Chapter 1
“Stop whispering and simply say it to me face.” Ariella stepped fully into the solar as she spoke, her skirts swishing around her ankles, her chin held high.
Her mother and older brother broke apart like guilty children caught at mischief.
Caitlin Milligan flinched first. “Ariella, love, ye should have knocked.”
“If ye didnae wish me to hear,” Ariella replied, shutting the door firmly behind her, “ye shouldnae have used me name.”
Her heart beat too quickly. The room smelled of peat smoke and lavender, familiar and safe, yet the air felt sharp, strained, as if the walls themselves were listening.
Her mother wrung her hands, twisting her kerchief so tightly that the linen creaked. Frederick only watched her with that guarded look he wore whenever he thought she might break.
“As it happens,” he said at last, “we were about to send for ye.”
“I am here now,” she pointed out. “So tell it to me plainly.”
Frederick cleared his throat. He looked every inch the Laird, tall and broad, his dark hair tied back with the characteristic grey streak down the middle, a plaid draped over his shoulder. Yet, there was something boyish in the way his gaze flicked to their mother, as though seeking permission.
Caitlin stepped toward Ariella, smoothing her already neat sleeve. “Yer betrothed is near, mo chridhe,” she said softly. “He will arrive before nightfall.”
The word struck Ariella like a stone.
Betrothed.
She kept her expression neutral, though her fingers curled into her skirts. “So it is settled, then. I am to be married without so much as a proper conversation. How efficient of ye both.”
Her mother’s mouth trembled. “We spoke of it, lass. When ye were ill, Frederick and I agreed that this would be a good match for ye.”
“When I was feverish and half-senseless,” Ariella said, heat rising in her chest. “That was the time ye chose to discuss me future? When I couldnae even have a say. Very considerate.”
Her mother reached for her hand. “We only wanted to protect ye, love. Ye ken how fragile ye were all those years, and then last winter, when ye fell sick again. We feared losing ye.”
“I didnae die,” Ariella reminded, her voice low. “And I am growing quite tired of being treated as though I might at any moment.”
Frederick stepped forward, putting himself between them, as if he could shield them from each other’s hurt. “Ariella, listen to me. This is a strong alliance. With it, we secure our people’s safety.”
Silence fell.
Her pulse roared in her ears, yet her voice came out cold. “So I am the coin ye paid. And who is me debtor now?”
“Ariella,” Frederick said quietly, “our faither left more debt than we expected. We needed this. It was the only way. Ye will understand with time.”
“Time? Why are ye treating me like a child?” she demanded. “Why will ye nae tell me what manner of man he is, this stranger who will be me husband?”
Her mother made a faint sound. “We daenae wish to frighten ye.”
“Frighten me, Maither?” Ariella’s eyebrows flew up with horror.
Frederick rubbed a hand over his face. “We should have told ye sooner. He is Hunter Murdoch, younger braither of Laird McNeill. He is said to be clever, light of manner, and quick with words. I met him when we sealed the agreement. He didnae seem ill disposed.”
Her jaw almost hit the floor. “The Beast of McNeill’s younger braither? Ye must be jesting. Ye cannae be serious.”
“Ariella,” her mother chided, but the edge had left her voice, replaced by weariness.
“Sister, do see reason. It is our duty to secure our clan in any way we can. If ye daenae understand that now, I daenae what to tell ye. Maither?”
Duty.
Ariella held her breath for a moment longer than normal before exhaling shakily, her hands fisting at her sides.
“Darling, this is for the good of both clans. A mighty allegiance to protect us.”
“If ye wish me to do me duty— nay. If I am to marry for the good of Clan McIntosh, then stop treating me like a child. Stop keeping information from me. Our financial situation has been kent for some time. Why now? Why this match?”
Frederick studied her, more carefully than a laird studying a map. For a moment, something in his gaze softened, pride and sorrow threading together.
He drew in a slow breath and squared his shoulders. “Very well—”
A knock cut him off. The door opened before any of them could answer.
A footman bowed low. “Me Laird, me Lady, yer guest has arrived.”
Ariella’s heart gave a strange, hard thump.
Me betrothed.
Frederick glanced at her once, apology and resolve plain on his face, then turned toward the door. “Come,” he said. “Let us meet yer soon-to-be husband.”
Ariella lifted her chin, smoothed trembling hands down her gown, and followed.
Hunter Murdoch did not look like a man who could anchor two clans together. He swung down from his horse with easy grace, his plaid shifting, his dark hair gleaming where the weak sun caught it. His smile broke quick and bright across his face as he looked up at them.
