Chapter 1
MURDOCH CASTLE
Shouting voices pulled Amara from the haze of her thoughts. She had been sitting in the sunroom, a half-sewn tapestry in her lap. She hadn’t really been thinking about anything in particular, just her thoughts gathering wool, when the commotion roused her.
Next, there was the sound of pounding boots in the corridor just outside the chamber. Amara sighed with boredom and rolled her eyes.
Nae again… she thought as set her sewing aside, and stood.
She was able to take just a moment to check her appearance in the faded-looking glass that sat on the ground in the corner of the sunroom, making sure her long blonde hair was secured tightly in a thick plait, before leaving the chamber to find out what all the uproar was about.
“Surely, it cannae be anythin’ to rush ove—” Amara started to say, when she very nearly got plowed down by one of the Murdoch guards right as she stepped into the hallway.
The guard skidded to a terrified stop, his hands reflexively going to her shoulders to steady himself and to make sure she didn’t fall.
“Pardon, me lady!” he gasped breathlessly.
Patrick. His name was Patrick, she remembered. He was newly appointed to the guards, and from what little she knew of him, he was a nice enough man.
“What goes here?” she asked, swinging her arm out for emphasis.
“We captured an intruder,” he gasped. “One of the O’Donnell men.”
Amara’s eyes widened in surprise. Instantly, images of blood, the memory of her mother’s viper-like grip around her wrist, and the clang of O’Donnell and Murdoch steel clashing flooded her thoughts.
The O’Donnells?
“An O’Donnell intruder? Just one?” She demanded to know. “Who is it? Speak!”
Patrick shrugged his thin shoulders. “I’m nae sure.
He was caught just before dawn tryin’ to cross the northern boundary.
” He took a deep breath, then started talking again, his words coming faster and faster.
“Said he was alone, but I heard he was well armed. Wouldnae speak a word, though. He’s bein’ held in the old cellar. ”
Amara had barely thanked the lad before she’d spun on her slippered heel and rushed down the corridor toward the old cellar. Cook stared at her aghast as she burst into the kitchen, then out the back entrance door. She made it outside just in time to see guards taking the prisoner down the stairs.
From the distance, she could tell that the man was broad, but not in the same way that she remembered the O’Donnell heir to be.
The last time she saw him was at the truce dinner between their clans that ended in chaos and disaster.
That was six years ago, and she knew that a lot could have changed since then.
She had changed a lot since then, anyway.
Look up. Let me see yer terrible face.
Rhys Adams, the notorious O’Donnell heir. She had watched him plow through waves of Murdoch men with despicable ease.
Look up. Ye murderer. Ye nay good, miserable, wretched—
The man looked up. His sharp gaze met Amara’s and she instantly recognized him.
But it wasn’t Rhys Adams, the brute.
It was a familiar man. A man that quite frankly resembled the one who had burst into the great hall during the feast all those years ago, and called her father a murderer.
Ye.
Amara’s eyes narrowed instantly shooting daggers with the strength of all holy powers she could summon.
Ye did this.
Her top lip curled with disgust, and didn’t dare look away.
She even let her chin tilt upward slightly so that she could look down her nose at him.
He too had not torn his eyes from hers either, and she watched as the man’s face creased.
Only when the top of his head had disappeared from the doorway did she leave.
Amara knew her father had not murdered Laird O’Donnell, she knew it in her bones that he wasn’t capable of such a thing. Well, not at a truce dinner anyway, but that was what the other clan had believed. That night had been the worst of her life. So many of her clan members were slaughtered.
More importantly, her mother had died.
And for some reason, she lost her father that day, too.
He didn’t die, but he’d become distant enough for her to feel the sting of his loss. He acted as if he couldn’t even bear to look at her. At first, she’d thought it was just his grief, that it would get better in time. But all these years later, his withdrawal of her seemed even worse.
Now, he looks through me, as if I’m nae even here.
She went in search of him to ask about their prisoner, but it took quite a while to find him.
Her father wasn’t in his study, his bed chamber, the library, or even the dining hall.
She finally found him in the south wing talking to some of his men.
They looked up when they heard Amara approach. The laird did not.
“Faither, I just —” she began, but he cut her off.
“Nae now.”
