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CHAPTER ONE

The last time Valora MacNeacail had felt hope seemed so distant now that the memory was untethered from herself, as though it belonged to someone else.

Life happened, a ceaseless sweeping tide, the waves of color swirling madly around her as young girls were taken to the dance floor by men, some of them twice their age, others too young.

And just like her, none of those girls had a choice.

Abandoning herself to her fate, Valora looked around in search of anyone she knew. Her plan backfired, though, as a man approached her. Valora couldn’t place his face nor did she recognize his clan colors, or the red and black sigil he proudly displayed on his chest.

All she knew was that he seemed much older than her twenty-five years and that his smile, though friendly at first glance, never quite reached his eyes. They were an icy blue, the kind that seemed to peer right through her, and Valora felt an unpleasant shiver run down her spine.

He had been drinking; Valora could smell the sour stench of alcohol on his breath and she was that he moved slowly, his limbs heavy with wine. When he bowed, he did so clumsily, with an unsteadiness that betrayed his condition.

"Laird Alban Keith," the man said, introducing himself in a slurred voice. Valora took a good look at him from head to toe, her eyes narrowing as she noted his features—those eyes, the coal black hair that he wore slicked back to perfection, the sharp, angular features of his face. He was a striking man, but Valora wouldn’t call him handsome.

There was something about him, something unquantifiable that gave him an odd appearance.

Perhaps it was only the drink, or perhaps it was something else, something much more sinister.

"May I have this dance?"

She wanted to refuse so badly. However, with a stiff nod, she gave Laird Keith permission to pull her into the next dance, one hand taking hers as the other settled on the small of her back.

The touch was far from welcome. Valora remained stiff and straight-backed, every muscle in her body rigid as Laird Keith led her around the dance floor.

The hands on her waist were firm, almost possessive.

Valora tried her best to stop herself from recoiling, which was far from an easy task, but with her father’s presence behind her, she could be nothing short of perfect.

Enduring this was the only way to ensure that her sister would be spared a similar fate, and Valora would do anything to keep her sister safe and happy.

Laird Keith spun her around the room with the ease of someone who was well-practiced in the art of dance, but combined with the clumsiness of someone close to a drunken stupor.

Valora followed his lead as best she could, wincing quietly every time they bumped into another pair of dancers and offering them apologetic smiles.

And then she felt Laird Keith’s hand sliding lower and lower, down to her backside, where it rested for a brief moment before she promptly slapped it away.

Time seemed to stall. A collective gasp echoed all around them as the other guests bore witness to her transgression, shocked and scandalized.

But what about his transgression? Surely, someone must have seen it! Why is he nae bein’ held accountable fer his vile behavior?

There was a simple answer to that, one that Valora knew well; Laird Keith was a man with a lot of power. He could act as he pleased when it came to a young woman like her, and no one would do anything to stop him.

Laird Keith stared at her and Valora stared right back, refusing to be the first to break eye contact. She was not the one at fault here.

Under the dim light of the candelabras, Laird Keith’s face was a deep shade of red, the color of a ripe tomato.

His blue eyes seemed to glow against that color, his gaze filled with such coldness and fury that it took every bit of Valora’s willpower not to look away.

All around them, people seemed to hold their breath.

They were all eager for a scene, a scandal, something that would keep them busy until the next big thing.

From the corner of her eye, Valora caught a twitch in Laird Keith’s hand, as though he was preparing to strike her in retaliation in front of everyone.

Her heart hammered in her chest, beating like a drum.

She didn’t move; it would be foolish from his part to hit her, even if she had provoked his wrath.

I willnae allow this man tae intimidate an’ humiliate me. If this is what he wants in a wife, then he can find someone else.

He then removed his hand, bowed slightly and walked away.

Thank God!

All she could think to do at that moment was to escape to the balcony for a few moments, where the night was peaceful and quiet—or as quiet as it could be with the music and the laughter from the room spilling outside through the large windows, saturating the air around her.

But at least she was alone there, hidden in the dark shadows waiting for the rest of her life to be over.

As she rushed off, no one dared follow her, not even Laird Keith, who was surely furious with her now.

God, what I wouldnae give tae stay in me bed forever!

Soon, though, Valora sensed a familiar presence before anything else alerted her to it. She never managed to turn around. Her father grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back from the high, stone rail, forcing her to face him.

