Where Highland Thistles Bloom (Where Heaven and Earth Collide #1)

Chapter One

Raigmore, Scottish Highlands

“Now that the baron is dead—”

Ismay MacPherson looked up from her cup at her mother sitting across the dinner table.

Marjorie MacPherson was richly adorned in a damask silk gown of pale blue matching her complexion and giving her a bloodless appearance.

Which was all too fitting. She stared at Ismay with hard, angry eyes, green with envy and sharper than glass.

Those eyes hadn’t softened toward Ismay since Lord John MacPherson saved her and brought her there to live as his daughter when she was eight.

To spite Ismay, Marjorie, Lord John’s wife, wouldn’t call him what he was, her beloved father—though Ismay never considered him anything but her true father.

“—’tis time ye wed and start yer own family.”

Ismay’s heart halted, stopping her breath with it. “Pardon?”

“Ye heard me, girl. Marriage. Ye’re four and twenty. The baron spoiled ye, giving in to yer every wish, even not to be wed. But things are different now.”

Ismay stared at her in shock and dismay. She shook her head. “Father is not gone a month…” She swallowed back tears she would shed for Lord John MacPherson, Baron of Raigmore. “…It took even less time for ye to arrange fer me to be courted by Chief Alistar MacRae of Beauly, who is a mean-spirited—”

“Ismay—”

“Do ye hate me that much, Mother?” Ismay already knew the answer. Her father’s wife had always harbored deep resentment and jealousy toward her—but to wed her when she knew…she knew Ismay would never agree to marry and she knew why.

“Pardon, m’lady.” Andrew the butler stepped into the dining room, interrupting her thoughts. “Chief Alistar MacRae has arrived.”

Ismay turned a hurt stare on her mother. How could she invite him here? Hadn’t Ismay told her she never wanted to see him again after he’d slapped her?

“Excuse me,” she muttered and rose from her chair. “I’m nae longer hungry.”

“Sit down this instant!” Marjorie commanded with the authority of a general.

Ismay obeyed, a habit stemming from her days of serving the Clan Chief of the MacDonald of Glencoe.

The days with her father’s wife were bad, but nothing was as dark and terrible as her life before she had come to live with the MacPhersons.

Those dark, early days had turned her heart against men in power, and men in general.

She sat in silence while Majorie left the table to greet their unpleasant guest.

Alistar MacRae, Clan Chief of the MacRaes of Beauly had tried to begin courting her a sennight after her father died.

She refused him, of course, partly because it was completely thoughtless of him to attempt to woo her while she was mourning, and because of her hatred for clan chiefs.

Whether she knew them or not, she hated them.

She didn’t want anything to do with any of them, especially Alistar MacRae, who after meeting her twice and being rejected by her as many times, grew angry with her and slapped her face.

He didn’t use any force. It was more like a quick sting on her cheek.

Just enough to show her not to defy him in the future.

She was afraid that if she was forced to live with him, she would kill—again.

She didn’t look up when he entered the dining hall, or when Marjorie shone her coyest smile at him.

“Ismay,” Marjorie’s voice sliced through her like the edge of a parchment against her skin, “greet our esteemed guest.”

If Ismay’s father had been alive when their esteemed guest had put his hand to her, he would have been their deceased guest. But alas, she was on her own for the first time since coming to May Hall, her father’s keep in Raigmore.

He’d named it after the month he’d brought her here, inciting the wrath of his wife.

She finally looked up from the table. “Chief,” she said in a small, soft voice, then looked away again.

She couldn’t help it. She hated the sight of him and the power his title unfairly afforded him.

Men like him pushed others around, stepped over children, and wielded their power like a sickle against the more unfortunate.

“My dear.”

The words rolling off his tongue sickened her. She would like to tell him, but she would not disgrace her father’s memory by behaving like a miscreant. Lord John MacPherson had always been better than anyone else. She would strive to be the same.

“Is that how yer father taught ye to greet a guest?” Chief MacRae sneered as if reading her mind.

Her eyes flicked back to him like twin blades forged in fire. “Never speak of my father again.”

“What did ye say?”

“Ye are no’ worthy to speak of him,” she clarified, still keeping her voice soft and low as he came near her chair. Would he slap her in front of her mother? She didn’t care about his reaction. The venom poured from her. “I will—”

This time it was her mother who hurried around the table to slap her, and it was no tap.

