Page 1 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

CHAPTER ONE

"Are ye ready, lass? We must go now while the castle sleeps."

Iona MacNeill turned from her narrow window to find Henry, her father's most trusted guardsman, standing in her doorway. His weathered face was grim in the candlelight, and she could see the tension in his broad shoulders. Beyond him, shadows moved in the corridor—more men, armed and waiting.

Her fingers tightened around the folded parchment in her hand—Murray's letter, the one she'd stolen from his study that night when everything had gone so terribly wrong.

The letter that contained enough evidence to create doubt about any story he tried to spin about her, but also enough to endanger anyone who possessed it.

She'd promised herself she wouldn't use it, that this marriage to Ruaridh would be a fresh start, a chance to leave the past buried.

But just in case Murray tried to claim she'd been willing, just in case he tried to destroy her reputation further. ..

She slipped the letter into the hidden pocket sewn into her traveling dress, feeling its weight settle against her ribs like a guilty secret.

Murray would be searching for it, she knew that.

It was likely one of the reasons he wanted her dead—not just to silence her, but to reclaim the proof of his correspondence with English sympathizers, his payments to Highland lords willing to betray their clans for gold.

This is it. Nay turnin' back now.

"Aye, I'm ready." Her voice came out steadier than she felt.

The small leather satchel containing her few precious belongings sat on the bed, ready for this moment they'd all dreaded would come.

Henry stepped into the chamber, closing the door softly behind him.

"Yer faither wants to see ye before we leave.

He's waitin' in his study with yer maither. "

Iona's stomach twisted. She'd been dreading this farewell almost as much as the journey itself.

How dae ye say goodbye tae people ye might never see again?

The weight of her shame pressed down like a stone in her chest.

This is me fault. All of it. If I'd kept me mouth shut about Murray, if I'd been stronger, if I'd been smarter...

She squeezed her eyes shut against the familiar spiral of self-blame.

Nay. Murray made his choices. I just refused tae be his victim.

But the guilt remained, gnawing at her. Her parents were losing their only child because she'd believed justice mattered more than politics. And now they were paying the price for her pride.

The stone corridors of MacNeill castle felt different that night—colder, more foreboding. Each familiar tapestry and worn step seemed to whisper of all she was leaving behind. The castle had been her prison these past months, but it was still home.

The only home I've ever kent. Will I ever walk these halls again?

She found her parents in her father's study, the room that had once felt so warm and welcoming now heavy with sorrow.

Her mother, Lady Caoimhe, sat in the chair beside the great oak desk, her face streaked with tears she no longer tried to hide.

Her father, Laird Eoin MacNeill, stood by the fire, his tall frame rigid with the weight of what he was about to do.

"Come here, me darlin' girl," her mother whispered, rising from her chair with trembling hands extended.

Iona flew into her mother's embrace, breathing in the familiar scent of lavender and home.

Dinnae cry. Dinnae make this harder than it already is.

"I'm so sorry, Iona," her mother sobbed against her hair. "So sorry it's come to this. If there had been any other way?—"

"Hush now," Iona murmured, though her own tears threatened. "Ye did what ye had tae dae. We all did."

Her father's voice cut through the emotional moment, rough with suppressed pain. "Thanks tae God, the MacDuffs have agreed tae the betrothal, but with Murray MacNab's men seen in our forests these past days, we have tae get ye tae their lands safely first."

Murray. Even his name sent ice through her veins. The memory of his hands on her, his threats, the lies he'd spread—it still had the power to immobilize her.

"Nay one will believe ye, Iona. Yer word against mine? A MacNab against a disgraced MacNeill? Think carefully about what ye’re accusin' me of."

She pushed the memory away. That was the past. This night was about survival.

"How many men are ye sendin' with me?" she asked, forcing her voice to remain steady.

"Ten of our best," her father replied. "Henry leads them, and young Callum rides as messenger should ye need to send word back."

Ten men. Against however many Murray might have gathered.

He's a desperate man. I can only pray God protects me until I enter the MacDuff castle.

"The route takes ye through the Glen of Sorrows," her father continued, moving to the large map spread across his desk. "It's the longest path, but the safest. The old watchtowers there have been abandoned fer years—Murray willnae expect ye tae use that route."

Iona followed him, glancing down at the map. The Glen of Sorrows was well-named. It was a narrow valley between two ridges where countless clan battles had been fought over the centuries. The bones of warriors still littered the ground in some places.

The irony wasn't lost on her. Her family had backed a failed rebellion, been exiled, and now she was fleeing through a place synonymous with military disasters.

