Prologue

Strathnaver, Scotland, 1516 A.D.

Idalia Buckland sat huddled with her sister, Leonor, on the cold stone floor of their shared prison cell, feeling alone and desperate. They had been taken captive by the dastardly highland laird, Alistair Morgan, who had killed their entire family, with the exception of the two of them and their eldest sister Katarina. Katarina had been bartered as a slave into a forced marriage and they knew not whether she was dead or alive.

Leonor shivered, burrowing closer into Idalia's side. She was burning with fever, fading in and out of coherency. Idalia had done everything she could within their limited circumstances to bring down her sister's fever, but to no avail. She feared that if they could not escape soon, Leonor would die. God in Heaven, help us! She prayed for divine intervention, but none came. Her sister shivered again, and Idalia wrapped her own dress around her in an effort to make her more comfortable.

An image of her mother's face flashed through her mind as tears began to fall once more. They had cried a great many times since they had been held captive. The pain of their loss had been excruciating. Idalia had no notion of how long had passed since they had been locked into their cell. Without being able to see daylight, days and nights had melded together as one long never-ending span. They had been brought the occasional candle with their meals and water, which were far and in-between, and to empty their waste bucket.

One moment she had been dancing with her sisters around a campfire after having narrowly escaped an unwanted betrothal, and the next they had been under attack. The men had been slaughtered immediately, while the women had been raped and murdered at the soldiers' leisure. The only thing that had saved Idalia, Leonor, and Katarina was that they were virgins, untouched by the hands of men, and that they looked similar to Laird Morgan's daughter. It was just that similarity which had caused Katarina to be traded off in marriage to an islander from Orkney in place of Lady Katherine Morgan. That was all Idalia knew of her eldest sister's fate. And that Katarina had traded her own life for those of Idalia and Leonor. The guilt of that knowledge haunted Idalia's every waking hour.

Katarina had tried to hide them during the attack, but they had been found and carted off to the Morgan stronghold. As they had been bound and loaded into a wagon, Katarina had been dumped into the wagon next to them, bleeding and barely conscious. She had attempted to fight off their attackers but had failed. Their entire Romani encampment had tried to fight back, yet had been unceremoniously defeated in every way. As the wagon had rolled through the carnage, the last thing they saw of their parents and grandparents were their dead mutilated bodies lying upon the ground.

The memory of the attack caused Idalia to quickly rise and run to the waste bucket in the corner as she retched, but there was nothing left in her stomach after such a long time without sustenance.

As she stood to rejoin Leonor, she was stopped by the sound of rattling outside of the cell door. Hope filled her heart that someone had at long last answered her plea for a healer to be brought for her sister. She took a step toward the door, but quickly retreated when it swung open, and the face of August Raymond peered in through the shadow of the corridor beyond. The very man from whom her family had been running and, in so doing, had been slaughtered for, now stood before her.

She looked around at the cell, trying to find something to stop him with, but to no avail. There was no man viler than the one who stood in front of her. August Raymond's heart was as black as soot. He was cruel and cold-blooded. His position as leader of the gypsy clan provided him with power to do anything he wanted. He was a mountain of a man, with green eyes, dark hair and olive skin. He wore a white shirt that was stained with blood.

Idalia frowned as he grinned at her menacingly. When he had proposed to marry her, she had been relieved by her family's refusal and had thought that was the end of it. She would laugh now at her naiveté were it not for fear that she would not be able to stop if she started. Of course, he was the type of man to never let go of what he wanted, no matter the cost. And it had cost her everything to refuse him.

He held a knife to the throat of one of the guards who had been bringing them food. Without saying a single word, he slit the man's throat right in front of her. The guard dropped, his face a mask of surprise and pain, as blood spurted out across the cell's stone floor.

Idalia breathed in terror and disgust as the guard's blood flowed across the floor to pool at her feet.

August's face split into a menacing grin. "Did you think you could escape me?"

In spite of herself, Idalia inched backwards in fear. "How are you here?" She looked past him to the corridor beyond but saw none of the other Morgan men who had been guarding them. She was not sure what was worse – being held hostage by Alistair Morgan or being kidnapped by August Raymond. Neither option was desirable, but she would have to decide quickly which one would get her sister the help she so desperately needed.

"Your captors will not be coming to your aid. It was foolish of Alistair Morgan to place only one guard. It is clear he thought no one would find you here, or care enough to look." He laughed, a hollow sound that caused Idalia's skin to crawl with apprehension.

Doing her best to push her fear aside, she leaned down and gathered her sister into her arms. "Leonor is sick. She needs a healer."

August shook his head in indifference. "I came here for you, not your sister. She can remain here. I have no time to carry a sick girl."

