Page 3

CHAPTER 3

Like any young woman in Scotland, Anna had heard stories about the Devil of the Highlands. He was a cautionary tale to keep daughters in line, fathers threatening to send their wayward girls to that wicked man if they wouldn’t do as they were told.

But there was more to him than fairytales; his very real exploits in battle were infamous, discussed by councilmen in hushed voices, accompanied by prayers that the Devil would never turn his sights on their territories.

He's as large as they say… Anna eyed him, startled by the sheer size of the newcomer.

He was taller than any man she had seen in real life, his head just skimming the lintel of the Great Hall’s doors, with shoulders so broad that he seemed to fill the doorway. He wore a saffron-colored shirt, dampened by the drizzle of rain outside, and a kilt in the colors of his clan.

The thin fabric of the former hinted at the shape of dense, sculpted muscle: a mighty chest and a ridged abdomen, with arms as thick as her considerable thighs. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal corded forearms, marked with scars, and hands so large that if he were to put them around her waist, they would’ve touched easily, overlapping.

She shook that thought away quickly, uncertain of why it had even crept into her head. Why would she ever imagine such a man’s hands around her waist? Indeed, he was more likely to crush her ribs than to hold her in any sort of… tender fashion. And she couldn’t imagine him being much of a dancer, considering his size. He wasn’t what anyone would have described as graceful, clearly someone who relied on brute force over elegance.

He might have put a comb through his hair, she mused with some trepidation, noting his unruly dark waves that fell past his shoulders.

He had probably been extraordinarily handsome once, with a strong jaw and chin, faintly stubbled, and cheekbones so sharp she could have sliced a boiled potato with them if she had misplaced her knife; his lips were full, and his one eye was a striking, wolf-like shade of icy gray, but his obvious beauty had been chipped away by the multitude of scars that slashed this way and that across his face. As if he had wanted to ruin his beauty with those marks of violence, exchanging handsome good looks for the infamy of a formidable warrior.

I wonder what happened to his eye. There was a leather patch across his left eye, adding to the fearsome quality of him, making him emanate a feeling of danger, as if he shouldn’t be approached under any circumstances.

Thomas, however, didn’t seem to feel that radiation of trouble, as he stood up and went to greet the Devil.

“Laird Lyall,” Anna’s father said stiffly, extending a hand. “I wasnae expectin’ yer attendance at the auction.”

The Devil stared at Thomas. “Is there a problem with that?”

“What? Nay, of course nae,” Thomas hurried to reply, setting Anna’s already bristling nerves on edge. “It’s just that… I dinnae receive word from ye, but, certainly, ye are welcome here for this auspicious occasion.”

In all her three-and-twenty years, Anna had never seen anyone make her father nervous. But she knew her father well enough to know that it was taking every shred of strength he possessed to maintain a semblance of confidence, of equal power.

“Jane, see to it that a room is prepared for Laird Lyall,” Thomas instructed.

“Aye, M’Laird. At once.” The maid bowed her head and skirted around the hulking figure of Laird Lyall, not daring to meet his eye as she ran off to fulfill her orders.

Watching the scene, Anna had to wonder if something had been said to the maid, or if it was merely the Devil’s appearance that had made her so anxious.

Aye, well ye willnae see that fear from me, Anna vowed, pushing back her chair with an obnoxious shriek of wood on stone. She had already decided that this man would not have a hope of becoming her husband, imagining the satisfaction of seeing such a formidable beast chased away from Castle MacTorrach, wailing in terror. Why, if she could frighten him off, she could frighten any man off.

If I can manage it, I might nae have to do anythin’ to chase away the others. They might just… follow his lead and leave, and I can return to me peace and solitude as an utterly unmarriageable lass. It was a delicious thought, and one that bolstered Anna’s hopes and determination.

With her head held high, she made her way to the newcomer, standing defiantly in front of him. Putting on a saccharine smile, she put her hand out. “I’m Anna,” she said bluntly. “If ye’re here for the auction, ye should probably ken whose hand ye’re here to claim.”

Her father glanced at her in alarm, a glint in his eyes suggesting that he, too, did not want her to marry this man. Perhaps, Thomas had learned something from the fate of his middle daughter, Elinor, after all. It would look bad for him if he had two daughters married to the wickedest Lairds in the Highlands—the Lairds no one else wanted their daughters to wed.

“Anna…” Thomas warned. “There is a time and a place for intro?—”

The Devil seized Anna’s hand and wrenched it up to his mouth, kissing the back of it roughly, though his lips were surprisingly soft against her skin.

“I ken who ye are,” he growled, letting her hand drop.

His voice was so deep that it seemed to vibrate into Anna’s chest, as resonant as thunder, or stormy waves crashing against a cliffside. For reasons she couldn’t explain, it reminded her of the rolling of drums, beating out an ominous rhythm.

The Devil stared down at Thomas once more. “Let us discuss what I’m willin’ to pay for her.”

“Money?” Anna blurted out, getting in ahead of her father. “Och nay, M’Laird, it seems ye daenae quite understand.”

She allowed a bold laugh to leave her dry throat, fully aware that men like him didn’t take kindly to being chuckled at. But, perhaps, that would help her to run him out of the contest before he had even made an attempt to compete.

The Devil turned his one good eye back to her, with a look so cold she could feel the ice prickling through her veins. “Explain,” he said gruffly.

“Well, M’Laird, our clan is one of the wealthiest in the Highlands,” Anna pretended to boast. “We have sturdy alliances, we have plenty of trade and prosperity, we have a considerable army. This is not an auction of material value, but of… missin’ pieces that will strengthen our legacy even further.”

Thomas leaped in. “What she means is, this will be…”

“Let her explain,” the Devil shot back, Thomas falling silent immediately, clamping his lips together as his head bowed.

Anna might’ve delighted in the sight, if it didn’t mean that the Devil’s attention was fully concentrated on her. She didn’t know what to say; she hadn’t thought that far ahead, but he was waiting, and she could tell he wasn’t someone who liked to be kept in suspense.

“This is an auction in name alone,” she replied, finding her voice again. “In truth, it is destined to be more of a… tournament.”

She cringed inwardly, realizing she had just lost the advantage that she had decided with her father not five minutes ago. The Lairds weren’t supposed to know that they were in the midst of a competition for her hand. They were supposed to make their appeals to her father, give their offers, and see who would emerge triumphant at the end.

Now, at least one of them knew that the rules had changed.

But Laird Lyall’s expression didn’t change at all as he replied, “A tournament?” His broad shoulders shrugged as if the notion bored him. “Fine. Then who do I have to kill for yer hand?”