Prologue

L aura allowed her body to move with the swaying and jolting of the coach. Her nurse sat propped up with cushions in the corner. Fast asleep and oblivious to the tedious journey, the elderly nurse snored as her mouth gaped open.

The landscape outside the coach was gloomy. Sallow yellow tufts of grass trying to grow amidst the gritty soil. Nothing was flat, everything seemed to be jagged and steep. The road wended over humpbacked hills and skirted around rocks as big as giants. When Laura craned her neck to look up at the slate sky, she saw birds of prey circling above her—almost as if they were watching the coach. They were too high up for her to hear their cries.

As the terrain became increasingly rugged, the coach jolted hard enough to wake the old woman.

"Goodness gracious! Scotland is the most unfriendly country to travel in," Nurse Mildred grumbled. "What happened? Only yesterday, the roads were so smooth and hospitable."

Her pretty young charge had nothing else to do besides look out of the hatch window for the last twenty miles, so she was able to answer the question. "That's because we were in the Scottish Lowlands yesterday, Nurse. Now we are in the Highlands. See?" Laura pointed to the gray crags surrounding them. They towered up into the misty clouds that wisped around their peaks.

Nurse Mildred clucked her tongue. "Who would have thought that a few leagues would be enough for the landscape to change so much? From rolling hills and lush green grass to this! Will this horrid journey never end? Why would your father feel the need to send you forth to meet your betrothed like this? The man should come to you, not the other way around." It was clear that the old woman was made irritable from the journey.

The girl sighed. She often asked herself the same questions. "Father's debts are considerable, Nurse. Ethelred Donaldsson's father has offered to settle them in exchange for my hand in marriage. It is not like we were in the position to lay down rules."

This brought the old lady no comfort. "That man! I could strangle him. Selling my sweet nursling off to the highest bidder. He should be ashamed of himself."

Laura gave no reply to this. She could not scorn her father, but nor could she deny the truth. The moment the harsh winter's snowfall began to melt, Sir Morecambe Raleigh had sent riders forth. Their mission was to deliver an enticing letter to every nobleman living between the manor and the North Sea. And that included the Scottish Highlands.

And this is the message the letters contained:

Greetings,

Might I tempt you, fine nobleman, with an offer you cannot refuse, especially if you be a connoisseur of female beauty and soft speech?

I have a daughter. She is the fairest belle of the north. Chaste, lovely, and gentle. For five years she has run my household, played host to my guests, and cared for the invalids on my estate. A pearl past price, dear sir, I do not exaggerate.

What would you offer me for this delightful young woman to be dropped into your lap like a ripe plum?

She is on the market to the highest bidder this May Day at noon. I invite you to my estates in Northumberland to observe her beauty for yourself. But act swiftly, I warn you! There are many wealthy noblemen prepared to lay down their gold to possess such a prize for a wife.

Your friend and ally,

Sir Morecambe Raleigh,

Humberside Manor

Mill Burn, Northumberland.

Over a dozen suitors had ridden south to inspect Maid Laura Raleigh. Laura had woken up one morning and looked out her bedchamber window to see a line of horses coming through the manor gate.

Sir Morecambe had ordered his daughter to dress in her finest clothes before coming down to greet their guests. This grated against Laura's fiercely independent nature. "I will dress myself as I see fit, Father! I have to work in the kitchen today because you insisted on holding a feast."

"Hush!" Sir Morecambe begged her. "Please keep a civil tongue between your teeth, Daughter. Do not forget that I told these guests that you were docile and sweetly spoken. If you mess this up, the moneylenders will foreclose on us."

And so Laura was forced to put on her most tempting dress and smile enchantingly at the men as they came in. When the visitors found Laura to be exactly as her father had described her, there was a mood of competition in the air. Soon, Sir Morecambe was besieged with offers for his daughter's hand in marriage. The men alternated between kissing Laura's dimpled wrist and complimenting Morecambe on his daughter's splendid face and figure.

"She is as desirable as a dumplin' might be to a starvin' man," said a nobleman from Aberdeen, "and from those delicious aromas comin' up from the kitchen, I'll wager she knows how to cook too!"

But one man was determined to snag Laura for his son. Laird Redmond Donaldsson took Morecambe aside and whispered in his ear. "I hear ye have run up some large debts because of yer bad harvests, Raleigh."

