Chapter 1
"Ye're a disgrace to the Ferguson name, niece."
The words sliced through the main hall like a blade, sharp and cold.
Maia's spine stiffened even further, if that were possible.
Still, she kept her gaze fixed on the stone wall above his shoulder level.
She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch. Not today. Not after six years of this.
"Look at ye." Uncle Callen's voice continued with contempt as his boots clicked closer across the flagstones. "Standin' there like a cow waitin' for slaughter. Do ye think any man of worth will want ye when ye cannae even carry yerself with dignity?"
Maia's hands began to tremble at her sides. She curled them into fists, pressing them against the fabric of her worn gown.
The material was coarse beneath her palms, another reminder that while her uncle wore fine wool and velvet, she was dressed like a scullery maid.
"I asked ye a question." His breath was hot as he leaned closer. She could smell the whisky on him, even this early in the day. "Or has all the weight ye keep pilin' on crushed yer ability to speak as well?"
Heat flooded Maia's cheeks. Around them, the handful of clan members present for the morning meal had fallen silent. She could feel their eyes on her, some pitying, most indifferent. None would speak up. They never did.
"I—Uncle, I—" she began, but the words would not come. Her uncle cut into the silence with a bark of laughter.
"Stutterin' like a fool now. Christ above, what did me brother see in ye? He always claimed ye were so clever, so special." Callen circled her slowly, like a predator assessing prey. "I see nothin' but a useless, fat girl who cannae even manage to make herself presentable for breakfast."
Maia wrapped her arms around herself, trying to create some barrier between his words and her heart. It didn't work. It never worked. Each insult burrowed deep, settling next to all the others he'd heaped upon her over the years.
"Nothin' to say?" Callen's tone shifted, becoming almost cheerful in its cruelty. "Good. I'm tired of hearin' yer voice anyway. It grates on me nerves."
He stepped back, straightening his doublet with exaggerated care. The morning light streaming through the high windows caught the gold thread in the fabric—gold that should have been used for the clan, for repairs to the cottages, for food stores. Instead, it decorated her uncle's vanity.
"Guards," he called out, no longer looking at her anymore.
She'd been dismissed. Just another unpleasant task completed before his day truly began.
"Escort Miss Maia back to her chambers. And make certain the door is properly secured.
We wouldnae want our precious niece wanderin' about where she doesnae belong. "
Two guards materialized at her sides. Maia recognized them both. Men who'd served her father faithfully. Neither of them met her eyes now. She couldn't blame them. To show her kindness would be to invite Callen's wrath upon themselves, and they had families to protect.
"This way, me lady," the older of the two murmured, his voice carefully neutral.
Maia moved forward on wooden legs, her arms still wrapped protectively around her middle.
The great hall felt impossibly long as she walked its length, every step echoing in the terrible silence her uncle had created.
She kept her chin up through sheer force of will, even as shame burned hot in her chest.
Behind her, conversation slowly resumed, the clan members returning to their meals, their discussions, their lives. Already forgetting her humiliation. It was just another morning at Castle MacMahon, after all.
The corridors grew narrower as they climbed the stairs to the east tower.
Maia's chambers were isolated from the rest of the castle, tucked away where visitors wouldn't stumble upon the laird's inconvenient niece.
The stone walls pressed close on either side, and the air grew colder with each step upward.
When they finally reached her door, the guard produced a heavy iron key from his belt.
The lock was new, replaced just last month after Maia had managed to pick the old one.
She'd made it as far as the kitchen courtyard before being caught and dragged back.
The punishment had been three days without food and a lecture about knowing her place that had lasted so long her legs had gone numb from standing.
The door swung open with a groan of protesting hinges. Maia stepped inside without being prompted and heard the door shut immediately behind her. The key turned in the lock with a decisive click that seemed to echo in the small space.
She was alone.
Maia closed her eyes and drew in a shaking breath, finally allowing her carefully maintained composure to crack.
Her arms tightened around herself as tears threatened to spill over.
She wouldn't cry. She'd promised herself years ago that she wouldn't waste any more tears on Callen Ferguson's cruelty.
But God, it hurt. It always hurt.
The room had only a narrow bed pushed against one wall, a small table with a single chair, a trunk for her meager belongings, and a washstand with a cracked basin.
The only luxury was the window, though even that had been turned into a prison. Iron bars crisscrossed the opening, rendering any hope of escape impossible.
Maia moved toward the window automatically, drawn by the promise of fresh air and sunlight. She sank onto the wooden seat built into the wall beneath the sill, tucking her legs up and wrapping her arms around her knees.
From here, she could see a sliver of the world beyond the castle walls—the rolling hills, the forest in the distance, the sky stretching endlessly above.
All of it impossibly far away.
She pressed her forehead against her knees and tried to remember what freedom felt like. It had been six years since she'd last walked beyond these walls. Six years since she'd felt grass beneath her feet or wind in her hair without iron bars between her and the world.
Six years since she'd been anything more than her uncle's prisoner.
A soft rustling sound made her head snap up. Her heart leaped into her throat as the door to her wardrobe, barely large enough to be called such, creaked open.