"I will not leave her here alone," Idalia shook her head in refusal. "If you wish for me to go with you, you must provide my sister with a healer."

"I would rather kill her and myself than allow you to have your way. You fled from me and in doing so, have forfeited all rights to an opinion on your fate or kindness from me. You are now mine, body, mind, and soul. I own you."

Idalia's heart raced as he stepped into the cell and reached out his hand to grab her. Yanking her up onto her feet, he began pulling her from the room. Leonor called out for her, attempting to get to her knees, but she collapsed back against the stones, too weak to stand. Idalia fought back, punching, and slapping at August's face and torso. Shaking her, he slapped her back. Lifting her up off of the ground, he threw her over his shoulder and carried her out of the room into the corridor.

Idalia cried out in protest. "I will not leave Leonor! Put me down!"

"You will do as I say, when I say." August smacked her on the bottom so hard, the sound echoed down the passageway.

A deep voice emerged from the darkness at the end of the corridor. "Put the lass down," the voice commanded, as hard as steel.

"I will not," August replied, turning to face the threat before him. "I know your voice. Come forward into the light so I might see your face."

The stranger took a step forward into the candle's light, his blade held firmly in hand. He was tall, muscular, dark of eye and hair, with a strong air about him. His arm lay limp at his side, blood dripping from his shoulder and spattering on the stone floor. "Let the lass go, August."

"I will not, MacLeod," August refused, shaking his head.

Idalia's brows raised in surprise. The men knew each other. "Please, help me!" she begged the stranger, praying he would be able to overcome August in a fight if it came to it, but she had her doubts given the state of the man's arm.

"Silence!" August commanded, giving her another sharp smack.

"Ye were warned," the stranger ground out through clenched teeth, taking a step toward August.

"Take another step and I will kill the girl," August threatened.

The stranger stopped, eyeing Idalia as if weighing the risk. "What is she to ye?"

"She is my betrothed."

"I am not your betrothed! I am nothing to you and never will be!" Idalia argued loudly. She would not allow August to talk the stranger into allowing him to keep her. "Please, Sir," she said. "My sister is ill and needs a healer. Please help us!"

The stranger took another step forward. August reacted by dropping Idalia to the floor and withdrawing own blade. She grabbed at his arm attempting to keep him from killing the other man, but August just shrugged her off. Turning, he hit Idalia in the head with the hilt of his sword, then stepped forward to engage the stranger in battle. The sound of sword against sword was the last thing she remembered as the darkness overcame her.

* * *

Bran MacLeod stood behind the door of his prison cell, awaiting the guard's usual rotation of food delivery. He had managed to steal a small sgian dubh off of his guard the last time he had been brought a meal but had not had enough time to put the knife to use, not with another man appearing in the doorway. Now, he waited in silence for the earliest opportunity.

He had been captured while attempting to help his laird's wife, Lady Katarina, escape the clutches of their rival clan's laird, Alistair Morgan. He had been wounded in the battle, but his arm had healed to such an extent in the meantime that he now felt he could overpower his guards and escape. He sent another prayer heavenward that Lady Katarina had made it safely back to Orkney.

When the sound of metal on metal had announced the key being turned in the lock, Bran had braced himself for attack. The door had swung open, and a guard had stepped in with a trencher of food and a cup of water. His hands were full, his dirk balanced precariously in his hand under the trencher. Bran took advantage of the moment and leapt on the guard, bringing the blade up between the man's ribs hoping to reach the heart. Unfortunately, he had missed, and the guard had lashed out with his weapon, slicing into Bran's wounded shoulder. Desperate, and not willing to spend another moment being held captive to the likes of Alistair Morgan, Bran dropped and rolled, then came up behind the guard to sink his blade into the man's kidneys slicing through the artery.

The guard had dropped like a stone to his knees, then had fallen flat on his face. His now sightless eyes had stared out to the side as if asking Bran for mercy. Bran had given him none. Rising to his feet, he cursed softly at the state of his shoulder. He bent down to take the guard's blade, then stepped out into the corridor, shutting the door behind himself. He did not want any of the other guards to come across his body until long after Bran was gone. Making his way down the dark corridor, he was about to turn the direction from where he thought they had dragged him into his cell upon his capture, when he heard a commotion at the other end of the passageway.

A young woman's voice cried out in protest. "I will not leave Leonor! Put me down!"

"You will do as I say, when I say," the all too familiar voice of August Raymond echoed down the hallway, followed by a loud smacking sound.

Bran recognized the name the girl had mentioned as one of the Lady Katarina's sisters. He could not leave them to their fate, especially not at the hands of a man such as August Raymond. He was a terrible man and to leave her with him was to let her go a to certain death. Sighing, Bran stepped forward. "Put the lass down."

