Prologue

Corrow, Highlands, 1757

"Nay, nae again." Callie raised her hands and flattened them to her ears with such vigor that the ends of her ears hurt, but she did not stop.

She would have done anything, including endure any discomfort or pain, to drown out the sounds echoing overhead. She cast a tired glance at the ceiling of her father"s study. It was as if the hanging candelabra shook in response to what was going on above her. She pressed harder, but the sounds persisted: the man"s guttural moans, grunts, and the pretend yelps of the woman who was pretending to be pleased.

"It's all in making them believe ye want them, lassie. That's what ye have tae do."

One of her father"s oldest courtesans had said this to Callie one day. She had wrinkled her nose in response, trying not to gag when she saw the man the courtesan had led into her chamber. Furthermore, shecouldn"t imagine summoningany sort of false passion for every man who came by and paid his shilling.

"Nay more of this." Callie hastened to the window as if somehow it would give her an escape from this life, but the view only reminded her of just how trapped she was. The lead lights of the windows resembled the bars of a prisoner's cell, beyond which Loch Goil shimmered in the distance.

Ach, tae be free of here!

The house was surprisingly finefrom the outside. It was built of old timber and wattle and daub and stood high on the bank of hills surrounding Loch Goil, flanked by pine trees. It was conveniently located above a busy track road, so those who were unaware of the brothel frequently ended up there as passing trade. Despite the number of people who usually passed through the corridors, the house felt lonely and isolated to Callie.

When the sounds above her faded, she released her ears and pushed her long black hair behind her ears, raising her large gray eyes to the ceiling. It had stopped shaking for the moment but she didn't doubt it would start again just as soon as another man arrived.

"This is sickening."

"What is, Callie?" The voice had her turning round so sharply that she knocked her thin arm against the glass and banged a nerve inside her elbow that made her wince. She shook it out as she turned to face her father.

Gowan crept into his study and stood in the open doorway. He no longer wore pauper"s clothes, which would have revealed his true, impoverished background. Instead, he had become arrogant, now wearinga fine waistcoat and elegant jacket that didn"t quite fit his rough and aging features. His gray eyes pierced her soul until she ran her hands up and down her arms, terrified and trying to hide a shiver.

"Ye called me here, Father. What it is ye want?" she asked without hesitation. Callie was never one for wasting time with pleasantries, and she certainly didn't wish to waste time with her father. Ordinarily, she would have been spending her days nursing her mother through her sickness, avoiding Gowan entirely. But now that shehad died, she no longer had the luxury of losing herself in the research and preparation of the herbal remedies she had used to relieve her mother"s pain. Instead, she was forced to speak with her father whenever he demanded it.

"My debtors are coming." Gowan closed the door hurriedly behind him and crossed the room toward her. There was something balled in his hand, though she couldn't quite see what it was. Turning her back to the window, she longed to escape, conscious only of the cold sensation from the glass that pressed through her gown.

"That is what debtors do, Father. They come for what they are owed if ye dinnae pay them." Callie raised her eyebrows, already knowing his response. Gowan revealed a snide curl of his lips and shook his head.

"Ye dinnae understand business. Ye never did. Yer head is too much in the clouds, messin' wi' all yer potions?—"

"Medicines. I am nae a witch," Callie corrected him, though he continued on as if she hadn't spoken at all, flicking his untidy dark hair back from his bulging cheeks.

"Ye have tae use money in this business to get ahead if ye want any sort of quality of life." He gestured a hand at the fine room they were standing in.

Callie scoffed, and her father flinched but didn't comment on her reaction. Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the supposed finery of the space. It was obviously a grand structure, but it was dilapidated and falling apart in places. Even the settle benches and Savonarola chairs her father had placed in the space were in disrepair. He had created the illusion of a well-to-do brothel for his clients, but it was a deception. It reminded Callie of a cracked eggshell—it appeared perfect on one side, but was broken beyond repair on the other.