"Holy Mary, Mother of God." Maia gasped, pressing a hand to her racing heart as a familiar figure emerged from between her few hanging gowns.
"Och, daenae look so frightened!" Mollie stepped fully into the room, her round face breaking into a triumphant grin. "It's just me."
"Mollie!" Maia scrambled off the window seat, rushing toward her maid—her friend, really, though neither of them dared acknowledge it openly. "What in heaven's name are ye doing hidin' in me wardrobe? If Uncle Callen found out ye were here, ye willnae like his reaction."
"He willnae find out." Mollie waved away her concern with characteristic confidence.
She was only a few years older than Maia, but possessed a boldness that Maia had lost somewhere in the darkness of the past six years.
"The guards saw me enter with yer breakfast hours ago. They think I left already."
Maia shook her head, torn between exasperation and affection. "Ye're goin' to get yerself dismissed. Or worse."
"Worth it." Mollie reached back into the wardrobe and pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle. Her grin widened as she thrust it toward Maia. "I brought ye somethin'."
Maia took the bundle with trembling hands, already knowing what it contained. The weight, the shape, her heart stuttered with desperate hope as she carefully unwrapped the cloth to reveal three leather-bound books.
"Mollie," she breathed, tracing her fingers over the embossed titles with reverence. "Where did ye, how did ye get these?"
"Daenae ask questions ye daenae want answered." Mollie's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Let's just say the travelin' merchant who came through yesterday was very accommodatin' when properly motivated."
One of the books was a collection of poetry. Another appeared to be a history of the Scottish clans. The third was a novel that took Maia's breath away. It was the kind of romantic tale that made her heart ache with longing for adventures she was likely to never experience.
"Thank ye," Maia whispered, clutching the books to her chest. "Ye daenae ken what this means to me."
"Aye, I do." Mollie's expression softened. "Books are the only way ye can see the world now. Yer only window that doesnae have bars across it."
The truth of those words settled like lead in Maia's chest as she stared at the books.
These books have become me lifeline to everythin' beyond these four walls. Now it is through these pages and ink, I can travel to places I'd never see. Meet people I'd never encounter. Experience emotions that me uncle's prison has tried so hard to crush out of me.
"I daenae ken what I'd do without ye," Maia gasped, barely above a whisper. It took her a moment to push back the tears before she set the books carefully on her table and turned to embrace her friend.
Mollie returned the hug fiercely. "Ye'd manage. Ye're stronger than ye think, Maia Ferguson."
"I daenae feel strong." The confession slipped out uninhibited because Maia was with someone she could be herself with. "Especially nae after…"
"After yer uncle decided to start the day by remindin' everyone how heartless he is?" Mollie pulled back, her jaw tight with anger. "I heard some of it before the guards moved me along. I wanted to march back down there and pour his mornin' porridge over his head."
Despite everything, Maia felt a smile tug at her lips. "That would have been somethin' to see."
"Wouldnae it just?" Mollie guided her toward the table, pushing her gently into the chair before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "But then we'd both be locked up, and who would bring ye books?"
Maia ran her hand over the leather binding of the poetry collection. "This is what makes me happy. Books and the stories ye tell me about the village, the travelers, the clan news." She looked up, meeting Mollie's eyes. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm goin' mad, locked away like this."
"Ye're nae mad." Mollie's voice was firm. "Ye're a prisoner, aye, but ye havenae lost yerself. Nae yet."
"Sometimes it feels like I have.”
"Nay." Mollie leaned forward, intensity burning in her dark eyes. "Daenae say that. Daenae accept that fate."
"What choice do I have?" Bitterness crept into Maia's tone. "Even if me uncle sells me or marries me away, it'll just be goin' from one cage to another. I daenae think anyone will care about me with the way I look.”
"Stop that nonsense right now! Ye ken yer uncle is mad and ye shouldnae let his words about yer look affect ye.”
Maia flashed her a look, but she did not respond. The room fell into silence for a long moment, while Mollie studied her with an expression Maia didn't quite understand.
She probably agrees that I am too fat and ugly, but doesnae want to hurt me feelings.
Finally, Mollie grabbed her hand and squeezed, saying softly, "Things are goin' to change soon, Maia. Sooner than ye think."
Maia threw her a startled look. "What do ye mean?"
"Nothin' ye need to worry about just now." Mollie gave her hand a firm squeeze before letting go. "Just ken that yer life here... it willnae last forever. One way or another, change is comin'."
"I daenae understand how."
"Ye will." Mollie moved toward the door, then paused and looked back. Her expression was gentle, almost sad. "Read yer books, Maia. Dream yer dreams. And when opportunity comes knockin', even if it comes in a way ye daenae expect, daenae be afraid to take hold of it."
Maia looked down at the books spread before her, then up at the barred window where afternoon sunlight was beginning to slant across the floor. Outside, the world continued without her—people living their lives, making choices, and experiencing freedom she had not known for a very long time.
She opened the poetry collection, letting her fingers trace the words on the first page. But her mind wasn't on the verses. It was on Mollie's cryptic warning, on the strange intensity in her friend's eyes.
What kind of opportunity could possibly reach her here, locked in a tower room with iron bars on the windows and guards at her door?