Prologue

PROLOGUE

A berdeen, Scotland

June, 1728

“Och, I dinnae want tae be the princess! Can’t I be the queen or a knight instead?” Little Gemma protested, clearly perturbed that the boys were doing all the directing in their playtime.

“Nay, lassies cannae be knights. An’ a queen wouldn’t be captured since she has a king tae protect her,” Bryce reasoned.

“So I’m tae sit here while ye play swords?” She asked glumly.

“Aye,” Colin answered. “But dinnae worry, lass. I’ll be a good villain an’ take care o’ ye.”

“Villains are mean!” Gemma shouted.

“Aye, they are, which is why I have tae save ye,” Bryce answered, drawing his makeshift sword. The boys had found large sticks out in the forest beyond the keep earlier that day and decided they’d be wonderful play weapons. As Highlands boys, they were already being trained in the art of weaponry and soldiering, but they were still too young to have their own swords. At a mere nine years of age, Bryce was already showing signs of leadership and courage. As well he should — as the laird’s son, he’d be expected to lead the people when he came of age. He looked the part already, with his red hair cropped close to his head, and posture as stiff as a wooden beam.

Colin was a year older, but happy to let Bryce take the lead. He too would be expected to be a leader when he was older, albeit in a different way. His father was the captain of the guard, so Colin was sure to follow in his lead soon.

Gemma had a different path. As a girl, she’d be expected to marry, produce children, then take care of said children and home. It was a different kind of pressure, but not one she was worried about at seven years old. Her main priorities were her dolls, her friends, and making sure she finished her chores on time when asked to. Being the daughter of a wealthy titled merchant, she had certain privileges that other young ladies did not. It made for a comfortable life, but in the end, her fate would be the same as all other ladies.

“Can’t I save myself?” she asked, already growing tired of this game.

“Nay,” Bryce said. “I want tae do it.”

Gemma sighed and let the boys play their game while she played the part of damsel in distress. The boys had drawn a small chalk square on the stone ground, indicating the walls of the tower that imprisoned her, as she’d objected to being tied to the post where the horses were kept. Eventually, she came to the conclusion that it was probably better to be trapped in the makeshift tower, as Bryce and Colin were smacking each other hard with the sticks. As she was much smaller than they were, one well-placed blow would knock her flat on her back and seriously injure her. No, it was best to hang back and let the boys be boys. She pulled some loose pieces of grass from between the stones of the courtyard, and began to braid them into a small circular shape. She was already quite good at handicrafts, and had been sewing small articles of clothing since she turned four. Three years had seen her fingers grow even more nimble, so she braided as she watched the boys fight. When she had braided all the grass around her imaginary prison, she decided to braid her own hair as well, little fingers dexterously passing her long dark locks between them.

“Back, ye villain!” Bryce cried, brandishing the stick as though it were made of the finest steel. Colin jumped and dodged, already quick on his feet at a young age. A small group of other children had gathered in the courtyard too, and Bryce took the opportunity to assemble them like an army. With a loud cry, the ragtag band of children descended upon Colin and disarmed him. As one of the other children “arrested” Colin and prepared to throw him into the “dungeon,” Bryce confidently swaggered up to the tower, bowed deeply, and extended his hand to Gemma.

“I hope I dinnae keep ye waitin’ long, lass,” he said gallantly. “Ye are now free from this villain.”

“Thank ye, sir, I couldnae have escaped myself,” she answered.

Except, she was sure she could, in a real situation. But this had been the boys’ game from the beginning, so she simply played her part.

Bryce planted a kiss on her cheek, and Gemma shrieked at the unexpected contact. Immediately, she pushed him away and chased him into the stables.

“Bryce MacNeill, what’re ye doin’ wi’ this poor lassie?” came the Laird’s voice from inside the keep. Captain Douglas Frazier, Colin’s father, followed him.

“I just rescued her from Colin!” he cried.

“Oh aye, did ye now?” the laird asked, looking between Bryce and Gemma.

“He had an army. They did most o’ the work,” Gemma said flatly.

Bryce’s cheeks reddened as his father guffawed at Gemma’s candid honesty. Just then, Colin ran up to join the two of them, face streaked with dirt, but grinning nonetheless.

“We were watchin’ ye from the hall,” Colin’s father said. “Ye put up a good fight, lad. ‘Tis hard tae take on an entire army all by yerself.”

“I coulda done it,” Colin maintained stoutly.

“Aye, I’m sure,” his father said, patting him gently on the shoulder, “but let’s hope ye never have tae. Come inside now. ‘Tis growin’ dark an’ the speeches are about tae start.”

The children reluctantly followed the adults inside — or at least, the boys were reluctant. Gemma was rather glad to be going back into the warmth of the castle. It was rather cold for June, and she’d refused to wear a coat over her gown earlier in the day.

Colin fell in step alongside her.

“I dinnae want tae be the villain,” he said, hands clasped behind his back, a habit he’d learnt from his father.

“‘Tis alright. Next time ye can be my hero,” Gemma said. “Look, here. I made this when Bryce captured me.”

She handed him the small circle of braided grass, which she’d managed to embellish with the small yellow petals of a dandelion.

Colin took it gracefully, turning it over in his palm and inspecting it.

“Very bonny,” he praised.

Gemma smiled.

“I’ve just learnt how tae braid wi’ more than three strands. So I made ye a ring,” she explained.

Colin smiled, a sweet, toothy grin that only a ten-year-old could have and still be considered cute. The dimples on either side of his mouth only added to his charm. His red hair had come loose from the tie at the back, sticking to his sweaty face.

“I’ll keep it forever, m’lady,” he said, gently pushing it on the third finger of his left hand.

“It’ll wilt,” Gemma warned.

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t.”

How he was going to control the natural cycle of plant life, Gemma wasn’t sure, but she trusted Colin when he said that. Had he been able to play the hero today, she was sure she would have been rescued quicker. He smiled and squeezed her hand before running off to join his family, and she hers. Gemma had a fleeting feeling that she’d always be able to count on Colin.