Bonus Prologue

BONUS PROLOGUE

T wo months before…

The tavern was dark and grubby, not unlike its occupants. Owen Sinclair knew he was in the company of dangerous men, but this was the last place on his list before he would return to his father, Laird Madigan Sinclair, with his report. Which, so far, would say nothing at all, for though he had been scouting for information about a possible plot to attack the clan, it appeared it was just another rumor, likely started by some disgruntled tenant.

He had been playing cards with three men who, he had been told, might know something, but apart from losing some coin, he had discovered nothing of interest.

As the evening drew to a close, Owen was ready to call it a night, when one of the men, George was his name, let something slip.

“We need tae get back and check on the lass,” George slurred.

“Och, dinnae talk such rubbish,” John slurred back. “She’s tied up. She’s nae going anywhere.”

All of them had drunk far too much, and while Owen had pretended to keep up with them, much of his ale had been sneakily poured onto the floor beside his feet. It was a tactic he had learned over the years.

At their words, his ears pricked up, for clearly the men he already knew to be unsavory were far worse than he had originally thought.

“I’d be happy tae leave her tae rot,” Seamus grunted, taking another slug of whisky. “She’s been naething but trouble since we took her.”

“Aye, but then all the effort would be fer naught,” John argued. “We’ll get nay coin fer a dead girl.”

Owen knew this was not his mission, and yet, at the idea of a lass being held captive against her will, he just couldn’t help but get involved. He needed to be careful, however, for by the looks of these men, they would have no qualms in slicing his throat.

“Ye’re selling a lass?” he asked, trying not to let his disgust show.

Seamus eyed him carefully. “What dae ye care?”

Though it made him sick to his stomach, Owen played one of his many roles, and smiling evilly, he said, “I have lots of uses fer a young lass.”

John beamed a grin. “Aye, I bet ye dae,” he chuckled loudly.

“Where did ye get her?” Owen said. “Is she in good health? I dinnae want her if she’s going tae die on me in a month.”

The men, seeing that Owen was serious, glanced at each other across the table. Clearly, they were nervous, but at the same time, Owen had deduced that they were eager to rid themselves of her.

“How much would ye be willing tae pay?” George demanded, or tried his best at least in such a drunken state.

“That depends on what state she’s in. Where did ye get her? Is she a woman o’ the night?”

The men began cackling between themselves, as though Owen had said something funny. When they settled, Seamus looked about him, though there was little need given that they were the only ones remaining in the bar. He then leaned forward and in a hushed whisper he said, “We stole her from her parents. She was out working in the field when we saw her. She’s a fine-looking lass, and we kent, as soon as we seen her, that she’d bring us some good coin.”

“Where is she?” Owen asked.

The men were sketchy with their answer, but in the end, they agreed a price and made an arrangement to meet the following day at noon.

“Ye bring yer coin, and we’ll bring the girl.”

“I’ll nae part with me hard-earned coin until I see her, so ye better hold up yer side o’ the bargain,” Owen said plainly.

“And ye hold up yers,” Seamus returned.

The following day, Owen was standing and waiting at the agreed place when he heard horses approaching. The three men arrived, all looking worse for wear after their drunken night. Seamus clambered down from his horse, and with no kindness, he yanked the lass down who had been riding behind him.

She stumbled when her feet hit the ground, and with her hands bound in front of her, she had no way to stop herself falling flat on her face.

“Get up, will ye?” Seamus said, grabbing at her and pulling her upright.

It was only then that Owen managed to get a good look at her. Shock rippled through his body, though he had to swallow it, for the lass was far younger than he had imagined. She couldn’t have been more than four and ten. Her clothes hung on her body, she was filthy, and she shook with terror.

He had already decided that no coin would leave his purse, and playing his part once more, he pretended to look more than interested.

“Bring her here,” he said, “Let me get a good look at her.”

Seamus grabbed her by the arm and pulled her farther away from the others. Owen remained exactly where he was on purpose. The greater distance there was between him and the others, the better chance they had of escape.

The poor lass was terrified, her eyes darting from Owen to Seamus and back again. Owen lifted her bound arms, spinning her around as though he were examining an animal. He nodded, as though he were satisfied, and then, he took hold of her wrist. Turning toward his horse, Owen said, “She is exactly what I’m looking for. Wait there, and I will get the coin I promised ye.”

The lass weighed nothing at all when Owen lifted her onto his horse, putting her to the front of the saddle in readiness. He then pretended to search his saddle bags for the coin he had promised the men.

“Get ready,” Owen said in a low voice, flicking his eyes up to the lass.