Ismay held her cheek while MacRae smiled as if the satisfaction was his.

“Mother…” Her cheek stung but her heart burned.

For a moment—just while her face hurt—she reconsidered her suspicions about Marjorie’s part in her father’s death.

The house physician had blamed his death on the consumption of poison mushrooms. After confessing to the heinous deed, the cook was immediately executed under Marjorie’s order.

“I have agreed to yer marriage to Chief MacRae,” her mother dared to tell her. “As of today ye will be considered his promised bride—”

Ismay shook her head slowly. She felt as if she might break open, and if she did, they might find a girl who had been too damaged to accept anyone into her life, save for her beloved father.

“Lady,” she uttered, doing all she could to keep her teeth from chattering, “I beg ye—”

Marjorie turned to the chief. “She will be willing soon enough. I promise.”

“Willing or no’, she will be mine,” the chief promised, reminding Ismay of a snake slithering closer.

“I willna.” She shook her head again. “I would rather join a convent than wed any man.”

“Dear Ismay, ye are a fiery lass, like a fine red, an unbroken mare.”

He lifted his hand and wound his index finger around a russet curl tumbling down her shoulder. “Ye are indeed intoxicating and lovely. Yer hair, like flames, makes me quite eager to have ye alone.”

Ismay felt her face go red as she glanced at her mother. She felt ashamed and bare before her.

“But,” he continued, dragging Ismay’s attention back to him as he ripped a dagger from his belt, “the use of yer feminine wiles will no’ be tolerated.

” He stepped behind her and pulled her hair into his fist. Ismay tried to move away, but he yanked back and began sawing at her hair with the dagger.

Ismay didn’t want to admit to herself what he was doing.

She tried to stop him, reaching behind her and slapping at him.

She fought him while the sound of a blade cutting through her hair scorched into her memory.

When he finished, she suddenly became free.

She spun around, feeling for her hair at the same time.

Most of it was gone. Her heart thrashed within her.

Her belly tightened until she was tempted to double over.

He’d cut it off to just above her shoulders!

Her natural cloak was gone. She wanted to weep.

But she wouldn’t. She looked down at her locks spilled across the floor.

He’d shamed her for everyone to see. She would never forgive him.

“I willna marry ye,” she vowed on a slow hiss.

She expected another consequence of her words. There was none. He smiled slightly. “Aye, ye will.”

Her worried gaze fell to her mother, and to Andrew the butler. No one interceded for her. What if this beast hauled her away to his home tonight and held her captive until he forced her to marry him? No one would help her. So, she had to help herself, as she had when she was a child.

Almost instinctively she looked around the hall at the windows, the doors, any way to escape.

Her eyes caught a glimpse of her russet locks on the floor.

She felt an unwanted tear slip down her cheek and swiped it away with the back of her hand.

Never would she marry him. She would rather give up her life.

What was there left for her anyway since her father was gone?

But while she lived, she would plan. In fact, her mind was already strategizing. She barely heard Marjorie and the chief planning her life. What did it matter what they said? She wasn’t going to obey them.

She would leave tonight when everyone was asleep. She would go south along Loch Ness and board a ferry to Kiliwhimin. She heard there was a church there. She would become a sister of whatever order there was.

“Our priest has already been made aware of the nuptials,” Marjorie announced heartlessly. “This morning I informed our dressmakers to create something spectacular for the bride.”

Ismay said nothing. Concealing her contempt for her father’s wife for planning everything so quickly and without her knowledge or agreement.

Ismay knew that if she continued to refuse them, they would no doubt have her watched.

Running away would be more difficult. She said nothing, nor did she eat. No one seemed to notice.

“I am happy to see that ye have accepted yer fate,” the chief said to her. “’Twill make it easier to spend time with ye today.”

No! Ismay briefly considered running for the window and leaping out. She could hit the ground running. The chief appeared to be at least twenty years older than her. How was his running? Would he catch her?

“What choice do I have but to accept it?” she asked quietly without looking up.

The chief grinned beneath his thin mustache and beard. “Precisely. Now, since ye are no’ eating, let’s take a stroll. I hear yer mother’s gardens are like nae other. Or…perhaps ’twas yer hand that groomed such a variety of flora?”