His fingers sank into her flesh, causing bruises that would only appear in time, as they always did. But Valora could already feel them forming, deep under her skin, an unpleasant reminder of every other time he had been too harsh with her in the past.

"What dae ye think ye’re daein’ out here?

" her father demanded. Valora had to tilt her head back to look at him as he towered over her, her eyes like a mirror of his—a deep, luminous blue that reminded her of him every time she looked at her reflection in the looking-glass. "Ye should be in there, tryin’ tae a secure a good alliance an’ ye’re out here daein’…

ach, who kens what it is ye’re doin’! Go back inside. Immediately."

"It was only fer a moment, faither," Valora said, though she doubted her words would make any difference to him.

"It is yer duty tae find a good husband," said her father, undeterred, as though he hadn’t even heard her. "An’ smile more. Ye look so terribly unpleasant.”

Valora had smiled—forced, practiced, hollow—but only for Althea.

None of this was for herself or for him.

Every gesture of politeness, every attempt to look agreeable, was a shield meant to buy her sister more time, so she’d done her best to be a dutiful daughter.

Obviously, it was not good enough for her father which worried her.

"Ye ken what happens if ye fail," her father said. "Ye either find a husband taenight or yer sister will have tae perform yer duty fer ye."

Their father had made it abundantly clear that if Valora failed, it would be her sister, Althea, who would have to secure an alliance for the clan.

But Althea, at nineteen years of age, was too young, too innocent.

Valora could weather an unhappy marriage.

She could weather anything that life and her father threw at her, as long as Althea didn’t have to.

She would endure this, too. She only wished she could do so with dignity.

She had no illusions about noble marriages—they were always out of convenience, out of duty.

She wasn’t seeking love; only the chance to find someone who was neither too old nor too young, someone who was kind.

So far, none of the men in that room had managed to meet her—admittedly low—expectations.

Valora’s father spoke of her duty with such detached nonchalance that anyone who heard him may have thought he was discussing cattle instead of his own daughters. Valora was used to it by; his coldness was nothing new to her, nothing that was even worth her anger.

Dragged back to the room, Valora had no choice but to be there—even as Laird Keith approached her once more, making all the blood drain from her face.

She didn’t want to speak to him or face his wrath or her father’s, who by some miracle had apparently missed their interaction.

But Laird Keith was approaching fast, and her father was still by her side, and no matter where Valora looked, there was no one to save her.

“Laird MacNeacail,” Laird Keith said, his voice strained with fury. “Is that how ye raise yer daughters?”

“I dinnae understand what ye mean,” her father said with a frown, though Valora could practically see the gears turning in his mind as he realized that she must have done something uncouth.

“Fergive me, Laird Keith,” Valora was quick to say then, stepping between the two men as a last resort. She didn’t know if she feared the man or her father more, but she didn’t want to find out.

Laird Keith said nothing. The two of them stared at each other in silence for a long time, stuck in a stalemate, and Valora could only wish that the ground would open up and swallow her whole where she stood.

Before either she or Laird Keith could make a decision on how to get out of their staring contest, another man stepped between them—this one taller and broader at the shoulders, with ink-black hair tied at the nape.

Valora couldn’t see any of his features, turned as he was to face Laird Keith. What she could see was Laird Keith’s resolve fading as he took a step back, just so this man wouldn’t be so close to his face.

"Fergive me fer interruptin’," said the man, "but I would very much like tae have the next dance. With this young lady, o’ course. Nae with ye."

Valora barely managed to stifle a smile, but others around her were not as restrained. Not many had heard the man, but those who had were amused, which only served to turn Laird Keith’s face an even deeper shade of red.

When Laird Keith made no attempt to move, the other man added, "Perhaps ye could have a seat an’ a drink fer a moment. It’s only one dance. I promise."

Valora didn’t know if it was the man’s words or the look he gave Laird Keith that made him retreat, but he did so slowly, with a sharp nod. Only when he was gone, disappearing into the crowd, did the other man finally turn around, and Valora saw his face.

Immediately, she was taken aback.

He’s so handsome… like a paintin’.

His storm-gray eyes seemed to see right through her and for a moment, Valora had the irrational feeling that he already knew her intimately.

Over those eyes, a pair of straight, dark brows rested on a high, regal forehead.

His sharp jaw, covered in a thick, short stubble, made him look as though carved from marble.

And when he placed his hand on her back, between her shoulder blades, the shiver that ran through her was not one of revulsion, but rather one of desire.