Chapter 2
Six days later, she saddled a horse.
Hopefully, she would not miss the rest of the event if she hurried.
Her mother caught her at the stable door. “Where are ye going, Erica?”
Erica turned to her as the horse cantered out of the stables. “To the Leanan Love Festival.”
Her mother stiffened. “Surely, ye daenae mean to—”
“Ye asked me what me plan was the other day, and this is it. I plan to find a laird willing to stand with us.”
“Erica—”
“It is true, Maither.” Erica’s voice was clear and distinct. “We cannae keep hoping and praying that the next person who comes through the door isnae looking to conquer the castle. We need to do something about it. This is me doing something.”
“And what happens if ye daenae find someone to bring home? What then?”
Erica laughed. “The event is reserved for almost every laird in the Highlands. Daenae worry. I’ll find one.”
Her mother went inside without a word and came back with a basket covered with a cloth. She pressed it into Erica’s hands and fussed with the cloak ties as if they might come loose in a breath.
“‘Tis a long journey to the festival. We cannae have ye coming back looking skinny,” she said.
Erica laughed once. “That would be impossible.”
Hilda came to the yard with her sleeves rolled and her hair pinned up. “Ye plan to ride alone?” she asked, voice low.
“Aye.”
Her mother turned to her maid, a wave of surprise and realization crossing her face. “Of course ye ken about this. She tells ye everything.”
“Maither—”
“Then listen to me,” her mother continued. “Keep yer face plain and yer words plainer. Take nay cup ye didnae watch poured. If ye must sleep there, sleep near the lights.”
“I will,” Erica said. “Keep the castle steady and help the men on the wall before dusk. Lock the east store. Send two boys to the south fields if ye have to, and if riders ask for me, ye daenae ken where I’ve gone.”
“Aye, me Lady,” Hilda said, and there was no question in it.
Erica swung up, smoothed her dress, and nudged the horse toward the gate. She did not look back.
The road ran clear, and the wind continuously lifted the edge of her cloak. Fields gave way to heath and then to pine. She rode with a purse of coins sewn into her belt and a small knife in her boot. The knife would stay sheathed if the festival turned out to be what she hoped it was.
The cold night air was close when the first banners appeared. The festival spread over a low rise and the meadow below it. Fires burned in safe rings, and music rose in steady beats. Masked figures moved in groups and pairs, all enjoying the laughter that came and went.
She drew rein at the outer rope, where stewards checked weapons and tied peace bands.
A steward stepped up with his palm held open. “Name,” he said. “Or a borrowed one will do.”
“A borrowed one,” she said. “Call me Rika.”
He nodded. “Hand.”
She gave him the knife. He wrapped the sheath in linen and sealed it with wax, then tied a simple braid of red thread around her wrist.
“Nay feuds,” he said. “Nay blades drawn. Nay blows struck. Claims made before witnesses hold when the week ends. If ye are pressed, stand in the light and call a witness. The rules reach further than the meadow. Do ye ken?”
“Aye.”
“Mask,” he said, and pointed to a table where plain pieces lay in rows.
She chose a half mask that covered her mouth and cheek, and tied the ribbon tight. The world narrowed to what she could see right ahead, and for some reason, it seemed to calm her.
The steward gave her one last look before letting her inside.
Soon, she found herself in a whole new world.
The crowd was larger than she had imagined.
She moved along the edge first, taking in the rhythm.
A ring of dancers turned near a set of crossed swords as nearby vendors passed with meat and oatcakes.
A circle of elders spoke in hushed tones, while younger men watched them and waited to see who they greeted first.
It would be easy to disappear here.
It would be easy to do nothing and tell herself that coming had been enough.
But no.
Her castle was at stake. This was important.
She approached a pair standing just off the main circle, their cloaks marking good wool, and the way people gave them space marking rank.
“Evening,” she greeted. “I need a word.”
“Evening,” said the taller one. His voice kept the courtesy of the place. “What sort of word?”
“A shield,” she said. “I come from a house that needs a stand for a season. I have coin, and I have pledges I can keep.”
“Which house?” he asked.
“Bryden,” she answered.
A pause.
“I ken the name,” he said. His friend shifted a step back.
“We pay our debts,” Erica said. “We daenae break bargains.”
“I heard different,” he said. “Best of the night to ye.”
They turned away with a nod that gave nothing.
Erica exhaled. Bad start to the evening, but this was to be expected. The news of her castle’s infamy had spread far and wide. She moved on anyway.
The next man wore a captain’s sash and spoke like one, quick and spare. He listened to her openly, then asked where she kept her herds and how many men stood on her wall. She answered without flinching. He nodded, interested, and then she said, “Bryden.” The interest shut like a door.
“Ye should keep to the dance,” he said. “Find a song ye like. Let the week pass lightly.”
“I am nae here for a song.”
“Then ye are in the wrong place.”
She crossed the meadow and tried again with a pair of women who carried themselves like queens. They were generous with advice and names of men who might help a widow keep her land. When Erica thanked them and said she was a Bryden, their gazes turned careful.
“We daenae judge,” one said. “We keep the rules. Yet a public tie is a different thing.”
“I am nae asking for marriage,” Erica said. “Only a shield.”
“A shield is a tie,” the other argued. “Take care where ye set it.”
She left them with a bow as the music swelled near the main fire.
This wasn’t working.
She needed to do something else.
Something different.
She changed her approach and decided to stop opening with terms. She watched instead and learned further on the rhythm of who set the tone at each fire and who followed.