She stared down at him, still shaking, and clearly having no comprehension of what his words might mean. From the corner of his eye, he could see Seamus begin to shift from one foot to the other. He was growing suspicious, which is exactly what Owen wanted. He needed the man to take a few more steps nearer to him so he was further away from his own horse.

Exactly as he imagined he might, Seamus did just that. “Hey, what are ye doing?” he called out. “Where’s the coin?”

Owen waited for another couple of seconds, and with Seamus now only five feet away, he suddenly leapt onto his steed, grabbed the reins, and flicked them harshly.

The steed reared, throwing the girl back into his chest, and then the beast galloped at great speed in a direction Owen had already planned out. Behind him, he could hear the bellows of the men, Seamus likely frantically running back to mount his horse.

The men gave chase, but Owen’s steed was fast and powerful, and after a half hour had passed, he could see no sign of them. Still, Owen did not stop, for he did not want to give them a chance to catch up to them, and continuing on, they traveled for a full day.

The girl remained silent for most of the time, even when Owen told her he would not harm her. He supposed, given what had happened to her, that she was hardly going to trust him just because he had run off with her.

Having journeyed for at least fifty miles, Owen found a tavern in a small village and booked a room. He sent a maid out to get the lass some proper clothes, and after an evening meal, they returned to the room.

The girl was terrified, but after telling her she could take the bed, Owen settled himself on the floor, and didn’t move the entire night.

The next morning, he woke feeling stiff and sore. It had been a long time since he had been forced to sleep on a hard wooden floor, but it had been necessary. When he stretched and woke, he found the girl sat up in the bed, watching him.

“Good morning,” Owen said, hardly expecting her to reply after yesterday’s silence.

“Morning,” she whispered.

Owen was a little startled, but smiled. “Me name is Owen Sinclair, son o’ Laird Sinclair, chief o’ Clan Sinclair.”

She looked a little nervous, but eventually she said, “Me name is Catherine.”

“Where are ye from, Catherine?”

“I live with me parents and braither on a farm,” she replied.

It was too much to hope for that she would know her location. She was, after all, just a child.

“Well, ye are safe now,” Owen said. “I’m going tae take care o’ ye, and then get ye back tae yer family, all right?”

She nodded, and as hard as it was for her, she even gave him a small smile.

A few days passed, and when Owen was certain that Seamus, John, and George had not followed their tracks, Owen found the village healer. She was a kind woman, a few years older than Owen. When he told her the story, Jenny was appalled, and tenderly took care of the superficial wounds Catherine had sustained.

When Owen was about to leave again with the girl, Jenny stopped him.

“Why dinnae ye leave the lass with me? She might feel safer with a woman. Besides, I’m sure ye have business o’ yer own tae be attending tae.”

It was a decent proposal under the circumstances, but Owen did not know this woman, and thus, was unsure if he could trust her.

Owen took Jenny to the side and fixed her with a harsh gaze. “I dinnae mean tae be rude, Jenny, fer I dinnae ken yer at all, but I need tae ken yer intentions.”

Jenny looked a little shocked at his harsh tone, and with wide eyes, she cried, “I only want the lass tae be returned tae her family. I can certainly dae that fer ye.”

She did appear genuine, but Owen wanted to make sure she did as she promised. “Very well. But when I pass through this way again in a month, if I discover that ye havenae done so, or that any harm has come tae that child, I swear, I’ll cause ye more harm than ye want tae imagine.”

“I swear, sir. Truly, I will dae as I have promised,” she said, pressing her hand upon her heart.

Satisfied with her conviction, and hoping the fear he had instilled in her would be an added motivation, Owen bid farewell to Catherine, and made his way back to Clan Sinclair.

It was a few weeks later when he discovered he was a wanted man.

Word had travelled across the country, and he was told, by a man he trusted unconditionally, that men from the east were after him. There was now a bounty on his head, though the men did not actually know who he was. He also discovered that the three men he had met where only a small number of a much larger gang.

The warning had gone from village to village. Owen either paid his dues, or they’d take what he owed them with his life. He could ask his father for the coin, but Owen was a man in his own right, and as he had managed to get himself into this mess, it was he who needed to get himself out.

Riding through a village one day, he had stopped into a tavern for a drink. Always alert, he had heard some men discussing a secret fight being held in that tavern that very night. But it wasn’t the fighting that particularly interested him. His ears did prick up when he heard the amount of money the winning fighter would receive.

Wracking his brain and wondering how he was supposed to raise the money he needed to pay this gang, it was as though the gods had led him to this very tavern to give him his answer. He was a fine fighter, and he was certain, he could win. If he could win one, he could certainly win ten, for that was how many he would have to win to gather the money he needed.

As he ordered another pint, he made his way over to these men. It was time he made their acquaintance.