contract would have put his clan at a disadvantage, and that was bad enough.

The real reason, though, was because he hadn’t known the lass, much less cared for her the way a husband, or even a betrothed, should care for his bride. He’d also seen within moments of the first meeting that she was a shy and sheltered lass, nearly beaten into complete submission by her cruel father. He hadn’t wanted a meek mouse of a maid for a wife, and wasn’t sure he could convince her of that. She’d looked absolutely terrified of him, clinging to her brother like a lifeline.

Darren was many things, an unrepentant kin-killer among them - though only because it had been done in self defense and defense of his brother - but he wasn’t the sort of man who would force a frightened and unwilling bride into a wedding she didn’t want. Nor was he the type to take a woman into his life without considering her happiness, which Laird Conor Ranald had clearly not cared a tin farthing about.

Darren eyed the missive on his desk, and snorted bitterly. All this time, trying to be an honorable man and act in a manner toward women that his mother would have approved of, and in the end, it was all for naught. He couldn’t risk the penalties that might befall his clan if he refused a royal command.

It wouldn’t be as terrible as the contract Conor Ranald had tried to force him to accept, at least, it wouldn’t be for him and Clan MacLean.

The real question was, how was he supposed to convince a young woman who had every reason to hate and despise him that he could truly be a good husband to her?