"I will not," August replied, turning to face Bran's position. "I know your voice. Come into the light so that I might see your face."

Bran stepped forward into the candle's light, his blade held firmly in hand. "Let the lass go, August."

"I shall not, MacLeod," August refused, shaking his head. His eyes only registered a small amount of surprise at seeing Bran again after so many years.

The girl's brows raised in surprise as realization dawned in her eyes that they knew each other. "Please, help me!" she begged him, her eyes frantic with fear.

"Silence!" August commanded, giving her a sharp smack. Seeing a man strike a woman caused Bran's blood to boil with anger. "Ye were warned," he growled through clenched teeth, taking a threatening step toward August.

August shook his head, giving Bran a warning look. "Take another step and I shall kill the girl," he threatened, and stopped Bran in his tracks.

He eyed the lass flung over August's shoulder, weighing the risk of helping her, versus leaving and simply following them back to the Romani encampment, to then retrieve her. The murderous look in August's eyes told him the latter was not an option. "What is she to ye?"

August laughed, pride entering his eyes. "She is my betrothed."

"I am not your betrothed! I am nothing to you and never shall be!" the girl argued loudly. She turned her gaze to meet Bran's. "Please, Sir," she said. "My sister is ill and needs a healer. Please help us!"

Making up his mind, Bran took another step forward. August reacted by dropping the lass to the floor and withdrawing his own blade. The girl grabbed at August's arm, clearly attempting to keep him from killing Bran, but August just shrugged her off. Turning, he hit her on the head with the hilt of his sword, then stepped forward to engage with Bran in battle. The girl slumped unconscious onto the floor. Bran raised his blade to defend against August's attack.

"Ye should nae have come back," Bran told him, fighting off another blow. "Ye were fortunate to survive the first attack ye made on our people by the loch. We searched for ye but found nay trace o' ye. I had hoped ye were gone from these lands."

"I shall nae leave without what is mine," August grunted as he lashed out at Bran, taking advantage of his wounded shoulder.

"Ye shall leave without the lass."

"I shall not," August stubbornly refused.

"I shall kill ye."

"You may try, but you know the consequences of that. Don't think I will not do what I have said."

Bran's heart sank. He knew he was threatening to hurt his child. He had had an affair with August's sister while he had been fostered to a border clan with connections to his mother's family. That had been six years before. Six long years without him seeing his own blood; or ever being able to hug his daughter. Six years with him being a failure of a father.

August had forbidden Bran access to the girl or her mother, as he did not approve of his sister marrying a non-Romani. As the leader of his clan, August had the last say, and Bran had been forced to honor that when the mother of his child had commanded him to leave. He had never been given the chance to meet his daughter and August had used his niece against him as leverage, threatening to hurt or even kill her if Bran displeased or disobeyed him. It was the hope of one day getting to see her and hold her in his arms that had kept him going and had made him want to find a way out of there. "Ye would nae. Nae even ye are that evil."

"I could and I would."

A soft moan announced that the girl at August's feet had returned to consciousness. August ignored her. Bran stepped forward, with the intention of taking the man alive in order to protect his own child, but August saw his attack coming and reached down to grab the lass and placed her between them. Bran managed to stop his blade just before it harmed the girl, while August held a blade to her throat.

"August, dinnae do this."

"I shall if you do not let me take her."

The sound of men coming down the corridor announced the arrival of more guards. One of August's men ran up behind him in warning, surprise showing on his face at seeing Bran. "The Morgan guards are coming."

August nodded in acknowledgement. "Take Idalia."

Bran stepped forward. "Take me instead."

August's brows arose in surprise, then a greedy light entered his eyes. "I shall consider your proposal under one condition."

Bran cocked his brow in question, as the sound of guards' feet caused his spine to tingle in warning. "What?."

"You shall be my mercenary. Ye will do as I say." August raised a hand before Bran could answer him. "If ye say no, I shall kill Idalia and I shall keep the promise I made in the past."

Given no other choice, Bran gave a single nod. He would have done anything to protect his daughter and he wanted to help Lady Katarina's sisters as well, as she was his best friend's wife.

August released the girl, letting her fall to the floor. He turned to his men, now all standing behind him. "Take him," he commanded, then turned and walked away, leaving Bran to be bound and hauled out of the prison by his band of Romani men.

As Bran walked past the girl lying on the stone floor, he met her eyes, bleary and confused. "Yer sister is looking for ye," he informed her, hoping that it would bring her some comfort and hope. "If I ken anything about Lady Katarina, she will find ye, lass. When she does, dinnae mention me, for I am already dead." With those last parting words, he left the beautiful, brown-eyed Romani lass in the darkness, alone.

"Who are you?" she whispered to his retreating back, but Bran did not answer. It was better for them both if she never discovered the truth.