Chapter 1

1

“ Y e wished to see me?” Freya’s voice was little more than a whisper as she sat in the chair across from her brother’s desk. Her back straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap, she gave no sign of the unease that coiled within her.

Something was wrong, she could feel it in her bones, in the pit of her stomach. Something was wrong, and she was about to find out what.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows over the paneled walls. Across from her, Adam, her older brother and Laird of Clan MacNiall, watched her with a somber gaze. His broad shoulders were tense, his blue eyes clouded over as he slid a piece of paper across the desk’s grainy surface.

Freya’s breath caught. Even before her fingertips brushed the parchment, she knew who had written it. There was no mistaking the messy hand—it could only belong to one person.

Laura.

Her twin sister.

Freya’s stomach twisted, but she maintained her composure as she read each line carefully. Again and again. The words seemed to blur in front of her eyes, but she did not falter. She was always composed, always careful with her emotions and appearance. But inside… inside, there was a torrential downpour of questions, most left unanswered by the few lines.

“We are goin’ to bring her home.” Adam’s voice cut through her thoughts, low and resolute. He leaned forward, his eyes focused steadily on the paper between her fingers. “Whether she likes it or nae.”

Carefully, she set the letter back on the desk, smoothing out the creases as if that small act could somehow bring order into the chaos that was blooming in her chest. “When do we leave?”

Adam’s gaze shifted from the letter to Freya. He looked at her for a moment, then shook his head as if he could not understand what she had just said to him. “Emily and meself are leavin’ within the hour. But ye, ye will remain here with our maither.”

Nay, nay, nay.

The words hit her like a stone sinking into the coldest depths. Freya blinked and then adjusted her spectacles. The reins that controlled her composure slipped between her fingertips before she could grasp them once more.

“What do ye mean?”

“The road isnae a place for a lady,” Adam said, his voice firm.

Freya frowned. “And yet ye are bringin’ yer wife, who is a lady.”

“Ye ken what I mean well enough. A lady such as yerself, Freya.”

She did, she knew exactly what he meant, but that did not mean that she wanted to hear it or believe it.

Freya hated that he was right. Without saying much at all, he had laid it all out quite plainly before her. She wasn’t strong, nor was she skilled on a horse. She did enjoy riding, and, thankfully, her old mare was a sweet beast with the patience of a saint. Whereas her sister would happily show off, racing through the wilds, Freya was content to take a ride through the pathways near their home, never straying.

Her sister, though…

Laura is somewhere out there, and I should be lookin’ for her.

Freya wished the words would rise to her throat and slip past her lips, but they remained screams in her mind. There was no way to silence them, only to breathe as she stared back at her older brother, silently begging him to change his mind. But she knew he would not.

Adam leaned back in his seat. “Ye will remain here, under the care of Laird MacGordon. He will arrive before noon if the road has been kind to him. Nightfall, at the latest.”

Freya froze. The name struck her harder than any blow possibly could. Her heart lurched, thundering like some great storm in her ears. A chill crawled down her spine as the name echoed in her mind.

Nay, nae him. God, anyone but him .

Her lips parted, but the words she intended to protest with were lodged in her throat. Freya stared at her brother, shaking her head slowly as she pleaded with no more than her eyes.

Please, nae him.

The study door creaked open then, and Freya turned quickly, wondering if the Devil himself had been summoned at the mention of his name. But no, it was Emily.

Freya let out a breath of relief. Emily, her dear friend and her brother’s wife, surely would help convince Adam that he was making a mistake.

Emily moved across the room with a soft grace that seemed unlike her. She was usually so confident, so bold and defiant. She was pretty, petite, with delicate features framed by dark locks. Normally, her presence would fill the room. But now, she did not so much as meet Freya’s eyes.

Freya frowned, her fingers twitching in her lap.

Look at me, please. Tell him he is wrong.

But Emily simply stood beside her husband’s chair, her head lowered.

“Emily,” Freya said softly, her voice calm like the sea before a storm.

Emily looked down at her finally, offering an apologetic look. “Aye?”

It was no use, Freya knew. There was no point in asking her friend to ignore the wishes of her husband; it would do no one any good. Adam was too headstrong, too proud, and too stubborn to listen. But perhaps… perhaps she could find some form of compromise. If she must stay behind, as much as she did not wish to, could she be under the care of someone else? Someone like Emily’s father.

Freya cleared her throat. “Do ye think perhaps Laird Wilkinson would be willin’ to?—”

“The Wilkinson lands are too far,” Adam interrupted before she could finish.

He stared back at her, his cold blue eyes boring into hers with a look of annoyance. She was irritating him, bothering him with all of this. She was inconvenient and a burden, and at that moment, she felt every drop of it.

Freya pressed her lips together, but her mind was racing still. Once again, she opened her mouth to protest, but Adam’s eyes narrowed on her.

His gaze was hard and unwavering. He would not relent. “I trust Doughall more than anyone else.”