It was as though this entire situation were a pleasant visit and not the barter of a woman’s life.
“Laird McIntosh,” he called, his voice warm. “Ye honor me with such a welcome. I feared I might arrive to naught but a grudging stable boy and cold wind as my braither will be.”
“There are always cold winds in McIntosh lands, Murdoch,” Frederick replied, descending the steps beside Ariella. “When should we expect Laird McNeill?”
Ariella had not quite pin a point in their childhood to date where her brother was ever this worried about a guest’s arrival. It was almost as if he was about to start pacing.
“More than likely after the sun goes down,” Hunter waved a lazy hand to try and clear the tension.
“He was stuck with the council when we were to leave. So, I rode ahead. Hope yer stable boy isnae too miffed about it,” he laughed half-heartedly, but it was still a clear, ringing sound that drew a few grins from the men near the gate.
He then turned his attention to Ariella, and she felt the full force of his gaze land on her.
“And surely,” he added, pressing a hand to his heart in exaggerated awe, “I have ridden into a fairytale. None of ye told me that me betrothed was a goddess in mortal flesh.”
Ariella’s face remained statuesque. It was not that she had never received a compliment before.
Men had called her pretty, had spoken of her eyes, her hair, the curve of her mouth.
Hunter’s words were almost laughably extravagant, yet there was a smoothness to them, a polish, as if he had practiced such lines before on several women.
She dropped into a curtsy because it was expected, not because his gallantry moved her. “Ye flatter me.”
“A sin I am often accused of,” he replied, his eyes crinkling. “Ye will forgive me, I hope. One can hardly help it in such company.”
Frederick shot her a brief sideways look, perhaps checking whether she had swooned. She did no such thing.
“Come inside,” he said. “The ride from McNeill isnae short. Ye must be in need of food and warmth.”
Hunter laid a hand over his heart and bowed to Caitlin. “Me Lady. Allow me to say that ye look far too young to be the maither of a laird and a young lady. Ye shame the rest of us.”
Caitlin flushed, clearly torn between disapproval and pleasure.
Ariella bit back a sigh.
He is handsome; I cannae deny that.
She watched the way he moved, the easy charm, the way he met every gaze as if it were an old friend. His features were regular and pleasing, his smile quick. There was no shadow in him, no stillness. And yet the very smoothness of him set her teeth on edge.
They went to the solar again, this time with wine, bread, and cheese laid out.
Hunter spoke almost without pause, carrying the conversation with tales of his journey, the ridiculous stubbornness of his horse, and the foolishness of a groom who had saddled him with the wrong saddle.
He made jest after jest at his own expense, scattering them like crumbs.
Ariella watched, and something in her chest cooled.
His compliments to her were constant, yet they slid over her skin and failed to sink in. He praised the castle, the view from the window, her gown, her hair, the way she poured the wine, all in the same tone. None of it felt genuine.
At last, when her mother left to see to something in the kitchens, and Frederick went to consult with the steward about guest chambers, Ariella found herself alone with him.
Hunter unfolded himself from the chair by the hearth and sauntered to the window, looking out over the courtyard.
“So,” he said lightly, his profile outlined by the pale light, “we are to be wed.”
“So I am told,” she muttered.
He glanced back with a crooked grin. “Ye daenae sound thrilled, me Lady.”
“Are ye?” she countered.
He considered for a heartbeat, then laughed. “I suppose nae.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Honesty. That is unexpected.”
“Oh, I can be honest, when it suits me,” he drawled, coming closer. “And since ye daenae swoon at me compliments, I think we may as well drop the act.”
“I was unaware we had agreed on an act,” Ariella said dryly.
“Ye must ken how these things go,” Hunter went on, as if she had not spoken. “Ye are the pretty sister of a laird in need of coin and protection. I am the younger braither of a laird who has both. Ye and I are names on parchment, pretty ink flourishes, nothin’ more.”
Ariella arched an eyebrow at the mention of his older brother.
Maxwell Murdoch, the Beast of McNeill. That’s why Maither said she didnae wish to frighten me.
Hunter shook himself, the brief seriousness gone. “In any case, ye need nae look so stricken, me Lady. I am nae a monster. If we must wed, I will do me best nae to make yer life unbearable.”
Her mouth twitched despite herself. “Such generosity.”
He spread his hands. “It is the least I can offer.”
“Do ye nae wish to marry at all?” she asked, genuinely curious.