Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

I sle of Skye, December 1297

Enya MacLeod would have never thought that a wedding could be more miserable than a funeral. Had someone asked her a mere few weeks prior, she would have said that she would look forward to a wedding in the family—she or one of her siblings falling in love and marrying the person of their dreams, giving the entire MacLeod Clan a reason to celebrate and rejoice. Now, though, she knew differently, that not all weddings were such pleasant events.

Her sister’s wedding with Laird Cillian MacDonald certainly wouldn’t be.

Thora’s deep blue eyes scanned the horizon as they walked to the shore, searching for the vessel that would take them to Jura. The boat rocked violently on the waves, the wind around them disturbing the surface of the water and whipping their cheeks. It was, predictably, a cold day, the sky as grey as steel stretching above them, and dark, heavy clouds hanging like a threat as they made their way through a slurry of ice and mud. Enya privately cursed the king for forcing them to travel in such weather. At any moment, a snowstorm could begin to rage and their journey would become not only unpleasant, but also possibly dangerous.

For if there was one certain thing, it was that the journey was definitely going to be unpleasant, even without what awaited them in Jura.

“I still dinnae understand why we must travel there in such circumstances!” Enya complained, not for the first time that day. Her voice, though loud to the point of strain on her vocal cords, barely carried over the whistling wind. None of the guards who followed her and Thora could hear them, but even if they could, Enya refused to keep her comments to herself. She wanted everyone to know just how displeased she was with this arrangement, just how much she disagreed with what the king had ordered.

They could have at least waited until the Yule celebrations were over, just like their older brother, Domhnall, had requested. The king had been firm in his decision, though; Thora was to travel to Jura right away to meet her betrothed, despite if the weather was terrible and even if the only one who could accompany her was Enya, as their other siblings were required to stay in Castle MacLeod for the celebrations.

“Perhaps it is better this way,” said Thora with a small shrug. Her dark, almost raven-black hair was plaited neatly over her shoulder, sitting against the decorated silk of her blue dress. It hadn’t been her choice, that dress, but rather the choice of their maids, who had been instructed by Domhnall to ensure Thora looked nothing short of the perfect for Laird MacDonald.

Thora was being paraded like a prized horse. Though Enya was slow to anger and always had been the calmest and gentlest of her four siblings, to the point that everyone commented on her disposition, this particular matter enraged her unlike anything else. Ever since that fateful day, when Domhnall had announced to them all that one of the twins would have to wed Laird MacDonald at the king’s request, Enya’s rage threatened to bubble over and spill out of her in a torrent of cursing that would put to shame even the foulest of her brother’s men. From the beginning, the choice had been obvious and non-negotiable. Thora was the older of the two, even if only by a few minutes, and so she would have to be the one to suffer this union, while Enya would be left to wonder if she, too, would soon be sold off to a man for another alliance.

It was the way it had always been done. Most noble girls married for convenience, not for love. It would be no different for Thora and Enya, but that didn’t mean it was an easy truth to accept.

“How could it be better?” Enya asked. “All o’ this is madness! He should be the one visitin’ ye, at least.”

That had been another point of contention for Enya. She didn’t understand why Thora had to be the one to make this journey when she was the one who was supposed to be courted. Laird MacDonald had been adamant, though, that he couldn’t leave his home right before the Yule celebrations, just like Domhnall, and so now Thora was the one who had to endure the long journey in choppy seas.

“Aye, but at least this way, it will all be over soon,” said Thora, though she didn’t quite believe it herself, Enya knew. It was simply a way of comforting her, a way to fool her into thinking everything would be fine, when they both knew this was only the beginning. Once she was wedded to Laird MacDonald, she would have her entire life ahead of her—a life she would inevitably have to spend by his side. “I will go there an’ once I meet him?—”

Suddenly, Thora came to a halt, her boots crunching against the frozen soil. Her eyes took on that familiar, glazed look, as though a veil had been pulled over them, and her body went stiff, like she was herself carved out of ice.

Around them, the air stilled. The tell-tale scent of an oncoming storm permeated the air, thick and heavy in her throat as Enya took a deep breath. Where there had been the cawing of birds and the whistling of the wind around them only moments prior, now everything had fallen silent. Even the waves couldn’t be heard, though Enya could see them clearly in the short distance, savagely beating the boat.