"I need tae avoid the debtors, so I shall be hiding. From now on, yer sister, Fiadh, shall be the face of the business," Gowan said nonchalantly as if he hadn't just revealed shocking news.

"Fiadh?" Callie repeated, her voice breathy. Fiadh was her oldest sister, beautiful and smart but troubled. She despised the business just as much as her, but she had been forced to work for their father when she was Callie"s age. In the business, Fiadh was referred to as his "helper." Callie could swear Fiadh was getting paler and gaunter by the day.

"Aye, it must be done. Now yer mother is gone, we must make changes. I shall still be in control, but what the clients will see is Fiadh as the owner."

The cavalier way he spoke of her mother's death, without a hint of remorse or even a twitch around his eyes, made Callie feel sick again. She turned her back on him and looked out of the window. Her eyes danced across the nearby hills and the pine trees.

This life . . . it is as if the flames of hell have broken through to this realm.

"Now, there is one more change we must discuss." Her father thrust the item forwardin his hand, holding it at her side. A skirt fell from his fingers, revealing a dress made of so little fabric that it left nothing to the imagination when worn.

She was to be his helper in the business now, it seemed. She"d be the one serving drinks and cleaning the rooms for the courtesans, as well as luring men into the building for business.

"Nay." Her voice was sharp.

The gown was flung at the window. It thudded softly against the glass and made Callie jump back, turning to face her father, who was breathing heavily. His round face was now puce.

"Dinnae challenge me on this," he warned, pointing a finger at her. "Ye are nae a bairn anymore, and we need the money. Ye took care of yer mother as she laid dying, ye had yer purpose. Now that's gone, we move on."

"She passed last week. Ye speak of her as if she meant nothing tae ye at all. She was yer wife!"

"Ye will do this, ye understand me? Ye will do this—" He strode toward her, bearing down on her, and she scurried back like a rat fleeing a flood, putting a Savonarola chair between them.

"Father!" Another voice cut him off, and they both came to a stop, with Callie's hands braced on the back of the chair and Gowan staring at her, breathing heavily through his nose. "Father?" Aila's voice said again.

Callie turned to see her elder sister in the doorway. She was much like Callie in looks, with the same dark hair and gray eyes which were perhaps a little paler than her own. She had been crying. The skin around her eyes was red and, judging by the tussled look of her gown, it appeared as if someone had tried to pull it off her. She adjusted the ripped shoulders and sleeves, trying to set them straight.

One of the clients did that tae her!

Callie felt rage simmering in her gut at the sight of her sister's torn gown.

"What is it?" Gowan barked.

"A client wants tae speak tae ye. At once."

"We will talk of this later," Gowan warned Callie and left the room. Aila hurried across the room, closing the door behind him. Shepicked up the thrown gown from the floor and held it in shaking fingers as Callie collapsed into the chair she had been holding onto.

"He . . . he . . ." Callie struggled to find the words.

"I can guess. Ye dinnae need tae speak of it." Aila's voice was as tremulous as Callie's own. "We must do something. History cannae keep repeating itself like this."

"What do ye mean?" Callie raised her eyes from the dress and stared at her sister's face. Where her own features were round, with heart-shaped cheeks, Aila's were narrow and elegant. Those angular features were now so tense that she no longer looked like herself, but a haunted version of the woman she had once been.

"I mean that what Fiadh and I suffer, ye shall nae. Believe me, Callie. I will nae see this happen all over again."

"Ye think I can escape this life? And ye once called me na?ve," Callie said, trying to force a laugh. She had always been known as the joker among her sisters, though it had become more and more difficult over the years to find a reason to laugh freely. Aila managed the smallest of smiles in return.

"Maybe I am, but I am nae going tae give up now." She moved quickly across the room, dropping her gown behind her and taking Callie"s hand with such force that the latterwas forced to stand and follow her sister out of the room.

"I take it we are going somewhere."

"Aye, ye could say that."

