Page 1

PROLOGUE

Sunlight poured through the chapel’s narrow windows, catching the dust motes in the air. Alisdair made his way to the vault past the altar, alone in the sacred quiet. He opened the iron gate and stepped inside.

Three simple stones lay set into the floor, the same flowers as always resting beside the smallest one, with its unnamed cross. He looked down at them and knelt, the stone cold beneath his knees. It was always cold.

Every time he knelt before their graves, the warmth of life outside never seemed to reach this place. It was as if he stepped out of the living the moment he entered.

He set down his grief before every tomb, each one a part of him buried along with his family. Eight years now. Eight years of grief and a responsibility he had never asked for but shouldered all the same.

“Faither, the MacCallans are no more,” he said. “Anyone who helps the Sinclairs will get what they deserve. I will take down all of his allies one by one. Me promise stands, Faither.” His voice echoed in the small room. “They will pay for this. Maither, I will avenge ye. Catherine…” His voice broke on her name.

His wife hadn’t deserved such agony. She had been targeted only because she carried his name and his heir. If she had never married him, she would be in a quiet cabin somewhere, a book or her embroidery in hand, living a peaceful life.

Footsteps sounded behind him. He rose to find his brother and his best friend, Duncan, standing outside the vault. Neither of them spoke while he finished paying his respects.

Ewan looked away, dealing with the loss in his own way.

“Ye keep talkin’ to tombstones like that, and people might realize that ye are weird,” Duncan said, dispelling the heavy atmosphere.

Alisdair shot him a glare as he turned to face them.

Ewan kept his eyes away from the vault, a deep scowl on his face. “We need to go,” he said. “It is a long ride to Douglas Castle for the Annual Gathering.”

Alisdair stalked out. “Aye, let’s go.”

CHAPTER ONE

THE WEIGHT OF THE NAME

Isla stood at the high window in Sinclair Castle, watching the mist lift from the Highlands. Below, the servants were already busy, scrambling to ready the keep for the allied lairds.

In two days, the Annual Gathering would take place at Douglas Castle. Which meant her uncle, Gordon Sinclair, had only two days to secure his allies, exchange strategies, and settle arrangements that would keep Clan Sinclair in a position of power.

She looked at her reflection in the glass and almost didn’t recognize herself. It was as if she were staring at a ghost. Sometimes, that was exactly how she felt: the ghost of Sinclair Castle.

“Me Lady.” A sharp knock on the chamber door pulled her out of her thoughts and into the inescapable reality.

Whether she liked it or not, she was the hostess this evening, however low her place in this castle was. So she smoothed her skirts, put on the mask of indifference, and walked out of the room.

“Me Lady.” Her maid, Jonet, was standing there. “Ye should have let me help ye change.”

“There was no need, thank ye,” Isla said, walking past her.

Jonet was the only one who still treated her like a lady, and not a servant.

She descended the cold stone stairs, her fingers trailing along the wall less for balance and more as a reminder that she still existed.

She heard the noise of the Great Hall before she reached the bottom step and paused. Given the choice, she would never enter a room where every alliance was brokered on gain and power rather than honor.

But she had long ago given up on the luxury of choice. She took the last few steps and entered.

The first thing that hit her was the scent of woodsmoke and roasting meat, mingled with the press of men crowded around the tables. Her uncle knew that alliances were easier to keep on full stomachs.

Servants hurried past with jugs of ale to fill the lairds’ cups, because her uncle also knew how much more smoothly a deal was made when ale was the advisor.

Isla made her way to the ale barrels and took her place among the servants. She might carry the Sinclair name and be Laird Sinclair’s only niece, but everyone knew that this was the place her uncle had put her. Of everything in her life, that was what bothered her the least.

“More meat for the Skenes!”