Prologue

Torridon Inn, 1765

It was a habit they couldn't easily shake, even when there seemed to be no danger. Aaden and Gilchrist sat at the far end of the common area of the inn, their backs against the wall and nothing else between them and the rest of the patrons, like they always did in such establishments. One could never know where an enemy might lurk, though an inn in a small town was hardly the place to attract any serious threats.

The room smelled of ale and wine, the wooden tables sticky with spilled residue that the serving wenches' tattered rags could never clean entirely. The storm outside, the one which had forced them to pause their trip back home to Castle McDowell, still raged. The sound of the raindrops on the roof of the inn were so thunderous that not even the lively conversation inside was enough to fully drown it out. Although the room didn't seem so crowded to Aaden at first glance, every table seemed to be occupied, some of them only by lonely travelers and others by groups of people.

"Here's tae a successful job," Gilchrist said, raising his cup of wine in a toast. "We willnae want fer naething now that we have reached this agreement."

"We willnae want fer food, at least," Aaden pointed out. The Bairds, with their fertile lands, had been perhaps the most important allies for Clan MacDowell to secure and now that Gilchrist had managed to make this deal with them—food in exchange for manpower and security—there would be no concerns about their resources throughout the winter. "Ye did well. The role o' the laird suits ye."

Laughing, Gilchrist sipped his wine slowly, savoring it as though it was one of the bottles he imported from France and not what it truly was, which was closer to vinegar.

"I must still adjust," Gilchrist said. "An' there is still much tae dae. This may be the most important deal we have made so far, but it willnae be the only one."

Despite what his friend claimed, Arden couldn't imagine a better laird for the McDowell Clan. Ever since marrying Kyven McDowell, the daughter of the clan's previous laird, Gilchrist had spent most of his waking hours working towards the betterment of their lands and their people, putting everyone else before himself.

It showed a little in the weariness in his eyes, the lids weighed down by several sleepless nights. Aaden hoped that now, at least, with the clan's food for the winter secured, he could rest for a while and focus on his new family.

"Ye must adjust soon," Aaden said, "‘afore the bairn comes, for there will be less time after."

"Och aye," said Gilchrist, and the mere mention of his unborn child brought a new warmth to his face, a brightness that eclipsed his exhaustion. "There are still a few months left, but I wish it were sooner. I wish tae meet me son."

"Or daughter," Aaden reminded him.

"Or daughter," Gilchrist agreed with a smile. "An' besides, it's already getting tiring fer Kyven. I'm sure she is impatient tae give birth."

"She is gettin' big, isnae she?"

"Dinnae tell her that," warned Gilchrist, with the kind of serious tone he usually reserved for battle plans. "She is already angry she cannae see her feet an' she will only continue tae grow. One wrong word an' she'll cut off yer head hersel'."

Aaden laughed at the warning, imagining Kyven, pregnant as she was, trying to chase him around the castle. She could rope someone else into doing it, though; Aaden had no doubts about that.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said. "Though I'm sure if yer wife heard ye say that about her, she'd have yer head."

"She'd be provin' me point, then," said Gilchrist. "An' she wouldnae harm me. She loves me. Ye would understand if ye found a good lass fer yersel tae wed."

This again, Aaden thought. Though he had always been adamant that he would never marry, it didn't stop people from trying to change his mind. Gilchrist had been lecturing him on all the joys of marriage ever since he had married Kyven, and he wouldn't take no for an answer. At most, he stopped bringing it up for a while, only to mention it again when Aaden had been lulled into a false sense of security, thinking he was safe from another such talk.

"Ye ken what I think about that," Aaden said. "I like me freedom too much."

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Gilchrist's features arranged themselves in that serious look he got whenever there was something urgent to discuss, brows furrowing together and lips pursing into a thin line.

"Marryin' Kyven didnae make me a prisoner," he said. "As marryin' a lass willnae make ye a prisoner. It gave me the biggest joys o' me life. What will ye dae, Aaden? Will ye stay alone yer whole life?"

