Chapter 1

1

“ L isten very carefully and try nae to react, lass,” Thomas whispered quickly. His mouth was barely moving as his eyes raked over the guests.

Everyone who was anyone attended the celebration this week—McFair Keep was always the place to be during this time of year. It was Samhain and also Laird and Lady McFair’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, so it was one of the grandest events that Erica had ever attended.

Lairds and Ladies from across the Highlands, and even the Lowlands and Borderlands, made the journey up with their clansmen and children. McFair Keep was buzzing with laughter and conversation, and the chorus of the bagpipes and drums filled the Great Hall as the cèilidh raged on.

Standing up on the platform with her parents, Erica’s face was the perfect picture of nonchalance.

“Go on,” she mumbled over her bare shoulder.

Her long brown hair was tied in intricate braids that fell down her back, and the stark green of her eyes was accentuated by the emerald-green dress that her mother had bought for her.

Erica was the second eldest of the Kilmartin children, and very much used to receiving untimely news in public like this. Thomas, only one year younger than her, stood head and shoulders above her and had to lean down conspicuously to say, “I tried to talk to ye when I found out about this, but Maither has been watching me like a hawk, even now?—”

“Well, out with it, then,” she whispered as she watched her younger siblings—Olivia, Reid, and Eileen—start to squabble. They stopped only when their father started to stand up.

Tavish Kilmartin was still young, but he seemed to become slower as time passed. His old war wounds were very quickly catching up to him. Although, as the cèilidh carried on around them, he still commanded the room’s attention as he raised a single hand. The music died down, and the crowd faced him with rapt attention.

“This is happenin’ because of yer stubbornness. All of yer whinin’. I’ve heard it all.”

Erica’s irritation flared at Thomas’s accusation, but she had to suppress her mounting anger because now all eyes were on the platform.

Silently willing her cheeks not to flush, she balled her hands into tight fists and asked through gritted teeth, “What do ye mean by that?”

“I heard ye speak with them. ‘I dinnae wish to do this. I dinnae want to go there. I dinnae want to marry and go away while ye’re sick, Faither.’ None of it helped at all,” her brother hissed, almost frantic.

Get to the point.

Erica remained poised, her expression giving nothing away. But her insides bristled at her brother’s mocking tone, and she itched to know what he was trying to convey.

She breathed deeply before responding with a lethally measured voice. “What. Is. This. About. Thomas?”

Her father’s voice suddenly rang across the Great Hall, drawing her attention away from her brother. “… although nae everyone we invited is in attendance…”

“Erica, I only meant that they’re goin’ to—” Thomas tried.

“… We’ve gathered ye all here to?—”

Suddenly, the heavy doors to the keep flew open, cutting both men off. The sounds of pistols being cocked and daggers being drawn rippled across the crowd as a dark figure marched through the doors with incomprehensible ease.

Erica’s eyes met the stranger’s intense stare before the crowd turned to take him in as well. Her mouth went dry as he rolled back his broad shoulders and ran a large hand through his tousled brown hair, his gray eyes never leaving hers.

Like a hawk to the hare, Erica had never felt more like prey than at that moment.

Before his sharp eyes turned to rake over the other guests, she caught an almost imperceptible smirk at the corner of his full lips.

This man is dangerous, and he kens it.

She was ever aware of him now. His movements were intentional as his focus shifted between the other lairds and their weapons. This fearsome man undoubtedly thought he could take on every fighter in this room, and Erica had an unsettling thought that he may actually be capable of beating them all—which made her blood run ice-cold and fire-hot all at once.

“Ah, Laird MacKinnon. Good,” she heard her father say with a sigh, though the recognition did nothing to soften the hostile postures of their guests.

They all shifted back and forth and craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the intruder.

“He hasnae left his lands in years…” she heard her mother murmur.

As Laird MacKinnon weaved through the crowd, his gaze fixed on the head table, Erica noted that everything about him demanded attention and respect, and screamed danger.

“Did he nae kill his whole family a few years ago, Braither?” she heard Reid whisper loudly, to which Thomas nodded his head subtly.

He killed his whole family?

Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, pulling her lips apart slightly as the man’s intense eyes landed on her.

What! What is that monster doin’ here, then? What was Faither thinkin’?

