Chapter 1
“Keep the change, lass. Ye’ve earned it.”
Piper Armstrong stared down at the coins in her palm, her heart skipping a beat. Mr. Campbell had given her nearly double her usual wages as payment for covering Mary’s shifts while the poor girl recovered from fever.
“Are ye certain, sir?” Piper asked, her fingers closing protectively around the money.
“Aye, I’m certain,” Mr. Campbell said, waving a flour-dusted hand dismissively. The baker’s kind eyes crinkled at the corners. “Ye worked hard, never complained once, even when we had ye kneadin’ dough until midnight. Take it. Buy yerself somethin’ nice for a change.”
Somethin’ nice.
The words felt foreign on Piper’s tongue. When was the last time she’d bought anything for herself? Her dress was three years old, carefully mended in places where the fabric had worn thin. Her shoes had holes in the soles that let in water when it rained.
“Thank ye, sir,” she whispered, clutching the coins tighter. “Ye’re very generous.”
“Och, away with ye now,” Mr. Campbell said, though he looked pleased. “Get home before dark. These roads arenae safe for a young lass alone.”
Piper nodded and stepped out of the bakery into the late afternoon sun.
The village of Kilbride was quiet; most folks were already home for supper. She should hurry. Her parents would be expecting their wages, as they always did.
Her hand went to her pocket, feeling the weight of the coins. So much money. Enough to buy fabric for a new dress, or a book—oh, how she missed having books to read. Alexandra had left a few for her, but her parents had sold them years ago.
I could hide some of it, just a few coins. They’d never ken.
But even as the thought formed, her back began to tingle—a phantom pain from the last time her father had caught her holding back money. She’d only kept two coins, hoping to save enough to eventually leave. He’d beaten her so badly she couldn’t work for three days.
“The money ye earn belongs to this family,” he’d snarled, his breath reeking of cheap whisky. “Every last piece. Ye think ye deserve to keep it? Ye think ye’re better than us?”
No. She couldn’t risk it. Not again.
Piper walked through the familiar streets, her pace quickening as dread settled like a stone in her stomach.
She passed Mrs. MacLeish’s cottage, where the old woman was taking in washing from the line. Passed the blacksmith’s forge, already dark and silent. Passed the well where she’d spent so many afternoons as a child, hiding from her parents’ wrath.
Just give them the money and go to bed. Tomorrow ye’ll work again, and it’ll be the same as always. Daenae think about it.
But she did think about it. Couldn’t help but think about it. Twenty-four years old, and she had nothing to show for her life but scars on her back and a heavy heart.
Alexandra would have been so disappointed.
The thought of her neighbor—the woman who’d been more of a mother to her than her own had ever been—brought tears to Piper’s eyes.
Alexandra had died ten years ago, but Piper still missed her every single day. She still heard her gentle voice:
Ye’re worth more than this, sweet girl. Ye deserve kindness. Ye deserve love.
But kindness and love felt like fairy tales, stories for other people. Not for girls like Piper.
She turned the corner onto her street and stopped dead.
Three men stood outside her parents’ cottage. Large men, rough-looking, with hard faces and harder eyes. They wore dark clothes and had weapons at their sides—not the honest weapons of soldiers or guardsmen, but the kind carried by men who did ugly work for uglier reasons.
Every instinct Piper possessed screamed at her to run. To turn around and disappear into the village, to hide until these men were gone.
But her feet wouldn’t move. She stood frozen, watching as her mother appeared in the doorway, laughing at something one of the men said. Her father emerged behind her, his expression eager, almost fawning.
Nay. Nay, nay, nay.
“Ah, there she is!” Her mother’s voice rang out, bright and cheerful—a tone Piper had rarely heard directed at her. “There’s our Piper! Come here, darlin’, come meet these gentlemen!”
Piper’s legs finally remembered how to work, but they carried her forward instead of away. Toward the cottage. Toward those cruel-looking men. Toward whatever nightmare was about to unfold.
“Piper, sweet girl,” her mother cooed, reaching out to take Piper’s arm. Her fingers dug in hard enough to bruise, even as her smile never wavered. “These kind men have come all this way just to see ye. Isnae that lovely?”
Up close, the men were even more frightening.
The tallest one had a scar running from his temple to his jaw. The second had part of his ear missing. The third—the one standing closest—looked at Piper the way her father looked at a bottle of whisky, with hungry, desperate eyes.
“She’ll do,” the scarred one said, his voice like gravel. “A bit plumper than I expected, but some men like that.”
Plumper. Piper’s cheeks burned. She’d heard those words, or variations of them, her entire life.
From her parents, from cruel children in the village, from the mirror itself.
She wasn’t willowy and elegant like the ladies she sometimes glimpsed in their fine carriages.
She was soft and round, with curves that her mother said made her look like a peasant.
“What’s goin’ on?” Piper asked, trying to pull her arm free. Her mother’s grip tightened. “Who are these men?”
“Now, now, daenae be rude,” her father said, stepping forward. His eyes were bloodshot, and he swayed slightly on his feet. Drunk again. Always drunk. “These gentlemen are here to discuss a business arrangement.”
“What arrangement?” Piper’s heart was pounding so hard she could barely hear her own voice. “I daenae understand.”
