Page 7

The two of them stood there, looking at each other in the solitude of the gardens, with nothing to be heard but birdsong and the soft rustle of wind through the branches.

“To be fair, me Laird,” she said, “I didnae expect any of the lairds to appreciate the beauty of these gardens.”

“Ah.” He smiled and leaned dangerously close. “So, in yer eyes, we are all monsters.”

Isla had known fear her whole life, had lived inside it since losing her parents, had been raised on it until it became just another part of her life. But the dread that skittered down her spine when Laird MacLeod fixed his grey eyes on hers was an entirely different kind.

Every instinct told her to run away from the predator prowling these gardens, but the real danger was the thrill she felt at staying.

“I should go,” she uttered. “Me uncle must be looking for me.”

At the mention of her uncle, his teasing smile vanished. He straightened and squared his shoulders as though bracing for an attack. Anger and hate twisted his face for a moment, before he pulled it back into something carved from stone.

Isla knew instantly that he knew exactly who she was. Perhaps she was in far greater danger than she had initially thought.

So she ran.

CHAPTER THREE

DESPERATE GAMBLE

Sinclair Castle lay deep in darkness, but one member of the household was still wide awake.

Isla paced her small room, wringing her hands together, trying to still their trembling along with her nerves. That night, her uncle had confirmed aloud what she had already known and dreaded.

She was to marry Laird MacNab by next week.

“I willnae sit around and let this happen,” she said to the empty room.

She took a deep breath. She had endured every humiliation, every abuse her uncle could think to deal her. She had kept her head down and her mouth shut to survive, to go on carrying her family’s name and her parents’ memory. But this was where she drew the line.

She didn’t waste another minute. She grabbed a satchel and opened it. She didn’t have much, but she was not going to leave behind what remained of her parents and her ancestral home. She wrapped her mother’s silver comb and her father’s letters in a square of old plaid and tucked them at the very bottom. Then she chose her most practical dress in her clan’s colors and cinched the satchel shut.

She went to the door, the weight of her decision pressing down on her chest like a boulder. There was no turning back from this.

She could stay, marry Laird MacNab and be condemned to a life of servitude to a man old enough to be her grandfather—suffer his touch and bear his children. Or she could take the one chance she had, the one shred of hope that told her freedom might still be possible.

“Ye can do it, Isla,” she tried to convince herself.

She grabbed the door handle, her fingers digging into the satchel. Fear whispered in her ear, making her mind race with a thousand questions.

Where was she to go? How was she to survive? Where could she find refuge far enough from her uncle’s reach?

The satchel slipped from her grip, and so did her tears, as she bowed her head before the closed door. In the dead of night, she wept for the loss of her parents, for everything that had brought her here.

She was alone, defenseless, powerless, but she was not naïve. Hiding her identity and taking her chances on the road would only lead to something worse.

She knew well that in this cruel, unforgiving world, there was no haven for the niece of Gordon Sinclair. Wherever she sought refuge, someone would drag her back, either out of fear or hunger for an alliance.

“Faither, Maither,” she whispered in the dark.

Like a bolt of lightning splitting the darkness, an idea struck her.

She had been wrong. Not everyone feared her uncle. There was one man he himself feared and hated.

“Alisdair MacLeod.” She spoke the name like a prayer.

The memory of those stormy gray eyes turning cold at the mention of her uncle became her only comfort. There was no one in all of Scotland whom her uncle feared more than Alisdair MacLeod.