Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

“The Queen has gone mad with power if she thinks we will marry our only daughter off to some Scottish beast.”

Emma froze at the sound of her father’s booming voice.

Matthew Wells, the Earl of Cumbria and Fairisle Lakes, raged on occasion, usually about politics that hurt his pockets, or his enemies’ triumphs at the gaming hells, or a turn of foul weather when he wanted to hunt.

Usually, it was an amusing matter, as Emma and her mother would exchange exasperated but affectionate glances.Moreover, Matthew never raged at his Countess, much less Emma, who he doted on.

And so, his fury cut straight through Emma, for it was edged with fear.

I did not think Father capable of feeling fear.

“Easy, Matthew,” came Lavinia’s voice after a moment, as though also surprised by his outburst. “We shall appeal to our friends. Or directly to Her Majesty about her Edict. Or perhaps we misunderstood?—”

“Lavinia,” Matthew cut in, his voice low and urgent. Emma crept closer to the door, resting a shaking hand on it. “It leaves nothing to question.” There was a rustle of paper. “ If any unmarried laird or laird’s son from the Lowlands or Highlands is of age and unwed, he shall seek out a bride in the south, an English lady of noble blood. ”

“Exactly,” Lavinia replied in a too-bright voice, as though trying to convince herself. “How many of the Lairds will choose to do so? Are the Scottish not an insular people? They do not care for us.”

“The Queen is not giving them a choice, my dear,” Matthew said with a heavy sigh. “And too many. She dangles the noble daughters of England as not only bloody bait, but also riches. After all the uprisings among those barbaric people—my God, think of the bloodshed of the Wednesday Uprising alone.” He paused. “Never mind the defeat of our fine English army, any laird with sense will jump at this opportunity.”

“But…” Lavinia let out an incredulous laugh. “Our Emma is not meant for the mountains or to be a warrior’s wife. She is to go to town and join the Court. She…”

Silence filled the room, and Emma reared back, not sure what was happening within.

Was her mother weeping? Were they holding hands and whispering? She pressed closer to the door, but she heard nothing. Were they frozen in shock?

No. Emma relaxed. Her father had a quick and cunning mind. He would think of something. He never let any challenge stop him.

“Matthew, say something,” Lavinia said in a soft voice. “You are scaring me.”

“For I am scared, wife,” Matthew muttered in a bitter tone. “I freely admit that. I have not felt such fear since our daughters…” He stumbled over his words, and Emma’s spine went rigid. Her father never tripped over his speech, not even when he was drunk or weary. “Not since our daughter's birth. Or our first babe we lost so many years ago.” A long pause, then a bitter sigh. “Or since I saw the Scottish hang a boy for daring to feed his own people.”

Lavinia drew in a sharp breath, and Emma heard a rustle of skirts, as though her mother had stood up. A moment later, sure enough, she heard the quick clicking of her mother’s shoes on the stone floor.

“Matthew, I told you twenty-one years ago, and I will tell you again—I shall not listen to you speak of that boy’s murder. I cannot…” Her voice broke. “When you told me how his mother screamed for him… It haunts me.”

“Aye,” Matthew said wearily, and there was a clink of glass. Emma could picture her father standing by the mantelpiece, pouring himself a glass of fine whisky, bright and deep gold inside the thick glass. “It haunts me, too. To hear her screams as those ruffians drove me off. Or how I came upon an entire village emptied of its folk—forced to attend the hanging of their Laird’s son. A lad who fed and cared for veterans, for the old and ill.”

“You are lucky you did not lose your life that day as well,” Lavinia said in a sharp voice.

“Oh, my dear, you know the Laird’s brutes stopped me before I could even reach the crowd. Some foul, rat-faced fellow threatened I could join the poor boy if I dared to interfere.” He paused. “Not even my title impressed those monsters. And that Laird… I’ve never witnessed a man so cruel. Perhaps he was the devil.”

“Oh, Matthew.”

“To ignore his wife’s screams and pleas—his son’s pleas? That man was a monster, Lavinia. The lad could not have been more than ten or eleven. Perhaps younger.”

