Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Three years later, Clan Chattan

" A h, come now, Aila! I ken ye were up tae somethin'. " Ian peered around the castle wall, observing the young woman as she stealthily moved away from the premises. She cast nervous glances over her shoulder, her striking blue eyes scanning the surroundings. It was evident that she was cautious about being followed, but she had yet to spot Ian. "Whaur are ye gan?" Ian whispered to himself, keeping a safe distance while he observed her.

Aila had been residing in Laird Chattan's castle for a few months now, and not a single day had passed without Ian suspecting something amiss. As Laird Noah Chattan's brother, it fell upon Ian to ensure the well-being of all castle guests, particularly since Lady Scarlett Chattan had recently given birth to their son, and her attention was preoccupied. Ian took this responsibility seriously, and the moment he had encountered Aila, he sensed that something was awry.

What are ye hidin', lass?

As Aila sneaked away from the castle, pulling up the hood of a dark black cloak to conceal her face, Ian discreetly followed suit. Since she wasn't mounted on a horse, he saw no need to do so either. He trailed behind her on foot, traversing the drawbridge where the stench of horse manure filled the air, and passing by the market stalls at the town's periphery, where the enticing aromas of freshly baked bread and cured hams lingered. Aila never paused to peruse the market; instead, she strode forward with determination, swiftly departing the town and venturing into the forest.

"I kent she was up tae somethin', yet naebody believed me," Ian muttered to himself, pausing by a stall. He exchanged a few loose coins with the vendor and procured a large leather hat, which he pulled down low over his brow, obscuring his long face and the dark blond hair cascading around his ears.

When Aila had first arrived at the castle, it had been a tumultuous time. Her sister, Callie, who had served as a healer for the Chattans, had been injured during a mission she and her now-husband Avery undertook to dismantle the brothel they once belonged to. Ian had heard firsthand accounts from Callie and Avery themselves about Gowan Mathieson's tyranny, exploiting women and forcing them into selling their bodies for his own gain. He had falsely pinned the reputation of the brothel owner on his eldest daughter, Fiadh, but his dominion over that establishment and the courtesans had come to an end. Callie and Avery managed to escape as Gowan attempted to murder them both with the assistance of his courtesan, Ella. Callie had brought her sister Aila along in their escape.

Since then, Gowan had been arrested for evading taxes and tithes, languishing in the dungeons of the neighboring clan under Laird Buchanan's jurisdiction. He had left behind an empty brothel house. Callie rejoiced at her father's demise, his malicious ways finally put to an end. However, Ian remained unsure of Aila's true sentiments.

She was always so reticent, preferring to fade into the shadows of a crowded room. Unlike her outspoken sister, Aila seldom spoke and kept to herself. Her enigmatic behavior left Ian suspicious, yet when he shared his misgivings with others, he encountered a dearth of evidence.

"All I'm sayin', brother, is that she was with Gowan Mathieson for many a year," Ian had warned his brother, Laird Noah, the night prior. "Ye cannae be certain o' what lies in her heart, unlike Callie, who escaped and forged her own path. For all we ken, Aila might sympathize with her father and now be harboring secret intentions. She could even be plotting his release from that dungeon one day."

"Ian, ye have nae proof." Noah was a steadfast and just laird, as well as a good brother. Though they shared a dram o' whisky, Noah did not dismiss Ian's suspicions but demanded concrete evidence. "If ye wish to be certain that she cannae be trusted, then ye must find some evidence to support yer claims."

"Very well. I shall find that evidence."

Noah withdrew to attend to his wife and son, leaving Ian alone with his whisky. Once again, he caught a glimpse of Aila skulking about the castle in the dead o' night. And now, she was up to her old tricks this morning.

I shall find that evidence, even if it means tailing Aila wherever she goes.

He trailed her through the town and into the forest. Here, he had to keep an even greater distance, for she chose a path through the trees that was seldom trodden, and his presence behind her would have been too apparent. As he tracked her amidst the Douglas firs and past a shimmering loch, constantly seeking refuge behind neighboring trees, Ian reminded himself of his purpose.

I dinnae trust Aila, and as a brother to the Laird, it is my duty to keep this clan safe, regardless of the foe.

Aila froze on the trail and turned around. Ian swiftly pressed himself against the nearest oak tree, melding into its trunk to conceal himself. He listened intently, but the ground did not echo beneath her footsteps, nor did twigs snap. She had stopped and showed no intention to move forward.

Ian dared to steal a glance, observing her from behind the tree.

Therein lay one complication with his suspicions of Aila, now starkly evident as she scanned the spaces between the trees, searching for something or someone.

Aye, she possesses a grace.

Aila's movements exuded an enchanting elegance. From the very first night she arrived at the castle, he knew she was a beauty. Her piercing light blue eyes seemed to delve deep within him. Her chestnut brown hair, forever escaping its confines, enticed any man who passed her with its soft curls.

Her allure infuriated Ian. He understood he should feel naught but indifference towards a woman who behaved with such secrecy and suspicion.

Abruptly, she stiffened and peered through the trees. Apparently, she had found whatever or whomever she sought. Departing from the trail, she ventured deeper into the woods. Ian trailed at a distance, endeavoring to divert his gaze from the fact that, as she walked, she swept the hem of her cloak to the side, revealing the snug fit of her dark sapphire blue gown adorned with a tartan strip across the brocade. It accentuated the curves of her figure in a manner more enticing than it should have been.

Concentrate, Ian!

He chided himself as he pursued her, concealing himself behind a colossal gray boulder when he witnessed her halt beside another person. They stood too far away for him to discern their conversation, and he dared not draw nearer lest he be discovered. Nonetheless, Ian gleaned one detail about the man she encountered.

Weapons adorned his hip, and a thick cloak cloaked his shoulders. A long, slender white scar traced a path from his bald head down his cheek.

Wait…is that a mercenary?