Page 1 of To Wed a Witch (Reluctant Brides #3)

B haltair Ferguson sat amidst the crumbling heap of what used to be a prestigious Great Hall and rubbed his forehead. He'd been going over the books for over an hour, trying every which way to re-calculate the sums, yet each time the figure spelled ruin.

He'd inherited a clan on the verge of collapse along with the Keep.

His late uncle had done nothing to better their prospects except accrue mounting debts, and after years of mismanagement and neglect, the land wasn't fit to be cultivated.

It was dead. The crops in the field would not keep them another winter.

Bhaltair had stretched more than he could just to keep them above water, but instead they were drowning.

The clansmen were losing faith and becoming lax in their duties. Hopelessness followed those whose bellies were empty. It was difficult to remain optimistic when all around was nothing but despair. After another year of failed opportunities, there was nothing worth salvaging, not even his pride.

It was at this juncture that one of his most troublesome clansmen appeared in the doorway.

"What is it, Dugald?" Bhaltair didn't bother looking up from the ledger, his quill scratching irritably across the parchment as he crossed out yet another item the clan would have to forgo.

"I think I have a solution to yer problem, laird," Dugald replied and stepped into the hall.

"Do ye now?" Bhaltair finally raised his head.

"Aye, 'tis a lass ye should wed that can fix the predicament yer uncle left us in."

Bhaltair set down his quill slowly and leaned back in his chair.

"Dugald, the last time ye thought a lass would solve all our ills, ye nearly got me killed by her husband.

So if it's all the same, I'd prefer ye turn right around and dinnae bother me for at least a sennight. " He gestured toward the door.

"All right, perhaps that time was a mistake, but this time 'tis a far better plan we've stumbled upon," Dugald replied.

"We've?" Bhaltair asked.

"Aye, me and the men."

Bhaltair looked beyond Dugald to see several retainers hovering by the door.

He tried not to wince. It was the usual suspects, men he'd come to trust except when they were hell-bent on some harebrained scheme to interfere with his life.

Still, he could not begrudge them their eagerness to be helpful, if only they were not so foolhardy.

"Does it involve kidnapping?" Bhaltair asked.

"No! Of course not."

The men hovering at the door also shook their heads.

"Is she already married to a powerful laird?" He pushed back from the table and stood.

"No." Dugald grimaced, and Bhaltair caught it as he moved around the table.

"Then what's wrong with her?" Bhaltair crossed his arms over his chest, every line of his body radiating with suspicion.

"Nothing's wrong with her. Why are ye so damned suspicious all the time, laird?" Murphy, another clansman, declared from the doorway. He was Dugald's accomplice in most things.

"Because, based on past experience, Murphy, I dinnae trust any of yer judgment," Bhaltair glared at the men in frustration. A couple looked shamefaced, acknowledging that in the past they had often made things worse for their laird. But it was never intentional.

"There's nothing wrong with her, and in fact she's very rich. Her da cannot wait to be rid... I mean, he cannot wait for her to marry, and she comes with a dowry that could rebuild three keeps, 'tis so substantial." Dugald's words tumbled over each other in his eagerness.

Bhaltair gave him a wary look. He reached for the cup of ale on the table, taking a long drink before setting it down with a loud thud. "Go on. I'm listening."

At this, the others came forward and gathered around the table. "Ye see, her da wants her to wed, but there does not seem to be any suitors," Murphy said.

Bhaltair asked, "Why are there no takers? If she's rich, surely there must be men vying for her hand."

"Truth be told, 'tis because rumor has it that she is... um..." Dugald's confidence seemed to desert him, as he glanced at the others.

"She is what? Dugald, if ye dinnae get on with it, I'm going to punch ye in the face." Bhaltair's hand clenched into a fist at his side, and his voice dropped to that dangerous tone that made men nervous.

"She's a witch! All right; there I said it... and perhaps she's also a wee bit mad," Dugald replied.

"Wait. Ye dinnae mean the 'Mad MacKay Witch'?" Bhaltair's voice rose in disbelief.

"Aye, the very one," Murphy replied.

"Get out! All of ye," Bhaltair growled as he glared at the men.

"But I haven't finished yet—" Dugald raised his hands defensively.

"I dinnae care! Be gone with yer daft schemes. Clearly no man wants her, so ye'll not be palming her off to me. I may be in dire need, but I'm not that desperate." Bhaltair pointed toward the door, his dark eyes blazing.