The two men looked at her with compassion and understanding. All of Murdoch castle had seen how the laird had been treating his only child. Shame heated her cheeks and burned her throat, but she didn’t turn away. Not this time. She was tired of being ignored by the only family she had left.
She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “Faither,” she said again. “I wanted to talk to ye about the prisoner.”
His head snapped in her direction, and he pinned Amara with angry emerald eyes.
“He is none of yer concern,” the laird barked. “Daenae go near him. Do ye understand?”
She nodded but her lips tightened into a stubborn frown. “What are ye goin’ to do with him?”
Laird Murdoch waved an impatient hand, and the two guards nodded and left father and daughter alone.
“It’s none of yer concern, Amara.”
That was another difference. He always called her by her name now. He used to call her daughter or lass or some nonsense love name, but now he only referred to her as Amara.
“Is he…” she paused, clasping her hands together in front of her body. “Is he the one who killed Maither?”
The laird’s eyes hardened. “I doubt we’ll ever ken who ended yer maither’s life,” he said sourly. “Best nae to dwell on it.”
“Best nae to…?” Amara stared at him incredulously. “Ye’re nae lookin’ for her murderer?”
“It’s nae worth it.”
Amanda couldn’t help it. She gaped at her father as if he had suddenly turned into a wood sprite and flew out the window.
“Faither! Surely ye daenae mean that!”
He glared at her, his eyes cold and hard. “How do ye figure I’d find out?” he demanded, his tone harsh and impatient. “Ye think the new laird will tell me? Or any other cursed O’Donnell?”
“Nay. Nae at first, anyhow,” she allowed. “But ye have yer ways. I’ve heard stories of how ye got men to talk when nay one else could.”
“Let the matter go, Amara.” This time, his voice was low and all the more worrisome because of it. “Yer maither is dead, Amara. Naught will bring her back. Now leave me!”
Tears pricked the back of her eyes, but Amara stood there a moment longer to stare at the man who, at one time, had loved her mother more than anything in the world. Or at least she’d thought he had.
“This could be our chance to find out—”
“Amara! Christ! I said to leave it and leave me!” his booming voice pierced her eardrums, and she fought hard not to flinch away from him.
“I deserve answers!”
Her father straightened then, scoffing, “Deserve? Ye truly believe that ye deserve anythin’ ye’re more lost than I had hoped.”
“Wha—”
“I’ll nae hear any more of this wretched nonsense. Ye have nay idea what ye’re talkin’ about. All ye are doin’ is angerin’ me beyond civility. Now, I implore ye to leave me presence at once before I lock ye away with that O’Donnell trash to make sure ye stay out of me way forever!”
The message was loud and clear and public.
She wouldn’t cry, though. One thing her father admired was strength, and she wasn’t about to let his callous words hurt her again.
“Very well, me laird,” Amara hissed bitterly at her father’s back with a slight bow. And without waiting to see if her venom had landed on her target, she threw her skirts behind her and stormed away from him.
Amara floated through the castle with a new purpose in mind. Her anger and the anticipation caused her limbs to shake slightly with a tense excitement, but she managed to wait until she was outside before she started running. Her slippers barely stayed on as her feet led her to the stables.
When the stable boy tried to assist her, she waved him off with a hand and a small smile. The need to get away from her father, to feel the wind in her hair before she burst into tears was too strong to wait for anyone to help her. Besides, she didn’t need a saddle, not for her mare.
Bonnet, as she’d named her mare when she’d been a child, sensed her anxiousness and danced a little, “That’s right, lass.
Just ye and me and the wind today,” she said as she led the mare from the stable doors.
As soon as Bonnet’s blonde tail crossed the threshold of the stable doorway, Amara was mounted and riding away from the castle.
She’d been in such a rush to leave Murdoch castle, and her father, Amara had forgotten to grab a shawl. The cool air seeped into her bones, and she shivered. It was worth it, though. She couldn’t have stayed in his presence a moment longer, not without letting anger or hurt get the best of her.
Amara rode into the woods, and Bonnet knew exactly where to go.
Just ahead, there was a small clearing blanketed in heather.
It was her favorite place to go when she wanted to be alone.
She’d been there so frequently since her mother died that her mare instinctively trotted to a thick tree and stood there, waiting for Amara to dismount.
Instead of tying the reins around the wide trunk, like she’d done so many times before, Amara simply ran her hands through the mare’s mane and let Bonnet graze through the heather.