"I'm nae alone," Aaden pointed out. He had Gilchrist. He had other friends. He could easily manage without a wife.

"Ye ken what I mean," Gilchrist insisted. "Ye need someone. Ye cannae keep everyone away."

Aaden's jaw tightened at Gilchrist's words. His friend had always known Aaden liked women, but for a while he had thought it was a way for him to find some comfort after his father's death, a way to drown his sorrows. Now that Aaden hadn't changed at all, though, Gilchrist had begun to pester him once more.

Aaden didn't want to talk about his father or the reasons behind his reluctance to marry. He had made peace with both those things. Losing his father in that ambush had been one of the most painful moments of his life, but there was no bringing him back. A wife couldn't fill the void he had left behind. All Aaden could do was keep his memory alive and move on as best he could.

Still, he could understand why Gilchrist was so insistent. He worried, just as Aaden worried about him, no matter how well he was doing. It was in their nature to worry about each other.

"It's alright," he assured him. "I write me maither often, so I still have family. An' I have ye."

It was only part of the truth, but it would have to be enough for Gilchrist, as it was all Aaden was willing to share.

"With yer maither?" Gilchrist asked, surprised. "Are ye gettin' tae ken her better, then? Will ye go an' see her?"

"I cannae see her," Aaden said.

"Surely, ye can. Where is she now?"

Aaden sighed, delaying his response by taking a large sip of wine. In the end, he looked at Gilchrist in the eye and said, "She is a courtesan. Where dae ye think she is?"

It wasn't true, but it was the story everyone had been told. His father had never revealed his mother's true identity to anyone but Aaden himself, and Aaden didn't intend to expose her like this, not even to his friend.

Aaden had seen what love did to people. He had seen how his father had wilted before everyone's eyes, loving the woman he could never have. What he knew of his mother told him that she, too, had never stopped grieving their lost love, spending her years yearning after his father.

It wasn't that Aaden didn't believe in love. He had seen it first-hand. Love was real and it was painful, and he was never going to go down that path of self-destruction. He would rather spend his life with a different woman every night, never once risking falling in love.

What he had said seemed to be enough to silence Gilchrist on the matter, at least temporarily. He gave Aaden a sympathetic look and a pat on the shoulder before he drained his cup and stood.

"We should sleep," he said. "We must wake early on the morrow an' head back."

"Aye," said Aaden. "But I think I'll stay a while longer."

His gaze scanned the room, looking for any women he could bring to his room before the night was over. Gilchrist didn't need to ask why. He only gave him a roll of his eyes, though his smile was fond.

"Alright," he said. "Good luck with yer hunt. I'm very glad I dinnae have tae dae this anymore."

With that, he was gone, heading up the stairs to the room he had secured for the night, as Aaden returned to his search. He could speak to one of the serving wenches, he thought. They were both young and pretty, and they always fell for his charms.

But then again, who didn't?

He let his gaze roam around the room for a while longer and that was when he spotted her: a young woman with long hair as dark as the night and a pair of blue eyes that pierced him like an arrow when they met his own for a brief second. She was sitting with another young woman, the two of them talking animatedly and paying him no mind, but Aaden wasn't going to be discouraged by something as insignificant, not when that woman was the most beautiful creature he had laid his eyes on.

He could wait and so he did, sipping the rest of his wine slowly as he watched them, waiting patiently for the right moment. That moment came when the woman's friend stood and left the room, but she remained, idly sipping her drink as she looked around her.

Taking his chance, Aaden stood and walked over to her table, sliding into the seat her friend had only just vacated.

"Good evenin'," he said, his smile so bright it could outshine any candle in the room. "What is such a bonnie lass doin' here alone? It's very cold, after all, an' they say it's easier tae warm up when ye have another next tae ye."

It was a bit bold and a bit silly, but every time Aaden used that line, he usually received at least a chuckle in return. He was good looking enough for his conquests to need little coaxing, finding him charming in his audacity.