Enya glanced at the group of guards who were following them—no more than half a dozen and all of them trusted men, but none of them knew the truth of what was happening to Thora and Enya wanted to keep it that way. Then, she glanced back to her sister, whose eyes were moving rapidly in small increments, almost as though they were vibrating.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, it ended, and Thora blinked, the focus returning to her gaze. Her eyes were wide, though, concern clearly etched into her features, and Enya knew that whatever it was she had seen, it was far from good.

Like all MacLeod siblings, Thora had a gift, and hers was peering through the curtain of time to see into the future. No matter how much time passed, no matter how used she was to her powers, some visions left her disoriented and shaking, fear gripping her at the prospect of the future she had seen coming true.

This was one of those instances, Enya knew. Thora’s pale skin now looked waxen, drained of all color. Her hands trembled and so did her breath as she exhaled, the air in front of her lips fogging up with the warmth of her body.

Before Enya even had the chance to say anything, Thora turned to the guards and said, “One moment, please! I must relieve meself!”

The guards, stunned by the bold declaration, said nothing as Thora grabbed Enya’s hand and dragged her away, past the first line of trees that lined the path to the shore and into the thicker part of the forest—as far as they would go while still being near enough to the guards so that none of the men would worry or come looking for them. Enya followed blindly, feet tripping over a few roots that poked through the soil, curling like serpents around her shoes.

Once Thora determined they were far enough from the guards, hidden from their curious gazes and their eavesdropping ears, she came to a halt and turned to face Enya, white as the foam that tipped the waves.

“I saw Ava,” Thora said, and her voice trembled with fear.

“Ava?”

Enya felt the cold hand of terror curl its fingers around her heart, too. What could have Thora seen that made her so afraid? Could it be that something was about to happen to Ava?

The girl was like another sister to them, a friend so dear that Enya would never be able to bear it if something happened to her. The mere thought filled her with a roiling panic and she gripped Thora’s hands, both of them turning to each other for comfort.

“Somethin’ is wrong,” Thora said. “Nae with Ava, but with the MacKinnon Clan. Her father doesnae ken, but somethin’ terrible is about tae happen.”

Ava’s father, Laird Finley MacKinnon, was not the kind of man who was easily fooled by foes, and so whatever it was Thora was sensing had to be serious, Enya thought. It had to be more than a minor threat, and judging by Thora’s reaction, it was going to happen soon.

“I must warn her,” Thora said.

“Aye,” said Enya, nodding. “We shall send her a letter from Jura.”

“Nay. I have tae go tae her.”

Frowning, Enya asked, “But how will ye dae that? We are supposed tae be on the boat, headin’ tae MacDonald Castle. We’ll send her a letter an’ explain?—”

“Ye ken I cannae dae that.”

Thora’s words silenced Enya and she swallowed nervously in a dry throat. She supposed her sister was right. They had long decided they would never do anything that would risk revealing their gifts to anyone they didn’t implicitly trust, and so even a letter would be too much of a risk. If Thora wanted to warn Ava of the upcoming catastrophe, she had to visit her herself and tell her face to face.

But how could she, when she was supposed to be meeting Laird MacDonald?

“I’ll go,” said Enya. “Tell me what ye saw an’ I’ll go tae her an’ warn her.”

“I dinnae ken precisely what I saw,” said Thora, despair tinting her words. Her gift wasn’t always precise, as the nature of the future was fluid. Even the smallest decision could change what she saw, and though many of her visions were accurate, some of them were more obscure, their real meaning hiding in the shadows of time. “An’ I dinnae ken what else I may see. I must be the one tae go tae her, in case somethin’ else is revealed tae me.”

The two sisters stared at each other at a loss for what to do. Thora had to warn Ava and she also had to be on that boat, and nothing Enya could do would help her.

“Ye’ll go in me stead,” said Thora then and as Enya watched her, uncomprehending, she began to undo the plait in her hair.

“What dae ye mean?”

“Ye’ll pretend tae be me,” said Thora, as though it was a plan that had any merit at all. “We’ll simply tell the guards that… that ye’re nae feelin’ well because ye are sufferin’ yer monthly courses an’ ye will come tae Jura in a few days. But it will be me who goes back with them.”