Erica’s eyes darted around, looking everywhere else but not at him.

“What is that monster doin’ here?” Thomas muttered under his breath, echoing her thoughts, his knuckles white with growing fury.

A gracious wave of their father’s hand encouraged the guests to let out the breaths they had been holding in and sheath their weapons. “As I was sayin’…”

“Thomas?” Erica whispered to her brother. “Thomas!” she tried again. “What were ye about to say?”

But Thomas remained silent as he watched Laird MacKinnon approach them.

Their father started thanking the guests for their attendance, and the crowd roared with pride as he named each of the prominent clans.

“Thomas?” Erica hissed louder so her brother could hear her, but then stiffened as her mother moved to stand closer to her. She flushed at having been caught.

Thomas finally turned his glare away from his new obsession and locked eyes with her. His face conveyed something like sorrow mixed with anger as their father continued.

Too late.

“Me son and heir, Thomas, will proceed with the order of events.”

Thomas stood, his voice booming, holding each person in complete rapture. The action took Erica by surprise. She had never seen her brother in such a state.

“Tomorrow, caber toss, sprint, and stone put competitions will be held on McFair Lawn. Hammer throw, quoits, and an archery tournament will be held outside the garden. Haggis hurling and egg toss for the young lads and lassies will start on Tavish Hill just after noon.”

The giggles and cheers of the young guests warmed Erica’s heart, and she clapped along with them distractedly. Her youngest siblings had been assessing their competition so blatantly that their fervor temporarily distracted her anxious thoughts.

“If needed, we will continue the games into day two,” Thomas continued.

If needed?

As if he heard her thoughts, Thomas turned his head slightly in her direction before he stepped back to let their father continue.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Erica whispered, not caring if their mother heard her or not. She needed to know what was happening, and now.

Their father spoke loudly before Thomas could answer. “Aye. The necessity of day two will be decided after the scores are tallied tomorrow evening. Lastly, there will be a weddin’ party at the end of this week, in celebration of the union between the winner of these games and me lovely daughter Erica.”

The roar of the crowd echoed through the Great Hall, and Erica suppressed the urge to spin around and glare at her father with immense effort.

Thomas pressed his elbow to her side gently. “Shh… just wait.”

His warning had been loaded with enough empathy to prompt her to reel in her fury as their father motioned for her and their mother to move forward.

Eager eyes darted between Laird MacKinnon and Erica as Laird McFair closed his announcement with a toast to the competitors.

Lady McFair put her soft hand over Erica’s and tucked it in the crook of her arm. “Let’s go, dear,” she said softly.

Erica let her mother lead her away from the safety of her brother’s side and down the long steps into the depths of the Great Hall to socialize with the lairds who had all assembled to compete for her hand.

Like a prized cow up for auction.

She wanted to wrench her arm free and run straight through the doors that Laird MacKinnon had pushed open moments before. Run straight into the cold, wet, darkness because at least the darkness was predictable. Thanks to Thomas, she knew these lands like the back of her hand and could easily navigate them even in the darkest of nights.

I could hide until this cèilidh is over. Maybe Faither will cancel the games.

“This is me daughter, Lady Erica Kilmartin,” she heard her mother say to a laird.

Not catching the man’s name or title, she let herself focus on the tall, slightly disheveled man swaying in front of them.

Erica raised an eyebrow as she quickly assessed the man. His half-lidded eyes lingered on the swell of her breasts as he inclined his head in greeting. His eyes slowly raked up her chest and neck before he smirked possessively.

With effort, she plastered on a soft smile to mask the sneer tugging at her lips as she curtsied in greeting. She watched as the man’s eyes drifted behind her to rest on the Lovat twins, who undoubtedly waved coquettishly back at him.

Disgustin’.

Her mother, also aware of the man’s behavior, curtsied quickly and led her to Laird O’Farlane and his youngest son, James Morris. Thomas’s eyes met hers as she approached the poor man, and he shook his head in pity.

They all knew that young James had recently lost his wife in an accident, and Erica had been prepared to see him again tonight just under different circumstances.

Wait, is he really here to compete for me hand so soon after his wife’s death?