Aila led her through the study and down the corridor to the back rooms of the house, where Gowan was less concerned about the appearance of the aging walls. The wallpaper was peeling and the candles in the sconces were short and stubby. Aila hurried until they arrived at the kitchens and the adjacent storerooms.

"Why are we here?" Callie asked as her sister led her into one of the storerooms, leaving the door slightly ajar.

"I've left these here for some time. I kenned they would be needed at some point." Aila prized open a crate from the corner of the room and revealed a set of clothes. There was a pair of dirty and dark brown trews, along with a grubby white shirt, a black waistcoat, a plaid cap, and a large man's jacket.

"What are these?" Callie tentatively took the clothes as her sister thrust them toward her.

"Ye put these on. Ye can disappear into the crowd of boys that deliver the ale here from the brewery. Our father will nae think tae look for ye amongst them."

"What?" Callie hesitated, stunned at the words. "Ye wish me tae run away?"

"Do we have a choice? Quickly, Callie, put them on, I beg of ye." Aila thrust her face to the ajar door and watched as Callie changed clothes.

She removed her gown and chemise, revealing only her stays, and proceeded to put on the boy"s clothing. She tucked her long, dark hair under a wide-brimmed cap before turning to face her sister.

"Ye cannae expect me tae leave, surely?" Callie's throat felt dry. "What other life would I ken? Why I should leave, and ye stay? It's nae fair!"

"Any other life is better than this, do ye nae think?" Aila took her hand and dragged her back out of the room. "Keep yer head down."

Callie was convinced it was a mad idea, but when a young scullery maid passed them by in the kitchen and didn't even glance at her, she began to have second thoughts.

Aye, maybe this could work.

"Ye can take Fiadh's horse. Go tae our aunt and stay with her awhile. She will surely be able tae offer ye a better life than this one."

"Our dear aunt." As Callie thought about her mother"s sister, she remembered how Gowan had been afraid that she might report the brothel or rescue his daughters from the house. As a result, Gowan had hardly let her enter the house in the past ten years. "Ye must be mad though if ye think I am leaving this house without ye." Callie pulled on Aila's hand, drawing her sister to a sudden halt in the corridor. "I will nae leave ye behind."

"I am nae mad, but ye are leaving, alone."

"Aye, mad as a coot—och!" Callie was jerked forward by her sister and barely managed to stop herself from falling over. They passed through two laundry rooms before exiting the house and hurrying to the stables.

"We'll use some of the horsehair tae make ye a mustache," Aila told her as they entered.

"Madder than two coots!" Callie tried to jest, but Aila managed only a weak smile. Callie was pushed into a corner of the stable while her sister gathered a bunch of horsehairs. Her sister separated the hair and formed it into a fake mustache, which she stuck to Callie"s upper lip using a substance similar to melted wax, which hardened quickly. "What is this?" Callie asked, grimacing at the cold touch of it on her upper lip.

"Candlewax," Aila told her, Callie expressed her skepticism with a raised eyebrow, causing her sister"s smile to quickly fade. "There, ye will do now."

Callie looked down at herself and tried to hold back a sneeze, for the mustache itched and tickled her nose.

"How do I look?"

"Like a lad!"

"Aye, well, I suppose that's the idea." Callie laughed, though it halted quickly, for two shadows joined them in the stable just then. She was filled with fear and felt her heart pounding in her chest. Everything was happening too fast, and she couldn"t abandon her sisters. Alia bravely positioned herself in front of Callie as the two shadows materialized into familiar faces.

Callie let out a sigh of relief upon recognizing one of them as an acquaintance who was leading his horse into the stable. The other person was Fiadh, who was following him.

"Aila, what is going on?" Fiadh asked. "Who is—oh . . ." She trailed off as her eyes found Callie's.

Callie"s older sister came to a sudden stop as if she had turned to stone. She said nothing more but just stared at Callie.

"Who is this, Fiadh?" The man frequently visited one of the courtesans at the house, and he had repeatedly made advances towards Fiadh. However, she had refused his offers, stating that she was simply a helper in the business.

