Page 2

CHAPTER 2

“What am I—a cow at market?” Anna Lane snapped irritably, her breakfast ruined by the unexpected conversation.

“Anna…” her mother, Louisa, warned in a gentle tone across the table in the Great Hall of Castle MacTorrach.

“Aye, that’s me name,” Anna retorted, gulping down a mouthful of hot medicinal tea to steady her nerves and to give herself a moment to cool her temper. “But it seems Faither would prefer it if I just wore a sign about me neck that reads “For Sale.” I refuse, Faither, so ye can just… think again.”

Her father, Thomas, sighed into his cup of weak ale. “Ye havenae left me with any choice, lass.”

“Interestin’ that ye’d use the word ‘choice’ when ye’re givin’ me none,” Anna remarked, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. “I’ve told ye time and time again that I will decide who I marry. Ye’re nae holdin’ any bloody auction for me hand.”

She knew she shouldn’t push her father, but she couldn’t help it. In a few weeks’ time, it would be three years since Elinor, the middle sister of the trio, had been snatched in the night by Laird Dalmorglen: as wicked and cruel a man as any Anna had ever heard of.

Meanwhile, her eldest sister, Moira, had been given to her husband, Laird MacIverson, in an arranged marriage, and though that seemed to now be a happy union, Anna knew that had been more about luck than anything else. And she didn’t feel like risking her own future on something as flimsy as luck.

“Ye ought to do as ye’re told,” the older of her two brothers, Ewan, said curtly. As the firstborn sibling, he liked to think he was above the rest, as strict and proper a man as his father. “What right do ye have to speak to our faither like that?”

Anna turned a cool glare toward her older brother. “I’d like to see how well ye stomach it when Faither’s attention finally turns on ye,” she said, matching his curt tone. “Once I’m out of the way, it’ll be ye on the choppin’ block for marriage.”

“And I’ll do me duty,” Ewan insisted, though Anna didn’t miss the slight flicker of unease in his hazel eyes. “Proudly, I will.”

Jackson, the younger of the two brothers, snorted into his cup of rosehip tea. “Ye realize that, to marry a lass, ye’d actually have to look one in the eyes first.” He flashed a subtle wink at Anna, before turning his attention to Thomas. “With respect, Faither, I daenae see why she cannae choose her own husband, at her own pace. Surely, it would make more sense to concentrate on Ewan first. He’s the heir, after all. And an heir needs heirs.”

Ewan paled a little, his assertion diminishing.

“Because she’s nae gettin’ any younger,” Thomas replied stiffly, his irritation showing in the tense pull of his shoulders. “She’s three-and-twenty. Her value is already declinin’ and if we were to wait for her to choose a husband, she’ll be too old to have much worth at all. She should’ve had at least one bairn by now as it is.”

Anna clenched her hands into fists beneath the table, her eye twitching with the indignity and injustice of it all. “So, me value is only dependent on how many bairns I can churn out? There’s nay value in who I am as an actual person?” She nodded sarcastically. “I was wrong when I said I must be a cow at market—clearly, I’m naught but a broodmare.”

“Anna, please…” her mother urged, settling a hand on her husband’s arm to soothe him. “We cannae have this argument again.”

Thomas nodded. “Precisely. The auction will go ahead. As the Laird of this clan and as yer faither, I have decided it.”

“Have it,” Anna replied sharply, shrugging her shoulders. “Auction me off like an animal if that’s yer will, but I get to decide who claims me hand. This willnae be a matter of who the highest bidder is, but who is… impressive enough to win me over. I’ll meet each one, see who is worthy of me, nae the other way around, and make a decision of me own accord.”

Thomas took a breath. “Anna, the last time I allowed ye to spend time with a Laird that wanted yer hand, the poor man left runnin’ after ye convinced him that our castle was haunted with all the ghosts of a plague that never happened here!”

A quiet snort of laughter slipped from Louisa’s lips, her slender hand hurrying to cover her mouth, though her eyes—the same green as Anna’s—remained bright with mirth.

Thomas shot his wife a dark look that seemed to say, Nae ye, disrespectin’ me too?

“Ye must admit, love,” Louisa rushed to say, “that it was one of Anna’s most… inspired moments. It’s a rare gift to have the trust and love and loyalty of an entire castle, so much so that she could convince them to run around in sheets, groanin’ and wailin’ and pretendin’ to be ghosts.”

Anna’s chest puffed with no small amount of pride, for it had been her grandest performance to date. It had been the sort of theatrical event that could have made Shakespeare bow to her artistic majesty, and what had made it even greater was that the servants hadn’t hesitated, though they had undoubtedly known it might annoy their Laird.

Anna’s father struggled to suppress a small smile, the sight of it allowing Anna to relax a little bit. Perhaps, she could convince him after all.

“I did us all a favor, chasin’ him off,” she insisted. “I cannae be blamed if a grown man like him was cowardly enough to flee because of a few ghosts. We live in the Highlands, for pity’s sake. Ye cannae wander anywhere without encounterin’ a ghost or two, but ye wouldnae see me screamin’ me head off, sprintin’ away so fast I’d forget I arrived on a horse.”

She was certain she had almost wriggled herself off the hook as the entire table laughed at the memory of her exploits. Even her father couldn’t contain his smile anymore, chuckling and shaking his head. Ewan, too, failed to hide his laughter.