Sir Morecambe sighed. "Aye. Two bad harvests in a row. The wheat rotted in the fields from the cursed rain. Laura has run my house for me since my wife died. I shall be heartsore to lose her, but gold in exchange for such abundant beauty is a good bargain, as I am sure you will agree."

Laird Redmond stroking the whiskers of his beard. It looked like he was thinking about making an offer, but he had actually already made up his mind. "I'll take her. It's a good bargain. Those wide hips promise many healthy bairns."

One of the lairds from Inverness overheard this. "Awa' with ye, Donaldsson! Ye're a wee bit too auld to satisfy such a beauty."

Laird Redmond stood his ground. "She's for me son, Ethelred. And the bargain has been struck, so awa' with yerself instead!"

The agreement that was made between the two men was as complicated as any contract. Laird Redmond promised to pay half the gold up front for Laura's betrothal to Ethelred, but she must journey north to meet his son. Only when the couple were happy with one another, a wedding day would be set and the balance of gold paid to Sir Raleigh.

Sir Morecambe had used some of the gold to pay for his daughter's journey north. He had wept when she kissed him farewell.

"Do not cry for me, Father," Laura patted the old man's grizzled beard. "I will make you proud. I do not think it will be so bad in the Highlands."

"It's not that," Sir Morecambe sniffed, "I am worried what kind of man you are marrying. I want him to be kind and gentle to you. I worry that your independent spirit might rub him the wrong way."

"If Ethelred is proud and disagreeable, I will know how to cheer him up. Good food, a warm fire, and a soft bed have the power to bring a smile to the blackest mood, Father. Just you get busy settling our debts with that gold. And I'll make sure the rest of the balance is paid to you once I get to Donaldsson Castle."

And so Maid Laura had set forth with her nurse to brave the rough Scottish Highlands with only a coachman and four outriders to guard her. When they left the inn at the Tay Forest crossroads behind, the coachman began to grumble.

"Keep those crossbows ready and bolted, lads. This is bandit country. I've heard bad things about this road."

One of the London-born and bred outriders scoffed. "You call this muddy track a road? I've seen better-looking cow byres."

"Mud will be the least of our worries," the coachman muttered under his breath.

It was a lawless, dangerous part of the world. The mountains provided countless caves where bands of brigands could set up camp. Every rocky outcrop was an ideal hiding place for villains to lurk. In more civilized areas, outriders would flank a coach on all sides. But with every lurching curve in the track revealing another blind spot, all four men rode in front.

From her front-facing position in the coach, Laura watched the riders' backs and prayed they had a safe passage.

Her prayers were not answered. Laid across the track were several large stones, heavy enough to make a grown man stagger to remove one of them. The coachman reined in his horse. "Get those rocks off the path, lads! Night is approaching. We must get to Iolaire village before the gloaming."

The moment the men dismounted, loud yells were heard coming from around the corner. A gang of ruffians descended on the riders, knives and cudgels raised, with mouths snarling and teeth bared. The outriders were hopelessly outnumbered.

These were the Highland hills, where the outcasts would form a clan of their own to prey on travelers. No one was safe—merchants, bards, mercenaries, and messengers—they would all fall victim to the ruthless hatred of the wicked.

The nurse clutched Laura's hand. "What is it? Can you see who is winning?"

Laura had taken one look at the score of ragged ruffians hacking and stabbing at the outriders and reached for her case. In it were the few baubles her father had not yet sold and a gold sovereign he had given Laura for her bridal. The jewelry had belonged to her mother, and were the only mementos she had of that kind lady.

The coachman wrenched open the door. "Quick! Our men will not hold them off for long. Their cross bolts are all gone."

Nurse Mildred whimpered, but Laura wasted no time in hoisting her kirtle above her knees and jumping down onto the rutted track. "Whither shall I go?" she begged the coachman to point her in the best direction.

"They will expect you to flee backwards. Do not go down the mountain track, Maid! Climb up. Always climb upwards. You will find safety at the top of this mountain."

Giving Laura a push, the coachman showed her a faint pathway curling around the mountainside. It glittered silver in the twilight. Taking her nurse's hand, Laura trudged at a fast pace along the trail. Behind her, she heard the sound of men dying. A shadow flickered in the evening mist. The coachman had cut the coach horse loose and was riding it bareback down the mountain, so fast as if the devil himself were after him.