Aye, maybe someday Fiadh will have her revenge.

As Callie felt a tickle in her nose, she worried that she might sneeze and give away her disguise as a boy. She held her breath and avoided getting too close to the gentleman, fearing that any suspicion could spread throughout the brothel quickly. If anyone caught on to her escape plan, it wouldn"t take long before Gowan knew too.

Callie began to feel an intense tickling sensation that made her sneeze violently. She quickly used her hands to hold onto her mustache, preventing it from falling off.

"He . . . he . . ." Fiadh stuttered, plainly struggling to find an answer to her elder sister's question. Fiadh's eyes settled on Callie as the gentleman stepped forward, taking a closer look at her. Callie backed up, her boots scuffing in the loose straw.

"He's one of the ale lads, sir," Aila answered quickly and smiled. "Aye, he was a little lost in our stable, so I am showing him the way back to the road. Is that nae so?" She looked at Callie and elbowed her. Without knowing if she could pull off a boy's voice convincingly or not, Callie decided to nod instead. She pressed the mustache to her lip again and lowered her hands, offering a smile and feeling like a fool. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Aila trying to hold back her smile.

"I—" The gentleman stepped toward her, and Callie moved back again, certain her identity had been discovered.

"Fear nae, sir, my sister can deal with this. May I escort ye tae the house?" Fiadh asked and laid a hand to the gentleman's arm. That touch seemed to calm him a little, and he nodded, turning away. Callie released a stuttered breath at his movement, feeling the fear settle in her stomach. Fiadh followed him, casting a wild-eyed and questioning glance over her shoulder before she left and hurried after him across the yard.

"I'll explain tae her what is happening," Aila whispered to Callie. "Ye prepare a horse quickly, now." Callie sneezed again, and her sister rolled her eyes. "And would ye desist with yer sneezes? Ye will nae fool anyone if ye continue in such a way!"

"Aye, I'd like tae see ye try this. I feel as if a dead rat is stuck to my upper lip."

Aila didn"t smile at the joke this time and quickly ran towards the house, leaving Callie to take care of saddling a horse. Despite the itching on her lip becoming unbearable, she managed to gather the reins and prepare to set off, sneezing several times in quick succession.

The sound of footsteps reached her ears between the sneezes. Without knowing who was returning to the stable, she feared it would be Gowan.

What will he say if he sees me like this? He'll never forgive me for it. He might throw me tae his clients as a dead deer is thrown tae the wolves!

She tried to hide in a bale of hay, but that only made the sneezing worse.

"Are ye certain of this?" Fiadh's voice sounded in the stable. "Our sister thinks hiding in the hay will keep her safe. Yer sneezing gives ye away, Callie. Come out."

Relieved that it was only her sisters, she stepped out.

"I am nae convinced this idea will work either." Callie pressed the mustache flat to her lip, trying to scratch the itching of her nose. "Aila is certain of it." Her sisters stood before her, both fidgeting restlessly, sad smiles on their faces.

"We have tae try." Aila moved toward Callie and embraced her tightly. "Run, Callie. Run as fast as ye can and find our aunt. Do anything ye can tae escape this life."

"She is right." Fiadh moved around the two of them and held open her arms, embracing them both. "Ye find a better life than this, Callie. Promise us that?"

"How can I leave ye?" she asked, her breath catching in her throat and tears streaming down her cheeks, for she could not keep them at bay any longer. She might have fantasized about leaving this house at times, but actually going was proving much harder than she could ever have thought.

"Ye must." Fiadh sniffed and held back tears as she released them from her embrace. "Go now, before Father finds out."

"I-I . . ." Callie stepped speechless toward the horse. Before she could climb into the saddle, there was one more thing she had to say to her sisters. "I promise I will come back tae ye someday. I make ye this vow, tae help ye to escape too."

Her sisters smiled, but there was sorrow in their expressions, probably believing this was not possible.