“I had to chase the poor wretch to give him his horse back,” Ewan recalled through wheezy chuckles. “I shouldnae have worn me cloak, in hindsight. Think he thought I was Death itself, tryin’ to hunt him down. When I caught up to him, he was babblin’ prayers at me, crossin’ himself, tremblin’ head to toe.”

Jackson nodded, holding his stomach as he howled with laughter. “Me favorite is still the wee lassie ghost, though.” He wiped away an amused tear. “ That was inspired. Even I’d have run off if that had come knockin’ at me door in the dead of night.”

Anna grinned, still delighted that she’d managed to get her niece, Beryl, to terrify the hulking beast of a man. A year earlier, Laird MacHale had strutted into the castle, certain he would leave with the last Lane sister as his wife, not realizing that his arrogance was pure fuel to Anna’s imagination.

All it had taken was a white paste, fashioned from pounded chalk and water, and some gray ash from the fire to paint Beryl’s face into a ghoulish complexion. Plus a knowledge of all the secret passageways in and out of the rooms of the castle, particularly the room that Laird MacHale had been put in.

It had taken two nights of sneaking Beryl in and out of the bedchamber, where she sang an eerie little song and repeated the words, “I go where Anna goes,” before Laird MacHale had made his excuses and departed.

Then, there was the time she had snuck bits of meat about the person of another Laird, so the castle dogs launched themselves at him whenever they caught a whiff of him. There was the time she had put crabs in another Laird’s bed, the time she had set a ferret loose in a Laird’s room and exchanged his clothes with much smaller ones, and the time she had blunted a Laird’s broadsword and switched his longbow for one that was impossible to string, so that he would be humiliated during a tournament the following day.

But the laughter soon faded, Thomas’ expression hardening once more. “Maybe ye were right about that one,” he conceded, “but ye must marry before ye turn four-and-twenty. I willnae hear any argument to the contrary. It’s nae about bairns, Anna, but alliances. We have an alliance to the north and to the west of us, but we need an alliance to the south and east of us. It’s for the protection of our people, Anna, and as someone who has the love of our people, surely that’s somethin’ ye ought to be happy about?”

“Dinnae claim to ken what the people would want from me,” Anna countered. “They worked together to help me avoid a bad union. They wouldnae want me to marry someone I daenae like. They want me to be happy, as much as I want them to be happy.”

Thomas shook his head slowly. “And if they were asked to choose between their safety and prosperity, or ye havin’ yer way, I assure ye, they’d choose their own safety.”

“But they’re nae the ones who’ll have to spend the rest of their lives with their supposed ally,” Anna said defiantly, sipping her medicinal tea to wet her dry throat. “ That is why the decision must be mine. Have the auction, aye, but daenae deny me a say in who wins.”

Silence stretched across the table, peppered only by the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the strike of the wind against the windows, a cold draft sneaking in. But Anna held her nerve, keeping her gaze fixed on her father, watching for any trace of resignation in his face, any hint that he might relent.

Indeed, getting him to agree to her having a say in her own future was just the first step. What came after was still in the experimental, contemplative stages: a plan half-formed.

Thomas sighed wearily, but before he could respond, a maid came through the doors of the Great Hall and bowed her head.

“Speak,” Thomas instructed.

The maid raised her head. “The first of the Lairds has arrived, M’Laird.”

Now rushed into a decision by that news, Thomas glanced at Anna and pursed his lips, giving a resigned shrug. “Very well. As long as ye pick someone by the end of the auction, ye may have yer say in the decision. But if ye daenae pick anyone or if ye play foolish games, ye’ll marry whoever I choose by the end of the week. Am I understood?”

Anna suppressed a triumphant smile, bowing her head as if she were a demure and obedient daughter. “Of course, Faither.” She paused. “But ye should really stop callin’ it an auction. Now, it’s more of a tourney.”

“Aye, but the Lairds daenae need to ken that,” her father replied, raising an eyebrow as if he had had an inspired thought of his own. “It will remain an auction, at least to them. They need nae ken that their every movement and word is bein’ scrutinized by ye. In a way, that’ll be better for us all—we’ll all see their true nature, as they are.”

Anna had to concede that it would be for the best if the Lairds were unaware that it had become more of a competition of character, rather than fortune or merit. Although, of course, she wasn’t planning to heed her father’s warning about playing no games. Indeed, even he didn’t know of the tests she was about to conjure, forming a competition all her own for these men to compete in.

A competition that, if all went well, no one would win.

“I mean it, Anna,” her father said. “Am I understood?”

“Perfectly, Faither.” She smiled sweetly, refusing to catch Jackson’s eye; he was the only one out of all of them who could see right through her.

The maid cleared her throat, drawing Thomas’ attention back to her. “Apologies, M’Laird, but… the Laird who has arrived… shall I tell him to come in?”

It was at that moment that Anna noticed the fear upon the maid’s face. Jane was usually a bonny lass with a cheery demeanor, but the maid had turned rather pale, her demeanor agitated, wringing her hands as if she was trying to twist away an uncomfortable feeling.

“Why are ye tremblin’, Jane?” Anna blurted out, unable to suppress her own unease. “Who is this Laird?”

The door opened behind the maid, a towering bear of a man entering without Thomas’ permission.

A strained gasp slipped from Anna’s mother’s throat, her face blanching as she whispered, “It’s him… It’s the Devil of the Highlands.”