"But laird, what does her reputation matter if it means new life for our clan?" Dugald pulled a folded parchment from his sleeve, holding it like a shield.

"I'll not be leg-shackled to a crazy harpy!"

"Then here. Ye best read this." Dugald thrust the letter forward before Bhaltair could refuse it.

Bhaltair snatched the missive with ill grace, his scowl deepening. "Who's it from?"

"Her father and some of her clansmen. They hoped ye'd consider the matter."

Bhaltair froze, the parchment halfway to his eyes. Why would anyone want him, of all people, to marry their daughter? He broke the seal and unfolded the letter, his frown deepening as he scanned the contents. "What is this?"

"Apparently, as his only child, she comes with a large dowry and an estate, but only if she weds." Dugald crept closer.

"And?" Bhaltair's voice was distracted now, his attention focused on the letter.

"The thing is, her father is getting on in years, and with no suitor forthcoming because of the rumors, he's afraid that he'll die without her legally wed."

"Why does that matter?" Bhaltair looked up from the parchment, confusion marring his expression.

"Because if that were to happen, then all the land passes right out of Clan MacKay's hands and goes to their enemy, the Sutherlands."

"Who made such a daft agreement?" Bhaltair crumpled the letter slightly in his grip.

"'Twas the wish of the king. But there's more—if she dies unwed, then both the MacKay and Sutherland lands are forfeited to the Crown."

"What benefit is there in such a bargain?"

"Apparently 'twas the king's way of preventing the Sutherlands from simply murdering her for the MacKay land. If they kill her, they lose their own holdings as well."

"What's to prevent them from murdering her father before she's wed?"

"There is another clause that if he dies by suspicious means, the Sutherland land will pass to the MacKays."

"Bloody hell, what a twisted arrangement indeed."

Dugald nodded. "Aye, 'twas the king's way of putting a stop to their feuding over land. The arrangement forces both clans to keep each other alive and see her wed to someone acceptable."

"Or desperate enough," Bhaltair added. "So that's why he thinks I'll do it?" Bhaltair's jaw tightened as the full insult of the proposal hit him.

Murphy piped in and said, "Aye, and to be honest, laird, beggars cannot be choosers. With our current hardships, ye're not exactly a fine catch for a young lass... no offense." He shuffled away from the table when Bhaltair scowled at him.

Well, if that did not irritate the hell out of him.

Bhaltair collapsed into his chair with a heavy thud.

This was the lowest he'd ever have to stoop.

He had heard about the MacKay witch. Myths and rumors often followed her wherever she went, but to date no one had actually seen her.

But he balked at the thought of marriage and producing an heir with a woman who was quite possibly a complete shrew.

"Why has no one ever seen her?" he asked, his tone weary now.

Dugald shifted uncomfortably. "Apparently 'tis because she lives in a haunted forest."

"Of course she does." Bhaltair sighed and rubbed his temples where a headache was building. Good grief, she was probably an old crone, but he would do it for his clan.

"How came ye to be speaking with the MacKay laird?" he asked.

"Well, if ye remember, he has been trying to contact ye directly, but ye have not read any of his missives." Dugald gestured toward the pile of unopened letters gathering dust on a side table.

Bhaltair followed his gaze and winced. He realized Dugald was right. It most likely got lost in the paperwork of accrued debts and bills piling up. He had gotten into the habit of ignoring most of them.

He stared down at the letter in his hands, weighing his options. Perhaps he should look into this one. After all, how much trouble could one wee witch of a lass be?

***

S ìNE MACKAY WONDERED , not for the first time, how the hell she had ended up in this predicament—sprinting through the forest, her hands bound at the wrists behind her back whilst being chased by an angry mob.

She was bruised, scratches appeared across her face from cuts sustained whilst on the run, trying to maintain her balance and not fall face first into the mud.

When would these villagers stop with their harassment?

Especially seeing as she was neither mad nor a witch.

Well, perhaps she did have some strange ways that left her open to speculation, like living alone at the edge of a haunted forest the villagers said was cursed.

.. and perhaps it didn't help that she could also hear voices in the strange mist that descended over the forest from time to time.

.. voices she talked to who strangely replied.

But really, "Is it a mortal sin to hear voices?

" she muttered to herself before she ran straight into a tree.