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CHAPTER THREE

T he young women in the room were more than capable of entertaining themselves, even as the majority of the men had discreetly left.

Valora breathed a sigh of relief. Being around them was a breath of fresh air.

She couldn’t help but feel safer now, knowing the men who had no qualms about touching her and leering at her were gone, even for a short while.

But the seconds turned into minutes and the minutes into an hour.

The more time passed, the more Valora’s suspicion grew, her mind jumping to all sorts of conclusions that seemed too farfetched to be true.

Could it be that they were left there? But for what purpose?

Her father had claimed he wouldn’t be long, but after a whole hour passing, none of them had any news.

What are they daein’? Where did they go?

And what was the purpose of all this secrecy?

Valora had half a mind to try and sneak out of the great hall to see if she could find the men and eavesdrop. Her gaze searched for the exits—only to find that all of them were guarded, though not heavily. Would those guards let her go if she found a good enough excuse?

A sudden illness, perhaps. I could tell them I’m havin’ womanly troubles.

She knew from experience that was something men never questioned.

Before she could come up with a plan, though, the doors opened once more and some men walked inside, acting as though nothing strange had happened.

Her father was one of them. Valora watched as he approached her, making a straight line for her, and the smile he gave her as he stopped before her was too big, too pleased; whatever had happened while he was away, was something that could only mean misfortune for her.

"Well done, lass," he told her, and for the first time in her life, he actually sounded proud of her. Foolish as it was, Valora’s first instinct was to feel proud herself, warmth pooling in her chest at getting her father’s approval.

But then, reason kicked in and that warmth was quickly replaced by a cold, heavy dread that paralyzed her.

"Ye’ve been chosen by a very, very powerful laird.

I dinnae ken how ye did it, but ye did an’ ye’ll be the envy o’ the whole ball. "

A choice has been made already?

"Gather yer things," her father continued, much to Valora’s surprise. Were they already leaving just because someone had chosen her? "Ye’ll be leavin’ with yer new husband right away."

Upon hearing those words, Valora’s world shrunk into a needlepoint, her vision tunnelling, going dark at the edges. Panic and fury gripped her, each in equal measures, coursing like fire in her veins.

It had to be Laird Keith. It had to be that vile man who had shown such interest in her, and who had now claimed her as his own. Her father would be more than happy to give her to a man like that; he was indeed powerful, with enough manpower and gold to strengthen Clan MacNeacail for years to come.

Valora swallowed, her throat dry, her expression blank as she tried to show neither her panic nor her anger to her father. Any show of emotion might enrage him and result in her sister being the one to deal with it.

There was only one thing on her mind; only one thing she needed before she could surrender to her new fate.

"Faither, please, let me see Althea one more time," she said. "Please just… just let me come home fer a few days tae say goodbye tae her an’ then I’ll dae as ye wish."

Her father’s face distorted with displeasure. "Stop bein’ so dramatic. The arrangements have already been made. Ye’ll dae as ye’re told."

Valora shook her head vehemently, her hand reaching out to grab her father’s arm in despair. "A day then," she pleaded. "That’s all I’m askin’. A single day with Althea."

Through gritted teeth, her father said, "Ken yer place." As he snatched his arm back from her grip, he also raised it, ready to strike her, and Valora shut her eyes, waiting for the blow that was to come.

"Ye should think twice afore ye slap someone’s wife."

The voice came from behind her father, so cold and stern that it sent a shiver down Valora’s spine, even though it wasn’t addressed at her.

In front of her, her father froze, his hand suspended in mid-air as he considered his options.

Valora glanced over his shoulder to see not Laird Keith, but rather the man who had saved her from him by asking for the next dance, standing tall and severe, his face a mask of cruelty.

That, too, was not directed at her, but Valora couldn’t help but be wary.

The man who stood there was nothing like the man who had danced with her.

It was as though she was looking at a different person, someone who held no kindness in his heart, and she didn’t know which side of him was the real one.

But he’s the only one who has ever stood up tae me faither. Nay one else has ever had the courage.