James stood just a head taller than her. His brown hair curled over his brow, and his smile seemed to play easily across his plump red lips. The man who had once been joyful and bold, full of color and adoration for his wife, was struggling to hide the sadness in his piercing blue eyes.

“Good Evenin’, Lady Erica. Good to see ye again,” he said, the tenor of his voice like caramel. His tanned skin stretched smoothly across his dimpled cheeks.

Erica caught herself smiling. “Good to see ye again, James,” she returned, catching her mother’s grin out of the corner of her eye.

“Again?” Lady McFair echoed.

“In Edinburgh, with Thomas and Reid a few months ago,” Erica elaborated, her gaze still fixed on James.

Lady McFair looked between them. “Och, aye? Young James is competin’ this week,” she stated with some excitement.

James’s gaze broke from Erica’s, and he addressed her mother warmly. “I am, Lady McFair. As I am able. I shall do me best to win yer daughter’s hand.” He shifted his gaze back to Erica. “What an honor it would be to compete for yer hand, lass,” he added.

Suddenly, the idea of someone competing for her hand didn’t seem like such a bad one, after all. James Morris wasn’t a laird or even the heir of Clan O’Farlane, but he was always kind to her, smart, and quite handsome. Though the hint of sadness in his eyes begged her to question his cheerful demeanor.

It was such a heartbreakingly sudden way to lose the woman he loved—is he ready to marry again so soon?

“Well then, I wish ye the best of luck, lad,” Lady McFair offered.

Erica lowered her eyes slightly in a modest farewell before she let her mother lead her away.

Chancing a look back in James’s direction once more before greeting the next suitor, she found that he was still watching her. Heat crept up her torso, and the smallest of grins spread across her lips.

“Lady McFair,” a deep, icy voice suddenly said, stopping them both short.

Erica’s head whipped around. Her eyes dropped before flicking up to the man standing tall in front of them. Laird MacKinnon’s stormy grey eyes stared back at her. Unflinchingly.

“Laird MacKinnon, may I present me daughter?—”

“Lady Erica Kilmartin,” Laird MacKinnon stated confidently, which sent a cold shiver through Erica.

“I didnae ken that ye’d attend the cèilidh, Laird MacKinnon. I do hope yer journey went well enough.”

Laird MacKinnon’s eyes never left Erica’s as he addressed her mother. “I was invited.”

“Aye, it’s just that ye never answer our invitations, Laird MacKinnon,” Lady McFair pointed out, exasperated. “I dinnae have a room ready for ye just yet.”

“Nae to worry, Lady McFair. I ken ye have enough space for me. McFair Keep rivals even me estate, and I am but one man.”

How presumptuous! What a pompous ?—

Expecting her mother to deliver quite a retort, Erica almost sprained her neck when Alba Kilmartin quietly dipped her head at his request.

“I will instruct the staff shortly,” Alba said obligingly, before smoothing her gown and walking past him.

Confused, Erica quickly studied the massive man before she followed her mother and started to ask her more about their interaction. His coat stretched across his chest and shoulders, the seams straining. His shirt did nothing to hide the rippling muscles under it, and her mouth went bone dry in an instant.

But for all her observation, she didn’t notice her mother stopping to address the man again. Erica ran into her thin shoulder with such force that it knocked the breath out of her lungs.

She blushed, realizing that her miscalculation had not gone unnoticed by Laird MacKinnon. With knitted eyebrows, she studied the lines on his face as they softened indistinctly before hardening again, and she steeled herself for his undoubtedly biting response.

“Erica Kilmartin, ye must pay attention,” Alba hissed quickly with a severity that Erica could only imagine was supposed to be aimed at Laird MacKinnon.

“Aye, Maither,” Erica quipped before twisting around, so her mother could continue.

“Just so I understand, Laird MacKinnon,” Alba continued, but not before glancing at Erica out of the corner of her eye warningly. “In yer history of nae acceptin’ our invitations, why have ye accepted our invitation now?”

Laird MacKinnon didn’t answer immediately. The only indication that he had heard her question was his hardening features.

A foreign heat bloomed in the crevices of Erica’s body as the silence stretched on between them. She hated how his grey eyes set her ablaze.

Laird MacKinnon’s voice was filled with menace, his features darkening as he dipped his chin and addressed only her. “I am here because I intend on winnin’.”

Christ alive, nay…