Wed to the Highland Brute (Between Lasses and Lairds: Highland Tales of Clan Fletcher #3)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

“Naething must go wrong today, Davina,” Ramsay Fletcher told his daughter as he adjusted the edge of his tartan. “This union is the finest match our clan has secured in a generation. The eyes of half the Highlands are upon us.”

Davina’s eyes drifted to the great doors at the end of the corridor, which gleamed ominously. Beyond them lay the grand hall of Kincaid Castle, where nobles gathered, where candles burned low, and where Malcolm Kincaid waited. Her fingers tightened around her bouquet.

“I hope tae bring ye nay cause fer embarrassment, Faither.”

“Ye’ll dae more than that,” he said, and his tone seemed to soften, albeit only slightly. “Ye’ll raise our name. A Fletcher bound tae the Kincaids, just think of it! Yer children will carry a bloodline fit fer court.” His chest swelled with pride. “Aye, me dear, this is how legacies are made.”

Eleonor Fletcher was standing behind her daughter, and she leaned in to brush a stray curl from beneath the lace veil. “Legacies are well enough, Ramsay,” she murmured, “but it is her life, nae ours, that begins today.”

Ramsay gave her a brief look. “And what is a life without honor and position, Eleonor? Ye ken well the world we live in. The clans remember who climbs and who falls.”

Davina nodded obediently. “I understand, Faither. Me duty is clear.”

Her mother frowned. “Duty should nae eclipse happiness.”

Her father agreed. “Happiness is a fickle thing, me dear, but worth finding. Malcolm is a fine man, well-bred and mannerly. There’s nay reason ye should nae be content with him.”

Eleonor’s fingers lingered on Davina’s shoulder. “Contentment and joy are nae the same.”

“I will find both,” Davina said, though she was uncertain whom she meant to convince: her mother, her father, or herself.

Ramsay straightened, satisfied. “Good lass. When the doors open, walk with pride. Every whisper in that hall will speak our name, and I’ll have them speak it with admiration.”

The faint echo of music drifted through the corridor, signaling that the guests had taken their seats. The grand doors of the castle hall gleamed ahead, heavy with expectation.

Eleonor’s hand trembled slightly as she adjusted the edge of Davina’s veil. “Ye look beautiful, me love.”

Davina smiled, and the uneasiness seemed to dissipate, if only a little. “Thank ye, Mama.”

Ramsay cleared his throat. “It is time. Hold yer head high, Davina. Today, ye are nae merely a bride, ye are the bridge between two great clans.”

She nodded, steadying her breath. “Then may the bridge hold.”

With that, Ramsay offered his arm. The music swelled beyond the doors, and Davina stepped forward. The doors creaked open with a deep, echoing groan, and a hundred eyes tuned toward her at once.

She could see Malcolm Kincaid standing at the altar, tall and smiling faintly. His dark hair was catching the sunlight that poured through the stained glass. His eyes were bright gray, like a Highland storm, and now, they met hers with calm reassurance. For one small moment, her fear eased.

But then, another pair of eyes caught her attention.

Her heart beat was meant for the vows to come, yet her world tilted upon seeing this man.

A pale scar slashed his cheek, further pulling her attention toward him.

He wasn’t smiling and somehow, that made him even more magnetic.

There was power in his silent gaze, in the way that he simply was.

She reminded herself why she was there and started walking. She reached the halfway point of the aisle. Nobles watched in silence, enshrouded in a sea of silk and tartan. Her breath came slowly and carefully, beneath the lace veil, as if it cost her dearly to simply breathe.

Almost there. Almost done.

Then suddenly, just as her father was about to give her hand to Malcolm, one of the candles flickered as if the chamber itself held its breath. Davina looked up, and Malcolm’s smile faltered. His hand flew to his chest.

At first, she thought he meant to steady himself. But his fingers clenched hard, twisting the fabric of his coat. His face drained of color. His lips parted soundlessly.

“Malcolm?” Davina’s voice was barely a whisper.

He swayed. The bouquet slipped from her hand. Before she could reach him, he dropped to his knees with a strangled gasp and his eyes wide in shock. The music faltered, then stopped altogether. A terrible silence followed.

“Malcolm!” cried someone from the front row.

Davina stumbled forward, her vision blurring. “Help him! Please, someone help!”

Davina froze where she stood. The world narrowed to the scent of lilies, the crackle of candles and the thundering in her ears. Malcolm’s stillness was unbearable. She wanted to move, to speak, but her voice caught in her throat.

Then someone screamed.

Davina couldn’t move. Her hands shook as she lifted her veil. “What… what’s happening?” she whispered.

Chaos erupted. Shouts filled the air while the solemn order of the ceremony shattered like glass.

“Stand back!”

The voice belonged to the man with the scar, and only then did she realize who he was. Baird Kincaid’s voice cut through the confusion like a blade. He jumped up from the front row and reached his brother’s side, dropping to one knee. His large hands were now gripping Malcolm’s shoulders.

“Malcolm, speak tae me!”

But there was no answer and no movement save the slack fall of his arm.

“Fetch the healer!” Baird shouted, and a servant bolted through the chapel doors.

Moments later, the healer burst through, with his satchel clutched tight. He knelt beside Malcolm with practiced speed, pressing his fingers to the fallen man’s neck, then his wrist. His brow furrowed.

“Clear the space,” he said curtly. “Nay one touch him.”

“Ye heard the man!” Baird shouted to those who were still too close.

Davina watched desperately as the healer drew a small vial from his bag, opened Malcolm’s coat, and pressed a hand to his chest. “He still has warmth,” he muttered.

