Claimed By the Dead Highlander (Brides of the Deadly Lairds #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

The swell of music buried itself in Anna's chest. It was a pleasant song, one she'd come to love. It played at nearly every ball she'd attended, and it never failed to make her smile. Her feet ached to be led across the dance floor, but that would require someone asking her to dance.

That doesn't mean I can't enjoy the music. There's no rule saying you must be asked to dance to listen.

And she did enjoy the music, though watching the women whom she thought were so much prettier than her, their forms more lithe and petite, being asked to dance put a damper on her spirits. The feeling in her chest was something close to jealousy, tempered by a deep longing for companionship.

"What a sorry sight," a voice from her left whispered. She didn't have to look to know that they were speaking about her.

Anna's shoulders tensed. These whispers were nothing new, starting when she was a child with more weight on her bones than the other girls.

But the gossip and the teasing had gotten more persistent with age.

Four-and-twenty without any prospects, her body curvier than every other woman her age… It made her a target of unkind words.

Ignore them. They want you to react. It isn't fun for them if you don't give them your attention. Give them a few minutes, and they'll go back to their dancing and festivities.

"Not a soul wants to dance with someone who looks like her," another girl added, doing nothing to conceal her volume. In fact, she may have been louder on purpose. "I do not comprehend why she keeps attending."

Anna swallowed, forcing her chin to remain high.

Doing her best to appear unaffected, she slipped out of earshot, moving as though she hadn't heard a thing.

She told herself to focus on the music, not the unkind whispers.

It wasn't as if she were incapable of having fun here just because no one had asked her to dance.

With her dance card clutched in one hand and a drink held firmly in the other, Anna watched the musicians.

Her clear, green eyes tracked each one of their movements, memorizing them so she could replay this performance in her head before she went to sleep.

Their passion, their focus on their craft, was a comfort when everyone else seemed to be balancing so many other concerns.

They were unaware of the delicate social dances happening with their playing in the background.

They're the reason I come. I may not have friends or prospects to dance with, but I can always enjoy the melody.

She attempted to get lost in the music and the graceful glide of couples finding their rhythm together. One day, she hoped to join them, but for now, this had to be enough. Dwelling on her position would do her no good. Things would change when they were meant to; she had to trust in that.

A woman's voice interrupted her thoughts. It was sharp and snarky, the kind of tone that couldn't be ignored. "I'm surprised you joined us."

Charlotte. The girl who had been poking fun at Anna since they were children, the first to single her out for her weight. It was as if she possessed an eye for insecurities and a penchant for exploiting them.

"I received the invitation in the same manner as you," Anna said, telling herself that engaging with her was pointless.

Be polite, Anna. You're a lady. You must act like it. She'll go away. She always does.

Charlotte hummed, her wickedness masked by a smile that would deceive anyone looking their way. Two other girls, their names unimportant to Anna, tittered just behind Charlotte. They never seemed brave enough to make any comments.

"The invitation was extended as a matter of politeness and respect for your father," Charlotte said, her head tilting in a way that could be seen as innocent. "But I do not think anyone expected you to attend. What is the point of your presence? You've not danced with anyone but your father."

"That's not true," Anna said, though the words flowed from her too quickly. It was a defensive reaction that Charlotte's eyes latched onto.

The other woman moved fast. With terrifying swiftness, she took Anna's dance card. The paper crumpled as Anna attempted to maintain her hold. It was no use, though. This was an attack she wasn't prepared for.

"Return that at once," she said, her face burning, her voice shaking slightly. "It belongs to me."

Her protest was ignored. Charlotte read the card, a smile that promised trouble settling over her features. Anna knew what she'd found; there was only one name on the card.

"Only your father has asked you to dance just as I thought," Charlotte said, her pity grating on Anna's frayed nerves. "I suppose he's obligated to care."

Red flashed in Anna's vision. A deep-rooted need to protect herself flared. It seemed it was not enough that her only two friends became distant since marrying, not enough that Anna was alone and aching for connection, Charlotte and her two lackeys felt the need to make her isolation worse.

"At least," Anna murmured, low and steady, fixing a glare on Charlotte. "My father likes me."

The blow landed exactly as intended. Charlotte's smile faltered, and the two women behind her gasped, as though that was a line that shouldn't have been crossed. A sharp thread of satisfaction wove itself through Anna's humiliation.

