Taken By the Exiled Laird (Highlands’ Broken Blades #1)

Prologue

Under the star-strewn banner of night, Theon MacKenzie shook hands with the fletcher and accepted the precious bundle of arrows that would be the difference between life and death.

He tucked them in his large pack with the rest of the weapons they'd gathered, watching silently as the apprentice disappeared back into his master's shop.

Theon had known better than to approach the actual weaponsmith—there was too much risk for that—but the apprentice had been eager to help out the cause for enough gold.

In ten years of subterfuge and shadows, Theon had learned well enough that gold could shake even the most loyal man's heart.

He paused for a moment and looked up at the sky.

The moon was full, beautiful and shining silver, serene in her nightly journey across the sky.

Theon remembered when the moonlight had been his joy, back when Clan MacKenzie had thrived and he and his brother had watched it shine over the sea.

Now it was another risk, another danger, another threat of exposure.

A long decade of hiding had taught him to reject any beauty that might shine a light upon him, no matter how drawn he was to its shine.

"Are ye done broodin'?" a voice asked. "With that dark hair and that black cloak I almost couldnae see ye."

Theon turned and saw Graeme's flaming red hair and easy grin.

His best friend, his brother in all but blood, Graeme Ferguson was everything Theon had forgotten to be—easy to laugh, easy to love, and always on the move.

Even now, his own heavy pack of food and other supplies over his shoulders, Graeme was impatiently shifting from foot to foot, eager to get going to the next thing.

Theon both admired and was frustrated by Graeme's boundless need to keep going, sometimes sacrificing thought for action despite a deep intelligence hidden just beneath the surface.

"Unlike ye who cannae be missed wherever ye go," Theon replied. "If they dinnae see ye, they hear ye. Keep yer voice down."

Graeme laughed, unperturbed. "Ye got the weapons?"

Theon nodded. "Cost us a fair bit, but I got them. The apprentice most likely suspected, but he willnae speak."

"Let him speak. Who'll believe he sold arrows tae ghosts?" Graeme replied with a grin. "Come. It isnae even that late. There's a tavern over yonder, let's go get a drink."

That sounded like a monumentally bad idea, no matter how good a mug of ale sounded right now.

They were deep in McDonell lands, enemies on every corner.

True, it wasn't likely that they'd be recognized by many of the common clansmen, especially not now after all this time.

However, there was always the chance that someone in the inner circle of the broken alliance would catch sight of them.

Theon had learned the hard way that caution was key to survival.

He'd only been eighteen years old, practically still a boy, when he'd been forced into this dark exile.

One day, he'd have his revenge. One day, he'd make them all bleed the way they'd destroyed everything he had. But he and his brothers weren't yet ready, and to live on meant to be very, very careful.

"I can see that ye're gonnae say nay," Graeme said, folding his arms. His blue eyes shone with mischief. "Then I'll insist, and we'll argue, and then I'll win. Are we nae better simply skippin' over that part and goin' tae enjoy an ale?"

Theon hid a smile as he folded his arms. "What makes ye think ye'll win?"

Graeme shrugged. "Ye might be all darkness and anger these days, Theon, but I ken ye're still the lad who loves a fine ale tae end the day." He moved forward and put an arm around Theon's shoulders, steering him toward the center of the village. "Come on, now. Or will ye allow me tae outdrink ye?"

Theon snorted but conceded and allowed himself to be propelled toward the tavern. "As if ye could," he said. "Ye'll be snoozin' before yer third drink. I'll have tae carry ye home. I'll put money on it."

The laugh Graeme let out echoed across the sky. "Ye're on."

The tavern was thick with smoke and ale and bawdy laughter.

Men laughed as they played cards or dice games; women sang and danced to the lively folk music the bard played in the corner, and even a few children darted between the tables, eagerly stealing leftover sweet treats wherever they could squirrel them away.

The serving girls smiled or scolded as they saw fit as the young men brazenly flirted, and the innkeeper behind the bar peddled more drinks or food to everyone who caught his eye.

The place was alive, the kind of place Theon had loved in his boyhood and as a young man—a place where men disappeared into their cups, no names and titles mattering in the small community that only existed in the tavern.

