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She finished her work, wiped her hands, and rushed to his side. “Aye, me Laird.”

Sometimes it felt as though those three words were the only ones she had ever been allowed to say. Still, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.

“Follow me.”

She reminded herself of the hard lessons that had kept her alive in this castle: never argue with him, crying didn’t work because it just made things worse, and never let him know what she really thought.

Her uncle made his way to an older guest. He came from a rich clan, judging by his clothes and bearing.

“Laird MacNab,” he said in a jovial tone, “this is me niece, Isla.”

Laird MacNab looked her over, making no effort to hide the fact that he was shamelessly undressing her with his eyes. His wrinkled hand closed around hers. She tried to pull back, swallowing her disgust, but he held on for a moment too long.

She didn’t look up. She didn’t have to; she knew he was looking at her and not just with curiosity. It made her skin crawl. Still, she kept her expression smooth and polite.

“Ye do have a bonnie niece, Sinclair.”

She risked a glance at her uncle and found a triumphant look on his face. Somehow, that was the most disturbing thing of all.

“A very bonnie lass, indeed. And of ripe age,” Laird MacNab added.

Cold sweat ran down her spine as her uncle smiled with that glint in his eyes that told her every time he had gotten something he wanted.

Hours later, the castle had finally quieted, and Isla had finished the last of her duties. Her body was aching, and she could barely stay upright as she slowly made her way through the dimly lit halls to her room.

She was looking forward to her bed and the blessed oblivion of sleep.

Tomorrow, the men would ride out for the Annual Gathering, and the castle would finally be quiet, and for a while she would have a respite from her uncle’s iron grip.

As she passed her uncle’s study, she saw candlelight spill warm under the door, and something in her went alert. There had been something different about him today, the way he had dragged her to meet Laird MacNab and the glint of triumph in his eyes.

Knowing full well that getting caught would cost her, she crept closer, straining to catch the voices inside. She held her breath and prayed that no one could hear the drumming of her heart.

“Are ye sure she will agree?” Laird MacNab asked.

She didn’t have to wonder who he meant.

“She will,” her uncle answered.

“She has some fire inside her,” Laird MacNab laughed.

“I’m sure ye’ll be able to tame it.”

Her fingers tightened in her skirt. She knew enough of men to understand exactly what ‘taming’ meant. Even the thought of that disgusting old man touching her turned her stomach.

She pressed her fingers against her lips to stop the cry that threatened to escape her and give her away.

“The alliance must be secured,” her uncle continued, “and I need Clan MacNab on me side to move forward.”

“And does yer niece share the same enthusiasm about makin’ yer clan stronger?”

“Ye keep questionin’ me power over me own niece.” He sounded irritated. “Isla will do exactly what I tell her to do. She will marry ye, and her only answer will be ‘Aye, Uncle,’ and nothin’ more.”

Laird MacNab laughed, and Isla’s whole world crumbled. Her head spun as she tried to make sense of what she had just heard. She had long known how little regard her uncle had for her, but to hear him sell her off like chattel was something else entirely.

A wave of nausea hit her as she stumbled away from the study door. There was nothing left to hear. Her future had been decided in a handful of short, dismissive words.

As she made her way to her room, she understood with a sickening clarity that whatever lay ahead of her now, she had no power to change it.