You are not the only one with claws.

That satisfaction was short-lived. As soon as Charlotte snapped from her shocked stupor, she surged forward once more. Anna flinched, preparing herself for impact, her glass slipping from her hands and landing directly on Charlotte's dress.

A few beats passed, and it felt as though the entire ballroom went silent. Anna's hands trembled. She was frozen in place, unable to speak.

"You threw your drink on me!" Charlotte screeched, looking down at the red stain that spread from the bodice of her gown to the skirt. Her voice grew louder. "How dare you ruin my dress!"

"No," Anna said as she backed away, finally finding her voice and footing. "No, I didn't mean–"

But Charlotte was loud now, drawing attention to the mess. All Anna could do was back away, stuttering apologies. She wished to disappear beneath the floor.

A strong hand on her shoulder steadied her, and her father's voice said, "Terribly sorry, Lady Charlotte. Accidents happen at these events. I'll ensure a new gown is paid for. There's no need to make a fuss."

For a moment, it looked as though Charlotte would continue her tirade, but her own father appeared swiftly. In an exceedingly proper voice, he said, "That would be appreciated, Lord Windham. You know how excitable these girls get."

With that, the interaction came to a diplomatic end. Anna's father led her to the carriage. Their time at the ball had ended because her appearance, her lack of friends, and her uncertain prospects had made her a target.

"There's no need to look so sullen," her father said kindly. "That was nothing more than an accident. Once the dress is replaced, it will be as though it never happened."

"I know. This is not the reason I look contrite," she replied curtly.

Her father sighed and asked, "Then why are you frowning? Were you not enjoying yourself before the accident occurred?"

"I was enjoying myself as much as I usually do. No friends. No prospects…" She shook her head.

"You'll find someone soon," her father promised, his optimism no longer the soothing balm it usually was. "It will happen when the time is right, when you least expect it."

Anna resisted the urge to scoff. Any man who might have been interested in her was very likely already married or doubted that she'd have any child-bearing potential.

Perhaps she'd be less skeptical if she'd received more letters from her two friends, but marriage seemed to demand their full attention.

"You just need some sleep, my dear," her father said into the tense silence. "We'll be home soon."

Anna's soft footsteps echoed through her quiet chambers. Wakefulness was a curse, her mind replaying the evening's events. She had done nothing, yet her unbetrothed state had made her the perfect prey.

If I were engaged to be wed, they'd have no ammunition. I'd no longer be an outcast. Perhaps other girls would want to be my friend.

With that thought in mind, an idea started to hatch. If she could invent a suitor, she might solve her problems. So, since sleep evaded her, she began her planning.

The first light of dawn had her dressing and slipping from her home, several sheets of parchment and a quill tucked away. Her destination was the library. She had research to do.

"Good morning, Lady Anna," the librarian, a friendly old man, said when she entered. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Good morning," she replied with a smile that covered the slight nervousness of what she was about to do. "I don't require any assistance at the moment. I'll fetch you if the need arises."

Before he could press, she went to the section filled with information on the Lords of England and the Lairds of Scotland. Her only requirement was that the Lord or Laird was neither well known nor living. She didn't want word to get around to her fake betrothed.

Seems most English Lords will be common knowledge to those I know. Perhaps a laird, then. Not many here concern themselves with the happenings of the Highlands.

It took Anna nearly an hour, but she'd found the perfect man. Laird McDonald, from a small village in Scotland that she was confident no one here was familiar with, was reported as dead. Now, all she had to do was forge a believable letter that would confirm their 'engagement'.

Altering her handwriting, Anna crafted a missive that was both formal and intimate. Anyone who read it would likely believe it was that of a lover anticipating a marriage and the corresponding union.

She rose to leave the library when another thought struck her. Charlotte had a knack for uncovering information. It was best for Anna to leave a trail that could be followed—one that would lend credence to her story if anyone decided to stick their nose into her business.

She put less thought into the letter meant to be from herself. Her handwriting was neat, and the contents of the message were simple. It read as a sincere, chaste excitement for their new engagement. Were anyone to read this, she doubted they'd question its authenticity.

Then, with her head held high and a new confidence in her step, Anna marched to the post office and sent her message. Inside her dress, she concealed her plan. Soon, her lack of prospects would no longer make her a subject of negative gossip.

And, after a bit, I'll stage his death. That will ensure they leave me alone.