Silence fell, and then Lavinia whispered, “Are all Scots truly so wicked?”

“Nay,” Matthew said with a laugh that could’ve been hiding a sob. “Some are worse. Some would make the devil himself weep. Truly, is this punishment for…?”

Lavinia’s quick steps crossed the room. “Oh, Matthew, you cannot blame yourself.”

“Lavinia, I… I do not know what to do. How do we save our daughter?”

At that, Emma’s blood ran cold, and she did not even remember fleeing, not until she made it outside. Taking in frantic gulps of the warm air, she stared up at the sky and blinked back tears.

I will never marry a man called a beast. The Queen may issue all the Edicts she pleases or even throw me in the tower herself. She balled her fists. But I will not marry a Scottish Laird as long as I draw breath.

Emma Wells vowed so to the stars, her head thrown back and her dark hair fluttering in the breeze.

And the stars seemed to smolder, as though promising to hold her word.

Or did they laugh at me—for how could a woman barely out of girlhood stand up to the Crown, never mind the Beasts and Devils of Scotland?

Later that night, when the moon was shrouded by a heavy roil of clouds, Emma stole past her parents’ quarters again. She barely allowed herself a look, her heart pounding so loud she was sure it would wake her sleeping mother. Besides, if she paused to think about what she was doing— no, oh no, do not think such things.

Swallowing back a sob, Emma pressed on, feeling as though she were a lost heroine in a storybook, pushing her way through a deep forest. Her home, the fine and grand manor of her ancestors, which she’d always loved, was filled with strange shadows all around her. She should’ve been in her bed, sleeping and dreaming of London.

Instead, she snuck through the halls in clothes that itched and felt strange on her skin, somehow too light and too warm at the same time. The front felt too tight, pushing her ample bosom up even more, and she found herself pausing to draw breath from time to time.

Finally, she made it to the back door, which, as promised, Beattie had left unlocked.

Dear Bea . She had no idea what Emma was up to, thinking it was some girlish lark. Still thinking of Emma as a small girl who liked to pick out ribbons for kittens and puppies, who liked to sneak treats from the cook, and whose small fingers were quick and deft with a needle, loom, or weft.

“What a wee wonder ye are!” Bea would often exclaim.

Outside, the cool spring night pressed in close, and Emma tightened the shawl around her head. Clutching her bag tighter, she hoped that the servant boy had listened to Bea and brought out her trunks to the road and that the carriage driver had loaded them. No delays could be afforded. Her father’s men could grow suspicious at any moment, as Matthew pushed them to be.

Emma thought she would never get to the road when suddenly, she was there. Far away from the sleeping manor, under a sky filled with stars that stole her breath.

A shadow of a rickety carriage rose in front of her.

“Alrigh’, young miss?” called a jovial, cracking voice, and an older man held up a lantern. “Ye are the maid who needs passage?”

“Aye,” Emma croaked. “Thank ye for waitin’,” she added, in a terrible attempt at imitating Bea’s accent.

Even from the ground, Emma could see the amusement and pity that crossed the old man’s face.

“Well, get on up. Ol’ George guides the restless and runaways. We’ll be to Yorkshire in nay time.”

“Thank you,” Emma breathed and clambered into the carriage.

She leaned back in her seat, blessing her friend for always knowing what to do. Somehow, Helena had arranged all of this in less than a day.

Perfect timing, for her parents had already told her that they needed to speak with her on the morrow.

Lady Highbrow, you always know what to do.

Emma’s heart swelled at the thought of her brilliant best friend figuring all of this out.Helena had known all about it, already filled with her own grim foreboding, and had suggested that Emma retreat to her widowed aunt’s estate to the south, then they’d find a way to get to the Lovell family’s seaside cottage, and flee abroad.

“What about you?” Emma had asked anxiously. “ What if you cannot make it?”

Helena’s lips had thinned, and for once, she seemed to shrink. Then she had shrugged and smiled, saying that even a Scot wouldn’t want a bluestocking, and not to worry.

But Emma worried as much for Helena as she did for herself.

Emma was jolted awake in the carriage, which she had come to loathe over the past three days. She knew every terrible creak and jolt, and usually could never sleep in it.

