Prologue

PROLOGUE

Mary rested her head against the wall next to the window that looked out over the Highland landscape before her. At Keep Aitken, she was normally struck by how beautiful the rolling hills and thick forest looked, especially lit in the glow of summer sunshine, but now, all she could see was a low, muted gray.

Perhaps it was the storm clouds gathering in the sky above them, or perhaps, she conceded, it was to do with her mood. She had longed to be back here, with her older sister Amelia, for the last few months, ever since her previous visit. Now that Amelia was nearing the end of her pregnancy, she craved that closeness even more than she had before. She wanted to be there when her first niece or nephew came into the world, and she could hardly wait to hold them in her arms.

If she were to be honest with herself, though, there was more to her flight here than just her family. Her mind, before she could stop it, drifted to the night of the wedding party, nearly eight months ago now. To the man who, no matter how much she’d tried to forget him, had remained wrapped around her mind like so much ivy around a tree.

She’d asked her sister who he was, but she’d been unable to give her an answer. Mary supposed she could have cast her net a little wider, but perhaps there was a part of her that enjoyed the anonymity they shared. He had no idea who she was, just as she had no idea of his history, and there was a relief in knowing that she could slip into almost any role he wanted, on that heady, warm night.

Though she was still learning how to dance the traditional ceilidh steps in those days, he had asked her to be his partner, and she had accepted at once. She’d apologized, before they had even begun, for how she would tread on his feet, and he had simply smiled at her in amusement.

“Aye, I’m sure I’ll find a way to cope.”

She could still remember, all too vividly, the way his eyes had burned into hers; the way he had looked at her, those light-blue eyes meeting hers every time he pulled her close into a waltz step. He had led her with ease, his strong arm around her waist, his callused hand holding her tight, leaving her no room to tumble over her own feet as she normally did. She had no choice but to let him take the lead, and her breath had caught in her throat as he had swung her around, as though she was little more than a rag doll. His strength should have scared her, but instead, it thrilled something to life in her that she had never felt before.

When they had paused between songs for a drink, he eyed her for a moment.

“You look as though you’d rather be anywhere else, lass.”

“I just… I don’t know many people here,” she had confessed, before she could stop herself. She didn’t know why she was telling him this, or if he even cared.

“Ye’re no’ from around here, I take it?”

“Is it so obvious?”

He chuckled, and then nodded.

“Aye. It is.”

She lifted the ale to her lips and took a long sip, praying it would grant her the courage to keep speaking with him. She’d danced with men before, of course she had, and she’d spoken to plenty more, but none had made her feel like this. As though meeting their gaze would cause a fire to explode between them, a fire she didn’t know if she’d be able to put out.

“What are ye doing so far from home?” he asked her, peering down at her for a moment out of the corner of his eye. His gaze seemed more penetrating than she’d been prepared for, and she glanced away from him swiftly.

“I could be on the run,” she offered flippantly. She didn’t know why she didn’t just tell him the truth, that she was visiting her sister and her new husband, but it would have sounded so… banal. A part of her wanted to tease out some more drama from this while she was still able to, no matter how silly it might have been.

“You could be,” he chuckled. “You could be fleeing from having killed a man, and searching for sanctuary up here, where nobody would ever come to search for you.”

She found it in her to turn to him again.

“Does that not scare you?”

He laughed this time, a low sound that seemed to come from some place deep inside of him. The sound of it sent a shiver down her spine, though she could not tell what she was responding to.

“I’m drawn to dangerous things, lassie,” he remarked finally. “But perhaps you should be a little more careful.”

With that, he took her hand, and led her out to dance once more. She lifted the hem of her dress—a light green affair, one that Amelia had picked out for her from her own extensive wardrobe—as she followed him, doing her best not to trip over her skirts. She was glad to share in her sister’s wardrobe, as the two of them bore a striking similarity; the same long, pale blonde hair, the same blue eyes, the same pale skin, though Mary bore a handful of freckles over her nose that her sister didn’t.

But this man, he was different. Darker. Not just in the way he looked, though that was a part of it; his hair, that fell in dark curls to his jaw, his olive skin, the dark stubble along his jaw. But also in how he carried himself, how he moved, a dark, seductive air following him with every step.

Even as she sat there in the Keep, far away from that night and from the feel of his hand on hers, she could still remember it, as clear as day. That night, after everyone had gone to bed, she had lain in her own quarters, listening to her sister Lily’s light snoring across from her, feeling that burning coursing through every inch of her body.

And she had not seen him since. When she had returned to the Keep, she supposed, there had been a part of her that had hoped she might run into him again. Though Amelia seemed to swear up and down that she had no idea who the man was, he would surely show his face around there again, wouldn’t he…?

And what would she do if he did? Would she admit to him that she’d come back here to find him? Would she tell him that there had hardly been a day that had gone past since they had met that she hadn’t imagined him, his hands on her, those piercing blue eyes staring down at her again?

And that he was the reason she could hardly imagine going through with what her father was trying to insist was right for her?

She shuddered at the memory of it. Another reason why she had come all the way to the Highlands, even though her father had relocated them back closer to the border again. She supposed he believed that if she were further from Amelia, who had rebelled against him so, she would be less inclined to do the same thing, especially in the face of what he had told her.

That she would have to marry. And not just that she’d have to marry, but that she’d have to marry Lord Whitcombe, a man nearly thrice her age, who had agreed to deliver a parcel of land to her father for him to begin agricultural work on if he would simply gift Whitcomb one of his daughters to marry. Lily would have kicked up a horrible fuss, and Amelia was already happily wed with Arran, which left only her.

And now, she was due to be married to him. She knew not exactly when the date was to come, but it was only a matter of time till her father, the weaselly little creature that he was, decided to walk her down the aisle to be with that ancient old thing. The mere thought of his hands on her, the two of them having to share a marital bed where she performed her wifely duties… ugh. She pushed the thought from her mind at once.

Amelia had avoided the same fate by marrying Arran. While the circumstances that had brought them together at first had been far from normal, they seemed utterly content now. And perhaps, if she could find a man who was willing to wed her before Whitcomb got that ring on her finger, she would be able to convince her father to give her the freedom she so craved.