“It may nae be too late.” He poured the contents between Malcolm’s lips, then began pressing rhythmically against his ribs, muttering a prayer under his breath.

The hall was silent but for that steady, desperate motion.

Davina clasped her hands together. Her mother had appeared at her side, whispering her name, but Davina could not hear her. Her eyes were locked on the scene at the altar: the healer’s hands, Baird’s face and the awful stillness of Malcolm’s body.

“Come on, lad,” Baird urged through clenched teeth. “Breathe! Breathe!”

But no breath came.

The healer stopped at last, his movements slowing. He pressed his ear to Malcolm’s chest, then drew back with a long, weary sigh.

“It is of nay use,” he said quietly. “He’s gone.”

The words struck the room like a physical blow. A woman sobbed aloud; another fainted near the front. Baird’s head bowed. For a moment he did not move. Then, very slowly, he lifted his brother’s hand and let it fall again, lifeless.

“God have mercy,” he whispered.

Davina felt her knees weaken. Her father’s arm caught her before she fell.

“Steady, lass,” Ramsay murmured, though his own face had gone pale. “Steady.”

Suddenly, the alarm bells tolled in the distance, and the sound rattled through the hall. Servants shouted in the corridors. A soldier burst through the side door, breathless and pale.

“Me laird, an intruder’s been sighted inside the castle!”

Baird turned with blazing eyes. “Where?”

“Near the west stair, me laird… armed.”

A curse escaped him. He looked to his brother’s still form, then to Davina. “So it’s nae enough tae strike him dead, now they hunt the rest of us.”

Davina’s heart jolted. “Ye think this is connected?”

“I’d stake me name on it,” Baird said. “Whoever killed Malcolm’s nae done.” His tone left no room for doubt. He strode toward her. “Ye cannae stay here.”

Ramsay stepped forward. “She’s with me, Kincaid. I’ll see tae me own daughter’s safety.”

Baird’s gaze cut to him. “Yer name daes nae carry the keys tae this castle, Fletcher. Mine daes. If they came fer Malcolm, they may come fer her next. I’ll nae argue it.”

Davina’s voice shook, though she tried to steady it. “Ye think they would… hurt me?”

“They’ll dae worse if they mean tae break me clan,” Baird said. “We move now.”

Davina’s pulse thundered in her ears. She hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Very well. Lead the way.”

Baird took her hand, guiding her down the side aisle. His grip was warm and his movements swift.

“Stay close,” he said. “Dinnae speak unless I tell ye.”

Her mother called after her. “Davina!”

Davina turned long enough to meet her mother’s frightened eyes. “I’ll be safe,” she promised, though she scarcely believed it herself.

They slipped through a narrow door behind the altar, into a corridor lit by torches. The air there was cooler and quieter, but the alarm bells echoed even through the stone. Baird’s pace was relentless.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Tae the upper rooms, they’ll be guarded.”

“And me maither and faither?”

“He will keep them both safe,” Baird assured her without looking back. “Ye’re the one they’d use as leverage.”

His words made her stomach twist. “Why me?”

“Because ye were meant tae unite us,” he said grimly. “And naething weakens a pact faster than fear.”

They turned a corner. Behind them, shouts grew louder.

Davina gripped her skirts, breathless. “Me laird—”

“Quiet.” He slowed, glancing back toward the chapel doors. “They’re coming this way.”

The corridor stretched before them, long and dim. The sound of running feet echoed through it, not from behind this time, but ahead.

Baird’s hand tightened on her arm. “Stay behind me,” he ordered and there was steel in every syllable. “Whatever happens, dae nae run unless I tell ye tae.”

Somewhere ahead, a shout split the air. “Stop him!”

Baird turned sharply. “There!”

A figure burst from the shadows at the far end of the corridor. Whoever it was, he was masked, cloaked and running for his life in a blur of dark motion. Guards gave chase behind him, with their swords drawn, but the intruder was desperate, which provided him with the edge of speed and surprise.

“Back!” Baird ordered, shoving Davina behind him.

She pressed against the cold wall, while her heart was hammering. The intruder’s steps pounded closer, echoing off the stone. His cloak snapped behind him as he darted past a torch and for an instant, Davina saw the flash of a blade. The man was coming straight for them.

Baird drew his sword in one swift motion. “Stop, in the name of Clan Kincaid!”

But the intruder did not slow. The guards were too far behind, shouting warnings that came too late.

“Watch out!” Davina cried, but before she could take another breath, the masked man lunged.

Baird swung, steel ringing against stone as the intruder ducked beneath his strike. In the next heartbeat, Davina felt a rough hand seize her arm. She gasped, feeling the world tilt as she was pulled sharply back.

Cold metal pressed to her throat.

“Stay back!” the intruder hissed in a voice that was muffled beneath the mask. “One step closer and she dies!”

Davina’s breath caught in terror. The knife trembled against her skin, close enough that she could feel its chill. Baird froze where he stood, his sword raised but his eyes locked on hers.

“Let her go,” Baird snarled.

The intruder shifted, dragging Davina half a step closer to him. “Drop the blade.”

Baird’s grip tightened on the hilt. “Ye’ve nay chance of leaving this castle alive.”

“Perhaps nae,” the man spat venomously, “but others like me will follow, be assured of that.”

Davina barely dared to move, her pulse pounding so hard she could hear it. Her gaze flicked to Baird, getting lost in his eyes which were like storm clouds, calculating his next movement.

“Baird,” she whispered his name.

“I’ve got ye, lass,” he murmured, taking a careful step forward.

“Nae another inch!” the intruder shouted, pressing the knife harder.

Baird stopped. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Danger closed in, sharp as a blade poised to cut her life short.