“Ye see, darlin’,” her mother said, that false sweetness still dripping from every word. “Yer faither and I have had a wee bit of bad luck lately. The dice havenae been kind to us, and we’ve found ourselves in a spot of debt.”
“Quite a large debt,” the scarred man added, his thin lips curving into something that might have been a smile. “Ten thousand pounds. Plus interest.”
Ten thousand? Piper felt the blood drain from her face. That was more money than she could earn in a lifetime. More than most villagers would see in ten lifetimes.
“We’ve been very patient,” the man with the missing ear said. “But patience has its limits. We came to collect today, one way or another.”
“And that’s where ye come in, sweet girl,” her father said. He wouldn’t meet Piper’s eyes. “We cannae pay them in coin, but we can offer them somethin’ else. Somethin’ valuable.”
No. They couldn’t mean—
“We’re offerin’ ye, darlin’,” her mother said brightly. “As payment for our debt. Isnae that wonderful? Ye’ll finally be worth somethin’!”
The world tilted. Piper heard the words, understood them individually, but together they made no sense. Her parents were selling her. Actually selling her, like she was cattle or furniture or a bolt of cloth.
“Ye… ye cannae…” Piper stammered, looking between her parents’ faces, searching for any hint of remorse, of hesitation, of humanity. She found nothing. “I’m yer daughter.”
“Ye’re a burden,” her father said flatly. “Always have been. Eatin’ our food, takin’ up space, costin’ us money. At least, this way, ye’ll be useful for once.”
“The arrangement is simple,” the scarred man said. “Ye come with us, ye work off yer parents’ debt, and everyone walks away happy.”
“Work doin’ what?” Piper whispered, though some part of her already knew. Already understood the hungry way the third man was looking at her.
The scarred man’s smile widened. “Whatever we tell ye to do, lass.”
“Nay.” The word came out stronger than Piper expected. “Nay, I willnae. Ye cannae make me.”
“Oh, I think we can,” the man with the missing ear said, taking a step toward her.
Piper ripped her arm free from her mother’s grasp and stumbled backward. Her mind was screaming at her to run, to fight, to do something.
“Daenae be difficult, Piper,” her mother said, her voice hardening. “Ye owe us this. After all we’ve done for ye.”
“All ye’ve done?” Piper’s voice cracked. “All ye’ve done is beat me and steal from me and tell me I’m worthless! I owe ye nothin’!”
“Ye ungrateful little—” Her father lunged forward, but Piper was already moving.
She turned and ran.
“Get her!” the scarred man bellowed. “Daenae let her escape!”
Piper’s feet pounded against the dirt road. Behind her, she heard shouting, the sound of heavy boots giving chase. Her lungs burned. Her side cramped. But she didn’t stop.
Run. Just run.
She veered off the main road, cutting through Mrs. MacLeish’s garden and leaping over a low stone wall. She could hear them behind her, getting closer. Three men, all larger and faster than she was.
Please. Please, I cannae let them catch me.
She turned down an alley between two cottages, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her vision blurred with tears. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real.
The alley opened into a small courtyard. Piper skidded to a stop, her heart plummeting.
Dead end.
Stone walls rose on three sides, too high to climb. Behind her, footsteps approached. Slow now. Confident.
“Well, well,” the scarred man’s voice drifted around the corner. “End of the road, lass.”
Piper pressed herself against the far wall, her whole body shaking. The coins from Mr. Campbell dug into her palm; she was still clutching them. She’d been so worried about giving them to her parents, about what they’d do if she held back even a single piece.
And now they’d sold her anyway.
The three men appeared at the alley entrance, blocking any escape. They weren’t even running anymore. They knew they had her trapped.
“Daenae make this harder than it needs to be,” the one with the missing ear said. “Come quietly, and we’ll be gentle.”
“Stay away from me,” Piper said, her voice shaking. “I’ll scream. I’ll fight. I’ll…”
“Ye’ll what?” The scarred man laughed. “Ye’re a plump little lass who cannae even outrun us. What exactly do ye think ye can do?”
Piper’s hand went to the necklace at her throat; Alexandra’s necklace, the only thing of value she’d ever owned. The only thing she’d successfully hidden from her parents all these years.
I’m sorry.
Though she didn’t know if she was apologizing to Alexandra or to herself.
I tried. I really tried.
The third man—the one who’d been silent until now—stepped forward, reaching for her. Piper lashed out, her nails raking across his face. He cursed and stumbled back.
“Ye little bitch.”
She tried to dart past him, but the scarred man caught her around the waist. Piper screamed, kicking and clawing and fighting with everything she had.
“Feisty,” the man grunted, struggling to hold her. “I like that.”
“Let me go!” Piper shrieked. “Somebody help! Please!”
But no one came. No one in Kilbride would risk crossing men like these. No one would risk crossing her parents, who’d claim this was a family matter.
She was alone. She’d always been alone.
The man with the missing ear pulled something from his belt—a club, heavy and dark. Piper saw it coming but couldn’t move fast enough.
Pain exploded across the back of her head. The world went white, then gray, then dark.
The last thing Piper heard before consciousness left her was the scarred man’s voice, distant and distorted:
“Get her in the wagon. We’ve got a long journey ahead.”
Then nothing. Nothing but darkness and the bitter taste of betrayal.