He'd had his first drink in a place like it when he was fourteen, eager, and excited about the world ahead.

Back when the MacKenzie name had more than dirt. Back when there had been a future to care about.

One of the serving girls looked up as Theon and Graeme entered, and her eyes widened.

She nudged her friend, and soon several female eyes were focused on the two men as they made their way across the busy room toward a small empty table in one of the corners.

Theon was used to women looking when the pair of them were seen together.

He understood that, no matter how much he tried to blend in, his height and muscular build drew attention, as did the gray eyes and ink-black curls his father had left him.

With Graeme, who was even taller and broader than Theon and wore his thick red hair and beard as if he'd stepped right out of a woman's imagination of a proper Highlander, the attention always grew much more intense.

They sat at the little table, and instantly three different serving girls flocked toward them. Theon let out a small, irritated breath. So much for anonymity.

Graeme raised an eyebrow. "Och, dinnae be like that. Relax and have a little fun. It willnae kill ye."

"It might," Theon muttered darkly.

The quickest of the three women reached them, and the other two scowled and stormed off to other tables.

The girl who stood before them now was attractive, even Theon couldn't deny that—buxom with large green eyes and hair the color of burnished copper, she wore her dress in a way that suggested it might easily be removed for the right person, but also had a firmness about her expression that showed she'd suffer no fools.

She was the kind of woman who might have once caught Theon's attention.

Now, though, he barely glanced her way, not wanting to draw her attention any further.

He didn't want questions, especially not here.

But it seemed like Graeme had different plans. Beaming at the girl, he said, "What bonny hair. Ye put me own redheadness tae shame, lass."

The girl laughed and blushed. "Och, never, sir. Ye're a fair handsome man yerself."

Theon tried not to roll his eyes. Now that Graeme had started his flirtation, it was unlikely it would stop any time soon.

Graeme winked. "I'm Greg, and this is me brother, Thomas. And ye are?"

"Lorna," the woman replied, smiling coyly. "I'm here tae make sure yer visit tae our wee tavern is everythin' ye could hope for."

"Och, and I ken ye will, Lorna," Graeme said. "But do ye think one of yer friends might want tae help as well? Ye see, Thomas here is shy, and—"

"That willnae be necessary. Two ales. Two stews. That's all," Theon interrupted sharply.

Lorna looked first surprised, then offended by his tone. She shot him a look, then smiled at Graeme once more. "Yer brother isnae very polite," she observed. "But I'll bring yer drinks and meals nonetheless."

She moved away without another glance at Theon. Once she was out of earshot, Graeme lightly punched Theon's arm over the table. "Was that really necessary?"

"Ye're the one bein' unnecessary," Theon reminded him. He kept his voice calm, no trace of his irritation within it. "We arenae supposed tae be makin' a spectacle. Need I remind ye that if anyone discovers what we're carryin' in these bags, or, worse, if someone was tae recognize us…"

"I ken, I ken," Graeme said with a sigh. "But God above, Theon. The lass is bonny, the music is fine, and the place is so crowded that we'd have tae be fair unlucky tae be spotted. Have these long years made ye forget how tae live entirely?"

"They've taught me tae survive," Theon countered in a tone that brooked no argument.

Lorna returned a few minutes later, expertly balancing a tray with stew, two ales, and two thick slices of bread. She arranged everything on the table, then, with her back to Theon, addressed Graeme once more. "Is there anythin' else I can get ye? Anythin' at all?"

Graeme caught Theon's eye. Theon shook his head slightly, but he already knew by the grin on his friend's face that it was too late. "Aye," Graeme said, his attention fully on Lorna once more. "Forgive me for bein' crass, but where might a man go when nature calls upon him?"

Theon groaned internally.

But Lorna seemed to know what Graeme was really asking immediately, and her smile grew wicked with anticipation. "I can show ye, sir, if ye like. So ye dinnae get lost."

"That would be fair grand of ye," Graeme agreed. He took a swig of his ale then winked at Theon before getting to his feet. "Lead the way, Lorna."

"I'm eatin' yer stew!" Theon called after him.

Graeme laughed and waved a hand before disappearing into the crowd.

An hour passed.