Even in polite company, whenever her father acted out of anger and entitlement, no one dared to contradict him—certainly not his daughters, and certainly not those who served under him.

Slowly, much to her surprise, her father’s hand fell down and he turned to look at the other man with a small, almost apologetic smile.

"Ye’re right," he said. "Fergive me, I am so used tae thinkin’ o’ her only as me daughter. But ye can discipline her as ye wish now."

The man’s brow twitched at that, lips twisting into a slight grimace for a fleeting moment. Valora wondered if she had imagined it or if his displeasure was real, but that thought, too, was fleeting. It took her a few moments, but she finally realized what her father had said.

But ye can discipline her as ye wish.

Her mouth fell open in shock as she stared at the man, who was now staring right back at her. Another shiver ran down her spine, this one not so wholly unpleasant.

Was this her new husband? Had she been mistaken to think that Laird Keith was the one who had asked for her hand?

She didn’t want to question it. She couldn’t have asked for a better outcome, if she were honest, and though she still despised the idea that she and the other women were paraded around the room like cattle, she was at least lucky enough to have impressed this man.

Anyone else would have let me faither hit me. Anyone else wouldnae have cared.

But it looked like this man… cared. Despite the fact that he seemed a cold, impenetrable wall as he stood there with his hands on his hips, staring her father down, he had stopped him.

Turning his gaze to her, the man said, "Bring yer things. We dinnae have time tae waste. I’ll have a talk with yer faither an’ then I’ll find ye by the doors."

Valora nodded, not wanting to push her luck. Sidestepping her father, she pushed past her future husband, whose name she didn’t even know. Without another glance at her father, she was gone, hurrying to the chambers where she had left her small bag.

When she entered the room, she found a few more young women there, whose items were there as well.

None of them spoke to her or to each other, and Valora couldn’t help but wonder if they had all met similar fates as her; if they were all being shipped off to new homes, not knowing if they would ever see their families again.

With all her items packed, Valora made her way back to the main doors of the castle.

The fresh night air was cool on her skin, grounding her.

She didn’t know what to expect from this man, from this marriage, but she could at least rest assured her sister would be spared.

Perhaps now that Valora would be marrying for convenience, her sister would have the chance to find a man who loved her, or at least someone who was kind.

A chill coursed through her that had nothing to do with the cold air.

Valora glanced wearily around her, a feeling that someone was nearby, watching.

Something seemed to stir in the shadows, a movement she caught from the corner of her eye and which unsettled her.

Slowly, she moved closer to the doors, where the torches that hung on the walls illuminated the area around her, giving her greater visibility.

Where are the guards when ye need them?

Valora was just about to step back inside and search for the man she was going to marry, when two pairs of strong hands grasped her. She cried out in fear, the sudden attack leaving her frightened and disoriented, and she was certain then that someone would come out to rescue her at any minute.

But even as she kicked and screamed, trying to fight the two men with all her might, no one came out of the castle. She was left alone to battle them both, kicking her legs in the air and thrashing in their grip as she desperately tried to escape.

The hands that held her were rough, unyielding.

The fingers dug into her flesh, hurting her and leaving dark bruises behind.

Her breath came in short, labored puffs that burned her lungs, her throat hoarse and closing up with panic as they began to drag her away.

Each step they took brought her farther and farther away from safety.

She could hardly fight them on her own, not when they were dragging her away so quickly and so resolutely that her own feet were barely grazing the ground.

They were Laird Keith’s men, she knew. Even in the half-light of the scant torches and the moon, she could see the colors they wore and she could identify them with ease.

Laird Keith must have been furious to lose her hand, and ambitious enough to think he could have her and keep her, even if it was an insult to the man she was meant to marry—a man who, according to her father, was a very powerful laird.

"Let go o’ me!" Valora demanded, but her words fell on deaf ears. The men dragged her towards a side exit, one that didn’t seem to be guarded at all, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Laird Keith had arranged it to be so. How much influence did the man truly have?

Can he keep me if he so wishes?