This woman didn't seem to, though. The glare she gave him sent a chill down his spine. It was colder than the rain outside the inn, as if she would have liked nothing more than to kill him where he sat.

"I was enjoyin' me own company until ye disturbed me," she said, her melodious voice carrying so much irritation that the contrast was dizzying. It was fine with him, though. Aaden liked a challenge, and he wasn't going to back down that easily. In the end, the reward of bedding her would be worth it.

"May I offer ye a drink, then, as an apology?" he said, already raising his hand to call for the serving wench when the woman stopped him.

"Thank ye, but nay. Ye see, I have this rare ailment. I cannae accept drinks from strangers without bein' nauseated an' vomitin' all over them."

Charmin' lass.

Pursing his lips in distaste, Aaden leaned a little closer over the table to rest his head on his hand. "Is that truly a way tae get a man's attention?"

"Aye, me biggest goal in life is tae get a handsome man's attention," the woman said with a roll of her eyes. She all but slammed her hands on the table and stood, pushing back her chair with a scraping sound that made Aaden recoil. "An' it obviously worked if ye're here, tryin' tae steal me affections."

The woman walked off, but before she could get too far, Aaden followed her. Perhaps he should simply accept defeat, but it wasn't often that a woman rejected him. In fact, he couldn't remember a time when it had happened. Some of them were difficult, but by the end of the night, they always ended up in his bed.

"Are we headin' tae me chambers or yers?" he asked, deciding that boldness was the way to go with this woman. She, too, was bold, after all, having no regard for what was polite.

The woman came to an abrupt halt and turned around to look at him, giving him a smile that was all teeth. "Ye should certainly wait fer me in yer chambers," she said, and then turned around just as swiftly, once more heading for the door.

Aaden couldn't let it go just yet, though. It intrigued him, how feisty she was, how quick to respond, the insults tumbling one after the other out of her lips. Aaden had never met such a spirited woman before and something stirred inside him, a kind of insistent, irresistible desire for more.

He caught up with her just past the door, grabbing her arm to stop her and pull her close, their bodies flush together. Leaning even closer, lips brushing over the shell of her ear, he whispered to her.

"I can give ye pleasure like ye've never had ‘afore," he said. "I can take ye tae places ye've never reached."

The woman turned her head so that their lips were almost brushing. Just when Aaden thought he finally had her in his grasp, she said, "The only place ye can take me is hell, I'm sure."

Aaden couldn't help but laugh at that, even if it was at his own expense. As the woman made to leave once more, he let his hand glide down her arm and then laced their fingers together, stopping her once again.

Suddenly, she spun around, the glare returning in her eyes. "Dae ye even ken me name?"

For a moment, Aaden wracked his brain, trying to remember if she had told him. In the end, he only shrugged. "Ye can tell me while ye moan mine."

In a flash, the woman had him pinned against the wall, a small, sharp blade pressed to his neck. The speed and strength behind the movement caught Aaden by surprise enough for him to get trapped by this woman who was much smaller than him, his heart racing behind his ribs, the breath caught in his throat. Under the moonlight, her features were just as sharp—a small, straight nose, prominent cheekbones, and a high, regal forehead, all of them blending together to leave an impression of danger.

Aaden would be lying if he said he wasn't more intrigued than ever.

"Perhaps yer depraved words work fer other lasses, but I'm nae them," the woman hissed, lips curling back to bare her teeth. "I would never share yer bed, even if ye were the last man in the Highlands."

In the distance, Aaden heard a voice, something that the woman heard as well. Her head snapped to the side, fingers tightening around the handle of her blade.

"Lilith!"

Over the sound of the rain and the thunder, Aaden couldn't hear what the voice was calling, but it seemed to have an immediate effect on the woman. Just as quickly as she had attacked him, she pulled back and was gone, her quick footsteps disappearing down the street. Aaden didn't try to pursue her this time. Instead, he let his head fall back with a sigh, fingers tracing the skin where she had pressed her blade.

Perhaps he hadn't heard her name, but he would never forget that face—the face of the first woman to ever reject him.