Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
"Stand straight, shoulders back. Ye arenae cattle, ye're prizes," the lady barked from behind the line, her voice sharp as winter frost. "And when ye enter, ye'll sit still until yer name is called. Ye all ken what will happen tonight. So dae as ye've been told and keep yer mouth shut."
Her rough voice cut through the nervous whispers as guards herded Liliane Munro and the other young women through the stone corridors of the castle. Her stomach twisted with each echoing footstep, and the clank of armor from the dozen guards flanking their procession.
"Remember," hissed the lady in her unnaturally high-pitched tone, her sharp features pinched with authority as she swept alongside them in midnight blue silk, her face concealed behind an ornate feathered mask. "Shoulders back."
Liliane's fingers trembled as she smoothed the emerald velvet of her gown.
The fabric was finer than anything she had ever worn, ordered especially by her father for tonight's occasion.
The bodice was cut to display her figure to best advantage, and the skirts were heavy with gold thread that caught the torchlight.
"Ye will enter with grace. Ye will sit with dignity. And ye will smile." Her cold gaze raked over each girl. "Any display of hysteria will be met with consequences. Ye are all expected tae bring in very high bids taenight."
Around her, the other ladies looked equally magnificent. Auburn curls crowned with pearls, raven hair adorned with silver combs, silk in every jeweled tone that made each girl appear as a living gemstone.
Yet, even as their masks lent them an air of mysterious allure, Liliane could see terror shadowing every perfectly coifed lady.
"Mother Mary, preserve us," whispered the girl beside her, her voice shaking so hard Lilianne wondered if she would make it through the evening.
"Silence!" barked another guard.
He pushed the massive oak doors of the banqueting hall, causing it to grudgingly groan before opening, releasing a wave of heat, pipe smoke, and masculine voices that rumbled like distant thunder. Liliane's breath caught as she took in the spectacle beyond the threshold.
The great hall had been transformed into an arena of wealth and power. Torches blazed in iron sconces along the stone walls, casting dancing shadows over masked figures who filled rows of wooden chairs arranged in a horseshoe pattern around a raised platform.
Nobles and lairds, their faces hidden behind masks, some simple black silk, others elaborate creations of feathers and gold leaf with clan colors conspicuously absent. The anonymity made the air thick with tension, each man a mystery, their intentions veiled behind false faces.
The air thrummed with their deep voices, discussing politics and alliances over goblets of wine while servants in plain dark clothing moved between them like shadows.
"Look at how well-endowed that lass in blue is," rumbled a voice from the crowd as all eyes turned on the girls.
"Aye," came the response. "But be reminded we are here for alliances, not for bonnie lasses."
"The redhead over there has large bones. She will breed strong bairns. If her clan is prosperous, taenight ends in a good deal fer me," came another assessment, as clinical as evaluating horseflesh.
"Form a line," hissed the lady, her voice sharp as a blade, yet low enough for the lairds not to pick it up. "Move."
Lilianne took her position at the room's center with the other ‘prize’ ladies. Their faces bore the same expression of barely contained terror she felt clawing at her own composure.
The room buzzed with low conversation, the sound rolling like distant thunder. Those men, lairds all by the richness of their dress, had gone there with coin in their purses and ambition in their hearts.
Lilianne knew invitations to this auction had been sent only to those clans her father and Angus Campbell deemed useful for their greater cause. Every match made tonight would strengthen the web of alliances within the Pact of Argyll.
Her gaze swept across the assembled crowd, searching for any familiar figure, any hint of how the night might unfold.
Her father was easily recognizable. Even with a plain leather mask, Roderick Munro dominated the center seat, with his barrel chest straining against his finest doublet, and stretching over his broad shoulders.
His graying beard was freshly trimmed, his eyes gleaming beneath the mask with the satisfaction of a man whose plans were unfolding exactly as intended.
Beside him lounged a heavy-set man, who she knew to be Balgair Ross, whose thick fingers drummed against his thigh with barely contained anticipation.
"She'll dae nicely," the man murmured to his masked companion.
"Aye," came the muffled reply. "Worth every mark."
The predatory assessment made her skin crawl, but she had no idea which of those anonymous figures would be bidding for her.
To her father’s other side sat another masked laird, his bearing radiating the same quiet authority as the man at the center of that vile gathering.
Liliane could not tell who he was; the mask concealed everything, even the smallest hint of familiarity. The anonymity of it all made the air heavier, colder. She hated it, being unable to see the faces of the men who would decide the rest of her life.
"Begin!" Her father barked, flicking his wrist and the lady stepped forward.
"Present yerselves," she commanded, with one sharp clap of her hands.
As one, the line of women lifted their chins and straightened their spines, transformed instantly from terrified girls into displays of Highland beauty and breeding as they took one step forward. Liliane felt sick as appreciative murmurs rose from the crowd.
"Lairds and honored guests!" The auctioneer's voice boomed across the hall, finally breaking the spell that held her captive. "Let the evening's proceedings begin!"
A collective hush fell over the crowd as the first young woman was brought forward. Liliane's stomach plummeted as reality crashed back over her like a wave.
This is truly happening. Women are about tae be sold like prized mares, our futures decided by the weight of silver in strangers' purses.
And me own faither will sell me off fer clan alliance.
Guards lined the walls like sentinels, their hands resting on sword hilts, eyes scanning the crowd with predatory alertness. The message was clear, no one would be permitted to leave until business was concluded to their hosts' satisfaction.
"Gentlemen," a laird's voice boomed across the hall, "welcome tae this evening's proceedin's. Each alliance forged taenight strengthens our collective position, our shared vision fer the Highlands' future. Now, let the coins flow." He took his seat.
Liliane's hands clenched in her lap.
"Ladies."
The auctioneer’s gaze lingered on each girl in turn. When those pale eyes reached Liliane, they seemed to linger a moment longer than necessary.
"The first bride," the auctioneer announced, his voice carrying clearly across the hall. "Fifty pounds fer the lass with the auburn hair!"
Liliane Munro's stomach clenched as she watched the girl beside her being dragged toward the platform. The poor creature seemed extremely young, her face pale as parchment. She shook so violently the guards half carried her forward to the podium.
"Sixty!" the first voice barked from the crowd of masked lairds.
"Seventy-five!"
Liliane pressed her lips together, her own hands trembling and resting in her lap as she stood rigid in the procession.
After a few instants of silence, the auctioneer called out: "Sold to the laird in the third row fer seventy-five pounds!"
Applause rippled through the crowd as the girl was led away. Liliane watched her go, memorizing the defeat in her posture.
"The second bride!"
Another lady was dragged forward, sold within minutes to a masked figure in the front row, her sobs echoing off the stone walls as she was led away.
Liliane felt the lady beside her trembling and reached out instinctively, squeezing her hand beneath the cover of her skirts.
"Dae ye think," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the murmur of the crowd, "that any of these matches were arranged beforehand?"
The girl with dark hair and wide, frightened eyes, shook her head shakily. "Daes it matter?" she whispered back. "Nay good man would be here, biddin’ on lives as if we were prize horses."
Liliane's jaw tightened. "Ye're right."
But even as she agreed, her mind was racing ahead to her own strategy.
After her father had secured his position within Campbell's precious Pact, they would return to their keep and collect her belongings before pursuing their journey to the laird’s keep.
That would give her one last chance to reach Nessa.
Nessa. Her fourteen-year-old sister, sweet and trusting, currently locked away in her chamber at home. Her father's threat still echoed in her mind,
Defy me again, and it will be Nessa on that platform instead of ye.