“Thora… this will never work,” said Enya. “An’ besides, I dinnae think they will let ye head back tae the castle because o’ this.”

“They will be too embarrassed to argue,” Thora pointed out. By then, her dark hair was flowing freely down her shoulders, just like Enya’s, and she began undressing, pulling her tunic off. “An’ nae one can tell us apart, so nae one will ken anythin’ is different.”

“Our siblings can tell us apart!” Enya said. Being twins meant that most people confused them all the time, unable to tell who was who, but their family had known them all their lives. No one would mistake the one for the other, especially if they spoke to them.

“I will leave afore anyone sees me,” said Thora with such confidence that it was easy to believe her. It was a hasty plan—a mad plan, one that Enya never thought would work, but Enya was already being swayed, pulled along by Thora’s enthusiasm. “This is the only way, Enya. Come, give me yer clothes.”

Enya hesitated for a moment, but then she removed her tunic and the two of them swapped their clothes, dressing again quickly. Enya hastily plaited her hair for good measure, making sure it looked similar to the style Thora had been wearing, and by the time the two of them headed back to the path to meet with their guards again, Enya was confident none of those men would be able to tell the difference.

Still, the plan was terrible. Enya was plagued by the irrational fear that the moment Laird MacDonald would lay eyes on her, he would know she was a fraud, even though he had never met her or Thora.

What happens if we’re found out? Domhnall will be so angry with us!

“Are ye alright?” the leader of their small group, an older guard named Bram, asked Thora. So far, it seemed that no one had suspected a thing. None of the men questioned them; none of the men even gave them any strange looks.

“Nay,” said Thora, shaking her head. “I’m afraid I am in terrible pain.”

As she spoke, Thora curled in on herself, clutching at her stomach, and Bram rushed to her, holding her upright with a hand on her arm. “What is wrong, me lady? Are ye hurt?”

“Nay, nay,” said Thora. “Me monthly courses… I didnae exp?—”

“Alright!” said Bram, quickly putting an end to the conversation. Enya would have laughed had she not been paranoid their plan would be uncovered. “Is there anythin’ we can dae about it?”

“I must return tae the castle,” Thora said and her performance of a weak, sickly girl was so convincing that even Enya began to feel for her. “I will join me sister in Jura in a few days. I dinnae think I will be able tae go on the boat.”

“I understand me lady, there is nay need tae say more…”

Bram glanced back and forth between the two of them, clearly not knowing what to do. Jumping in before he could to and argue, Enya said, “That is alright, Bram. I will be fine on me own. An’ I’ll have ye an’ the men tae look after me. Th—” she took a deep breath, correcting herself, “Enya should return tae the castle.”

There was only a moment of hesitation before Bram nodded and gave his men orders to split into two groups—one of them would go to Jura and the other would return to the castle. Once everything had been arranged, Enya said goodbye to her sister and watched as the party left, heading back to the castle, before she was taken to the boat.

“Ye will be alright, me lady, dinnae fash,” Bram said as they finally reached the boat. The wind had picked up again and here, in the port, brine whipped Enya’s cheeks. She could taste salt on her tongue, the sea a stormy grey. “We are here with thee.”

“I ken, Bram,” Enya said with a soft smile, even as her chest tightened at the thought that she was deceiving them all. Those were good men, loyal men who would do anything for her and her family. Enya couldn’t think of anything worse than blatantly lying to them like this, even though it was necessary. “Thank ye. I’ll be fine, I promise ye.”

Satisfied with Enya’s promise, Bram bowed and turned around to bark orders at his men, leaving Enya alone to lean over the side rail, looking out towards the Isle of Jura. Laird MacDonald awaited her there and everything she would do in his presence would have an impact on Thora’s relationship with him.

Could they switch without him noticing, she wondered, or would he know right away?

Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe if she played her cards right, Thora would never have to come to Jura and she would never have to marry a man she didn’t love. Enya was known for her quiet, mild manners but she also knew a thing or two about causing trouble. And if she caused enough trouble for Laird MacDonald, then perhaps the man would decide he didn’t want to marry Thora at all.

Och aye… that is what I’ll dae! I will make sure he despises me with all his heart.