She tracked the men who said little and decided much.
Then she tracked which captains cut a path through the ring without raising a hand.
She was not here to win a friend. She was here to find a shield that no man would test.
The most feared.
The most useful.
The one whose presence would make even a smile feel like a risk.
Time stretched as she moved from light to dark and back again.
Twice she reached for a conversation and let it go when the man’s eyes slid past her mask to the braid at her wrist, as if red thread could name her more surely than her voice.
A few even refused to entertain her sight because “a big woman comes with trouble.”
A steward read the rules at the main post again for those just arrived. Eventually, she decided to stop chasing and let the crowd move around her instead.
The mask hid the set of her mouth, and she kept her chin level and her hands easy at her sides. She counted the fires and heard only a dull measure. In the nearby distance, she could hear the sound of a woman laughing near the harp.
She stayed at the edge of the light until the noise slid into the same dull measure as her breath. Then a hand waved from across the ring, a quick cut through the bodies.
Oh, thank God.
Relief sparked before she could stop it, and she stepped toward the sign, weaving past a pair of dancers and a vendor with cakes. The man waited near a post, standing in a plain cloak and a half mask. She stopped an arm’s length away.
“Ye needed a word?” he asked. The voice was familiar in a way that set her teeth on edge.
Before she could answer, he pulled his mask down.
Laird MacGee.
Her stomach turned.
Oh Christ.
“What are ye doing here?”
“Walking the same ground as ye, is that nae clear?” he said.
Erica exhaled, doing everything she could to mask the fear she felt. “Are ye following me now?”
He laughed softly. “I had a feeling this would be yer last resort. Plus, it really wasnae that hard to recognize ye. I’d recognize yer figure anywhere.”
Heat climbed her neck as she kept her chin level. “Ye have nay right to speak to me.”
“In this place, every man has the right to speak,” he said. “And every woman has the right to listen. Or nae. Yet here ye are.”
She took half a step back, but he moved with her and closed the space again, smooth as if they were still at her mother’s table.
“Looks like ye finally came to yer senses,” he said. “A festival is a fine place to settle what ye should have settled in yer own hall.”
“I did settle it,” she said. “I told ye to leave.”
He reached out and took her arm above the wrist. His grip was not tight, only sure. She twisted, but he held. She leaned forward without thinking, the old answer quick as breath. His free hand came up, palm open, stopping her before her teeth found skin, again.
“Ah, ah,” he tutted. “Ye daenae want to do that.”
“Let go of me.”
“Nae when ye’re this far from home,” he said, voice low. “Keep yer head. Ye wouldnae like what comes next.”
He had learned, and she could see that. He did not rise to her anger. He pressed down on it and smiled while he did it.
She pulled once more, but it was to no avail. He did not tighten his grip, but he did not release her either. The firelight cut his face into hard planes. His eyes were bright with the shine of good food and a plan running well.
“Looks like nay one else is eager to speak with ye,” he said, and tipped his head toward the nearest ring where men stood in an easy line and pretended not to watch. “Ye have walked a long time for short talk.”
“I didnae ask ye to speak.”
“Then listen,” he said. “Perhaps this is fate. Ye came here to find an answer. Ye found me instead. We ken each other. We ken yer position. We ken mine. Why waste more nights?”
“I ken what ye are.”
“Ye will find it useful,” he said. “It’s nae as though ye’re betrothed.”
The word hit harder than the rest. She hated just how helpless she must look to this grubby old man. She hated that at the end of the day, if this didn’t work, she might just have to consider marrying him.
Nay.
No, she needed to do something. It didn’t matter if it was something harsh or solid. She needed to find a way to make him stay away from her. Once and for all.
He gestured with his chin, a small circle that took in the lights while she struggled to keep her face calm when what she was feeling inside was, in fact, anything but.
“Nay one here will stand up for ye,” he said, his voice easy. “Nay one here will take that stain and wear it. Leave with me, and I will speak for yer house. I will keep the walls whole, and I will set men at yer gate. Ye will see sense in the morning.”
She felt the trap close, and it was clear she wouldn’t escape this just easily.
He had found her, he had drawn a circle around her, and he would not let her walk out of it.
The rules of the place held his fist open, yet they did not hold his shadow back from her path.
She could leave and be followed, or she could bend and be kept.
The choice narrowed until it was a point she could stand on.
Only one drastic thought settled at the back of her mind. It was reckless. Hell, it was thoughtless, but it was her one final shot. Her way of finally escaping him.
“I am,” she said.
He blinked once. “What?”
“I am betrothed.”
He scoffed. “To whom?”
“A laird.”
“Which laird?”
Panic touched the back of her throat and then steadied into focus. She couldn’t think of a name.
Why can’t I think of a name?
Her eyes shifted, and she scanned the nearest ring, then the next, with nothing but aim. She just needed to find someone to point to. Someone who looked powerful enough to intimidate Laird MacGee.
Her eyes eventually settled on a man who seemed to draw space without asking. He was tall and broad and looked dangerous even with his mask.
Good. He would have to do.
She stepped to the side, out of MacGee’s grip. He let her go, certain she would return. She raised her hand, palm open, the way the stewards had shown at the rope, and pointed through the firelight to the man at the ring.
“That man,” she said.
The words fell like a blade, and the silence terrified her more than anything.
“That man?” MacGee asked, the fearful inflection in his voice making it clear that she had made the right choice.
A smile spread across her lips as she doubled down.
“Aye,” she responded, her eyes sharp. “That’s me betrothed.”