Chapter 1

1

B ridget stumbled across the rocky terrain with one hand on the guide rope and the other struggling to get her tied trunks to cooperate under such strenuous conditions.

It had been a rough couple of weeks of traveling, what with a storm following her every move, and it seemed as though she'd never reach her destination. The rain soaked through her clothes as she trudged along the shoreline with the crew and passengers from the schooner. It also soaked into her trunks and made them heavy with water.

I just need to get over this hill and reach the village. One more step, that's all I need to do. Just one more. And then another.

As Bridget scanned the area, her hopes began to fizzle out. Where was the bustling village Evelyn had told her about? Where were the happy faces? All Bridget seemed to see was the thick, heavy, gray blanket of fog stretched out as far as the horizon.

"Come on, move it," a man grumbled behind her.

Bridget swallowed hard and stepped to the side to let the large man pass her.

"Excuse me," she said in a singsong voice, hoping to catch the sailor's attention. "Where can I find MacArthur lands?"

"Ye're lookin' right at it, lass. Or are yer English eyes nae accustomed to the Scottish clouds?" The man's words were short and sprinkled with a pinch of irritation that Bridget couldn't ignore.

She glared daggers at him as he passed her by with a hearty chuckle. As Bridget rounded a gray stone wall and stumbled up the sloppy slope, she let out a gasp of astonishment.

A small village stretched out before her as the fog slowly rose from the ground, revealing the inhabitants who lurked under its protective blanket. She didn't know what she had been expecting—perhaps a grand castle rising against the cliffs. Instead, the fishing village was meek and rundown. The thatched roofs had deteriorated into mere shreds, and everyone wore the same hopeless expression.

As she sloshed toward the village, Bridget prayed this wasn't what she'd have to call her sanctuary. The air had a dank and musty odor that made her wrinkle her nose. Despite her efforts not to reveal that she was affected by the stench, she couldn't help it. No doubt her disgusted facial expression caused the villagers to grimace at her as she passed by.

A lovely way to make a first impression. I bet they can smell the English on me. Please just don't let them smell the fear.

"Get a move on, ye're blockin' the path. Ye think every road to the village is this nice? Nay, now move along," another man grumbled as he towed his oxen and wagon through the muck.

Evelyn's description of the place was very different from the village before Bridget. For a brief moment, she wondered if she'd made the right choice in coming to this dismal place.

"Excuse me," she said as she struggled with her wedding dress, which was now nothing more than scraps of fabric around the hem.

"Bugger off," the woman said with a wave of her hand as if to shoo Bridget away.

Bridget's lower lip began trembling as doubt slithered around her and threatened to crush her resolve.

"I just need to know where I might find Laird MacArthur," Bridget insisted as she struggled with her trunks, which had sunk into the mud like ship anchors. "Please."

Bridget scanned the area, hunting for a friendly or familiar face. But the villagers, weary from their day, didn't have time for the likes of her.

"Need help there, Me Lady?" a young voice called out from behind her.

Turning slowly, she was stunned to see two young children standing before her. The little girl batted her eyelashes as the boy beside her removed his cap and flashed her a huge grin.

"No, that's quite all right. I'm sure I can manage on my own, thank you," Bridget said, clinging to the handles of her trunks as she pulled them haltingly through the mud.

"Please, Miss, we've nae got two coppers to rub together. Just let us help for a bit of coin. It'll help me to feed me sick sister," the boy said, nodding his head toward the girl.

Bridget pressed her lips into a tight line. "Fine." She exhaled and handed the trunk straps over to the boy. "But be careful. The last thing I want is for the trunks to pop open and everything to spill out."

"Of course," the boy said and gave a nod to the girl, who quickly snatched the smaller trunk.

"If you'd be so kind as to direct me to Laird MacArthur. I do believe he's expecting me and—Oy, wait, what are you doing? Stop!"

Bridget shouted at the top of her lungs as she watched the children take all she had and bolt down the alleyways in opposite directions. Her heart sank into her sour stomach as she tried to muster her strength and courage.

"You little hellions, get back here! Thieves, devils, you'll pay for this, I promise you!" Bridget yelled as she took off after the girl.

She figured, at the very least, she'd get some of her things back, but tracking the girl became far harder than she'd anticipated. The child was fast and small, able to fit into openings Bridget could not due to her size. It was bad enough to be racing through a fishing village caked in muck and mire, but to have to do it in her wedding dress was just too much.

The sounds of the children laughing at her only stoked her anger. She charged onward, refusing to let them get away. Even if she never got a single piece of clothing back, she'd get those children and teach them a lesson in manners.

"Ye're too slow, ye English—" the boy shouted over his shoulder, only to be cut off by a clap of thunder overhead.