For a moment, she thought perhaps they’d reached her aunt’s estate, but it was too quiet. Some instinct told her to stay still, to barely breathe, and then she heard the unmistakable sound of a sword being sheathed.

“Didnae give us much of a fight, did he, lad?” An ugly laugh drifted through the carriage door.

Emma froze.

Wicked Scottish beasts. She bit her lip hard. And where is ? —?

“Poor ole grandfaither should’ve been asleep in his bed, nae on the road.”

“Search the carriage,” said another voice, cold and flat, making Emma’s entire body freeze over.

“Aye,” the first man grumbled, and footsteps started toward the carriage.

Emma’s breathing was too quick, too fast, and her heart hurt. Somewhere in her heart, she thought she might be weeping for Ol’ George, who had helped Helena out of more than one scrape. The innocent old man did not deserve to die at the hands of highwaymen.

As the footsteps drew close, Emma thought to scream, but then she clamped her mouth shut. Instead, she gathered all her strength, and as the handle turned, she threw herself at the door.

There was a surprised bellow of pain, and Emma saw a big man fall backward, one of his boots flying off, but she was already down and running. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a still form sprawled on the other side of the road, and a sob hitched in her throat.

For a moment, she slowed down, until she saw a tall shadow unfold next to it and the wicked gleam of a knife. Emma let out a gasp of terror and turned, running so fast that she spooked the horses, who took off running.

The second man with the knife cursed, and Emma thought to chase the horse for one wild moment. Instead, she darted to the left, her skirts snagging in the long grass, and made for the dense woods.

It was dark as night still, for the morning was but a suggestion in the sky.

The air was cold and damp, and her breath sawed in and out of her lungs in painful bursts. Her generous curves and her dress did not help her escape, but terror seemed to lend her feet wings.

Though there was a metallic tang in her mouth, almost like blood, she kept running.

Emma’s ears were filled with nothing but her gasping breaths and the thud of her boots hitting the earth. Thank goodness she’d opted to keep her good shoes.

As though hearing her thoughts, the forest suddenly thinned into a clearing with a sharp, if short, drop into a stream, and she stumbled back. The light was brighter now, and she gazed around, seeing that she was quite alone.

Pressing a hand to her thundering heart, she also realized that she’d lost her shawl somewhere, and her hair was in wild tangles around her shoulders. Staring down at the water, Emma fought down tears, even as she knew she’d have to ford it.

I hate wet stockings.

For a moment, she hopped from foot to foot, wondering if she should simply walk along until she found a better spot to cross. She had no idea where she was, and until the sun rose, she wouldn’t know what direction to take.

Can I make it to Aunt’s estate alone?

She sighed, knowing she was wasting precious time. About to clamber down the bank, Emma heard a sound behind her and whirled. The forest moved around her as the wind rose, then stilled as it petered out.

Ears straining, she listened hard and began to back up, intent on getting out of this small clearing. Another noise came, then, and Emma lost her cool, turning with a soft cry to run.

Only to crash into something hard and solid. Something—no, someone —someone with strong hands who caught her neatly round the elbows and prevented her from falling backward.

Still, she tried to wrench free, but he held on tighter, dragging her close. So close that even in the dim wood, Emma could see that she’d crashed into possibly the most handsome man in the entire world.

She’d never seen a man so strong and tall, not even the men who handled the horses on her father’s estate.

And his face… She thought she’d never tire of looking at him, with his strong jaw and brow, the deep grooves under his cheekbones. His nose had a slight bump in it, as though it had been broken, and there was a small silver scar at the corner of those defined lips. Lips that seemed to beg for a kiss. His dark hair tumbled down to his shoulders in unruly and gorgeous dark curls, while his cunning green eyes, the color of cool pine, seemed to take her measure with a single glance.

Her heart raced as her lips parted, unable to stop herself from staring at this stranger, who offered her a slow and wicked smile.

And she realized how much danger she was in.

Emma Wells, daughter of the Earl of Cumbria and Fairisle Lakes, had somehow found herself at the mercy of a Highlander.