Even our escape route is cursed with defeat.

"If all goes well, ye'll reach the MacDuff outpost by dawn," Henry added. "Young Ruaridh will be waitin' fer ye there."

Ruaridh.

Her childhood friend, now her salvation. She wondered what kind of man he'd become. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been a gangly boy of ten, all knees and elbows and easy smiles. That was fifteen years ago, before her family's exile, before the world had shown her its sharp teeth.

Will ye even remember me? Or will I just be another political burden tae bear?

"Time tae go, lass," Henry said gently. "The night is moonless, but that willnae last forever."

Her mother's grip tightened desperately. "Promise me ye'll be careful. Promise me ye'll write when ye can."

"I promise, Mam." Iona pulled back to look into her mother's green eyes so like her own. "Take care of Da. Dinnae let him blame himself fer this."

"And ye take care of yerself," her father said, stepping forward to embrace them both. His voice dropped to a whisper. "I ken this isnae the life ye wanted, but the MacDuffs are good people. Ruaridh will protect ye."

Iona tightened her arms around both her parents, drawing them closer. "I ken he will, Da," she whispered back, forcing conviction into her voice even as uncertainty gnawed at her heart. "And dinnae worry about me. I'm stronger than I was before. Whatever comes, I'll face it."

She pulled back just enough to look into her father's worried eyes, offering him a small but genuine smile. "The MacNeills have survived worse than this. We'll all come through it together."

Her mother's hand cupped her cheek gently, tears glistening in her eyes. "Aye, me brave lass. That's the spirit that will see ye through." She pressed a soft kiss to Iona's forehead. "Remember, ye carry the strength of all the MacNeill women who came before ye."

The courtyard was alive with quiet activity. Horses stamped and snorted in the cold night air, their breath creating small clouds of mist. The ten guards sat mounted and ready, weapons secured but easily accessible. Each man was handpicked—loyal to the MacNeill name and willing to die for it.

Callum, barely eighteen and eager to prove himself, held the reins of her mare. "She's been fed and watered, me lady. Should carry ye swift and sure."

Iona accepted his help mounting, settling into the familiar saddle. The horse beneath her felt strong and ready, sensing the urgency in the air. Around her, the men formed a protective formation—four ahead, four behind, two flanking her sides.

Like a funeral procession.

The thought came unbidden, and she shivered.

Henry moved his horse close to hers. "We ride hard but quietly, me lady. Nae talkin' unless it's urgent. If we're attacked, ye stay close tae me and dae exactly as I say. Understood?”

“Understood.”

With a final look back at the castle walls, they rode out into the Highland night. The darkness swallowed them almost immediately, the only sounds the muffled hoofbeats on grass and the creak of leather and mail. There was no turning back now.

The first hour passed without incident. They followed deer paths and old cattle trails, avoiding the main roads where Murray's men might be waiting.

The landscape around them was ghostly in the starlight—rolling hills covered in heather, ancient stone walls marking long-abandoned boundaries, the occasional skeletal remains of a burned croft.

Iona's thoughts drifted back to the events that had led to that moment. The scandal. The accusations. The way former friends had turned their backs and whispered behind their hands.

"Did ye hear about the MacNeill lass? They say she threw herself at Murray MacNab and then cried assault when he rejected her."

"Shameless, that one. Nay wonder nay decent family wants anythin' tae dae with the MacNeills now."

"Mark me words, she'll die an old maid. Naebody wants damaged goods."

The lies had spread like wildfire through the Highlands. Murray had been clever, painting himself as the wronged party while destroying her reputation with surgical precision. By the time her parents had ended the betrothal, the damage was already done.

But the MacDuffs must suspect there’s something more. They have tae, or why would they have agreed tae this marriage?

She hoped that was true. The alternative—that Ruaridh was purely marrying her out of pity—was too painful to consider.

The horses' pace slowed as they began climbing into the hills. The Glen of Sorrows lay ahead, its entrance marked by two massive standing stones that had watched over the valley since before Christ walked the earth.

"Me lady," Henry's voice was barely a whisper. "Dae ye hear that?"

Iona strained her ears, listening beyond the sound of their own movement. There—faint but unmistakable, the distant drum of hoofbeats.

We're being followed.

"How many?" she breathed.

Henry's face was grim in the starlight. "Too many. We need to?—"

The arrow took him through the shoulder, spinning him. Around them, the night exploded into chaos as MacNab war cries split the darkness and armed riders poured down from the hills on all sides.