The words hit her like a wave, throwing her body onto a rocky shore.

Trust? How could ye trust a diabhal like that man?

Freya bit her tongue, her lips pursed as she tried to force the words past them. Her mind screamed with all the things she longed to say, but each word was swallowed back into the dark and hungry pit of her stomach.

Laird MacGordon is a beast. A brute. Bloodthirsty as a vampyre.

His reputation alone was enough to fill her—to fill anyone, truly—with dread, but Freya had seen his actions for herself.

She pushed that memory down, refusing to let it surface. Not now.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice strained. “Let me go with ye.”

Adam’s expression only hardened, his jaw tightening as he shook his head. “Nay, Freya. Ye will only hinder us on the road. This isnae a request, it’s an order. I wasnae askin’ for yer opinion.” His voice was as sharp as a blade, slicing through her with ease. “Ye and Maither are stayin’ here, with Doughall, whether ye like it or nae.”

Her hands curled into fists on her lap, her fingernails digging into her palms. She would have marks, she knew. The pain grounded her, but it did little to ease the feeling surging in her chest. Once more, she turned her gaze to Emily, her dear friend, searching for something— anything . Her eyes pleaded, please, please, please . But Emily’s silence was answer enough.

Freya was alone.

Drawing in a deep breath, in through her nose and out through her mouth, she pushed herself to her feet. Her legs felt unsteady beneath her as she bobbed a stiff curtsy to Laird and Lady MacNiall.

Her voice was steady, her expression a mask of composure. “If that is what ye deem best,” she said quietly, unable to swallow back the bitterness lacing her words.

Without waiting for a response, she turned for the door. Each step was heavier than the last.

I should go with them; I should be helpin’ to find her.

Freya stepped into the hallway, closing the door gently behind her. The moment the latch clicked, the breath she had been holding came out in a ragged rush, her chest tightening as her stomach twisted.

Laura would go, anyway. She wouldnae ask for his permission. She would break each and every rule if it were me.

But Freya wasn’t her sister. It was something she had always been painfully aware of, something that everyone seemed to remind her of. She wasn’t strong or brave or skilled in any way that mattered beyond these stone walls. And yet, there was something inside of her, something she did not quite know, that had been slumbering until she stepped into the hallway.

A small spark within, unfamiliar and yet welcome.

By the time she stepped outside, the sun was already high in the cloudless blue sky, but those rays offered little warmth. Autumn had painted the trees in shades of auburn and gold, and the crisp breeze nipped her cheeks. She was dressed for the cold, perhaps overdressed even, wrapped in layers of thick wool and a fur-trimmed cloak.

She had seen her brother and Emily leave, their horses kicking up dust along the road that led from their home to wherever her sister was. The rest of the morning had been spent preparing, planning, and finding her courage through some small sips of a bottle of aged whiskey.

This isnae like me…

Each step toward the stables was slow and measured. The wind pushed at her from behind, urging her to keep walking, encouraging her not to stop. Freya was certain that if she stopped walking now, she would find herself turning back.

Seileach was waiting for her, dark eyes watching as she stepped into the stall. The mare was a rough shade of chestnut brown, with darker patches that covered her from head to hoof. Freya reached out, running a hand along Seileach’s neck, feeling the warmth of her coat beneath her fingertips.

“Good lass,” she murmured softly.

Though the stables were empty, save for the horses and the resident cat, she remained cautious. Most conveniently, a newly acquired stallion had somehow found himself let loose, and the stablehands were likely chasing him across the pasture at that very moment. But still, Freya glanced around once more, ensuring no one was watching her.

The saddle was heavier than she remembered. It had been some time since she had saddled her own horse, but she was certain she still knew how to do it. With a grunt, she hefted it onto Seileach’s back, adjusting it until it sat properly, before fastening the buckles.

Are ye really goin’ to do this?

Shaking her head, she pushed back the doubt that was swimming through her mind. She was prepared, she knew what she had to do. Heavens, she’d even managed to pluck a map from her brother’s study only a few short hours ago.

Though she had packed quickly—some bread, cheese, salted beef, and a few apples—it wasn’t enough to draw any suspicion from the kitchen staff. She had enough money tucked into the pouch at her waist to ensure she would not be hungry or without shelter. It had been easy enough to gather it all. Everything was ready.

If only she could muster the courage to leave.

Freya stood there for a moment, her hand resting on the saddle, the weight of it all bearing down on her. All her life, she had been the obedient daughter, the dutiful sister. She followed the rules, ignored trouble when it called out to her, and always did what was expected of her. But now… now…

Never had she been so frightened.

“Ye can do this,” she whispered to herself.

Drawing in a deep breath, she hoisted herself onto Seileach’s back.

Before she could stop herself, before she could change her mind and turn back to the comfort of home, she squeezed her thighs against Seileach’s flanks, urging the mare forward into the unknown.

Always the obedient lass, always waitin’ for permission.

But not now. Not this time.

For Laura, she was finally going to be brave.