Bridget stopped dead in her tracks and whirled about, hunting for the source of the danger. Her heart skipped a beat as the children slipped into the shadows of the woods.

Clever, little imps.

"This doesn't scare me, I'm quite fond of forests," Bridget shouted, more to ease her nerves.

She paused for a moment and turned about. She hadn't realized when the shore had given way to the grove of trees. She'd been so focused on tracking the girl that she hadn't stopped to realize the trap she'd just walked into.

"Of course, this is what I would get," she grumbled and threw her hands up.

Retrieving her things was out of the question. What she needed to do was to find her way back to the fishing village and locate the Laird. But as she turned and looked at the trees around her, she felt an overwhelming sense of dread wash over her.

Swallowing hard, she strained her ears to listen for any signs of the children or animals that would be trekking through the area. Every snapped twig caused her to jolt. Frustrated that she had been so foolish to think anyone here would help her, Bridget tried to ignore the nagging feeling in her gut that warned her of an impending risk to her safety.

"Out of all the people this could have happened to, why did it have to happen to me?" Bridget grumbled to the forest as she pushed aside the thick bushes and low-hanging branches. "Because I had to be all brave and stick up for myself. I should have just married the fool—at least then I wouldn't be in a bog, up to my shins in mud. But no, I had to be all noble and run away."

Bridget paused again and wiped the sweat from her brow. Turning her head about, she tried to determine in which direction she was heading, but a new wave of fog came in, replacing what had just drifted out, making the terrain nearly impossible to navigate.

"This isn't happening," Bridget huffed as her heart sank with despair. "Seriously? Fog? Why not? And since we're at it, why not throw in a flash flood to boot."

As if on point, thunder rumbled over her head. Bridget stopped and dropped to the forest floor. Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks as she looked around. She couldn't believe how just this morning, she was warm and safe, and now… now she was lost with no clue if anyone would ever be able to find her.

It also didn't help her spirits to watch the rest of the day slowly drift away. Bridget swallowed hard as she wondered what would become of her. She never thought her life would end in such a miserable way.

"This is not how I go out of this world," Bridget said stubbornly, rising to her feet. Although her dress was tattered and frayed, she smoothed out the wrinkles and brushed away the loose soil. "I'm going to find a way out of here."

Bridget glanced at the trees around her, hunting for their mossy side. With her direction set, she started on her way. The nocturnal sounds haunted her every move. It seemed as if the crickets were calling for her doom while the owls laughed as they flew overhead.

Bridget tried not to think of all the horror stories she had read about the bogs and moors of Scotland. She didn't want to think about stumbling upon a fairy ring or becoming ensnared by a wisp's enchantment. If she was going to make it out of the woods, she was going to need to keep her wits about her.

"Just breathe. There's no such thing as brownies, sprites, or ghosts, so there should be no reason why I'm petrified right now."

The snapping of twigs made her blood freeze in her veins. Rooted to the spot, Bridget tried to hold her breath as she listened. A rustling of branches and shrubs added to her worry. A part of her wanted to call out and demand whoever was there show themselves, but at the same time, she wasn't certain she was ready to face whatever lurked in the darkest parts of the forest.

Please just go away. I promise I will never set a toe in this place again. Just let me get safely through these trees and out the other side.

Bridget's ears perked up as heavy steps trudged through the forest. Her wild mind envisioned what was about to come out of the shadows. Bracing herself for the worst, she kept her eyes fixed on the tree line.

"Ye shouldnae be out here alone, lass."

The husky voice was out of place and broke the silence. Bridget hadn't realized just how quiet the area had become until he spoke. Turning slowly, her eyes widened as fear curled its talons around her courage, threatening to tear it to shreds.

Towering over her was a huge monster of a man. His broad shoulders looked as if they had no trouble hauling around the weight of the world. The bold manner in which he carried himself deeply rattled Bridget.

"I'm… I'm… sorry." Bridget fumbled over the words as she stumbled backward, nearly tripping over her feet.

He was very, very tall. What was he doing out here at this hour? Of course, he was probably asking himself the same thing about her.

"How did ye get out this far?" he asked as a streak of lightning jumped between the dark clouds, illuminating the area just long enough to give Bridget a glimpse of him.

Terror gripped her, stealing her common sense and wits.

Before Bridget could answer his question, she let out a blood-curdling scream and fell. She didn't wait to scramble away from the man with the strangely shaped face. To her eyes, it looked as if he was wearing a ghastly face atop his own, only the skin was too stretched and appeared to be barely hanging on.

Her scream caused the birds to wake up and take flight. Even the other critters around her went silent as she scrambled away from the man.

"No, leave me. Leave me," she pleaded as she stumbled toward the darkest, deepest part of the forest.

"Wait."