The Laird Who Claimed Her (Lairds of Ruin #1)

Prologue

“Och, 'tis cold,” Eloise said dipping her toe in the water. Her feet bare on the grass.

At eighteen years old, Eloise Whitmore stood at the river's edge, her skirts gathered, as her cousin Beatrice knelt before her, dipping careful hands into the water.

“Hold still, lass, or I’ll have ye soaked to the knee,” Beatrice teased, her eyes alight with mischief.

Eloise managed a faint smile, though her thoughts churned beneath the surface of the merriment.

When shall I make me escape?

“Ye’d best be gentle, Bea, for I’ve nae wish to greet me weddin' day tomorrow with frozen toes,” she replied.

Around them, her cousins sang and splashed, the old feet washing ritual carried on with cheer that felt almost forced to her ears. She had insisted upon this, her mother’s custom. So that she could be outside without question in the dark of the night.

“Ye’re quiet tonight,” Beatrice murmured, glancing up as she dried Eloise’s feet with a linen cloth.

Eloise looked toward the hills, “Would ye laugh so freely if ye were to wed a man ye’ve never met?”

Beatrice’s hands stilled, “Drummond, Aye I’ve heard the tales, Eloise, and none are kind.”

Eloise swallowed hard, forcing steadiness as she replied, “Me parents hear only the silver he offers, nae the whispers that follow him. Me father's gambling debts are far too great.”

A shout of laughter rang behind them, Beatrice turned to them, “What is it?”

“Her dress is caught in a rock,” another shouted back.

“Help her, Beatrice,” Eloise said.

Beatrice joined the women to help. As the others turned back to their songs and splashing games, Eloise rose quietly and grabbed her shoes.

She glanced at the women, and then slid a ring off her finger.

She looked at it for a moment, then tossed it into the water.

She turned toward the darkening path beyond the trees.

Her heart pounded with each step, fear gripping her chest even as hope urged her onward. “God keep me.”