Under the Laird’s Promise (Under Highland Desire #2)

Prologue

One week earlier

Maighread was in the garden with her cousin Edith, discussing plans for the afternoon, when the rider appeared at the gate. Dusty, exhausted, clearly having ridden hard through the night. Her stomach clenched before she even saw the MacEwan seal on the folded parchment.

Nothing good came from messengers who rode that hard.

"Me lady," the man said, bowing quickly. "Urgent news from MacEwan Castle. Yer presence is requested immediately."

Maighread broke the seal with trembling fingers. Edith moved closer, concern creasing her face.

The words blurred together at first. She had to read them twice before they made sense.

Yer faither's condition has worsened considerably. The healers fear he may nae have much time. The Council requests yer immediate return tae discuss matters of succession and alliance. Please come with all haste.

The parchment crumpled slightly in her grip.

"What is it?" Edith asked gently.

"Me faither. He's worse. They want me home."

"Oh, Maighread. I'm so sorry."

Sorry. Everyone was always sorry. As if sympathy could change anything, could reverse the slow decline that had been stealing her father away piece by piece for months.

She'd known this was coming. Had known since before she left for the Lowlands that Angus MacEwan was dying. The cough that wouldn't fade, the weight loss, the exhaustion that left him bedridden more days than not. The healers spoke in careful euphemisms, but the truth was clear enough.

Her father was dying, and when he died, everything would change.

"I need tae leave," Maighread said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Now. Immediately."

"Of course. I'll have the servants pack yer things."

"Nay time fer proper packing. Just throw what's essential in saddlebags. I'll ride light and fast."

Edith gripped her hand. "Are ye sure? The roads can be dangerous fer a woman traveling alone."

"I'll bring guards. But I cannae wait fer a full escort tae be arranged. Every hour counts."

She was already moving, her mind cataloging what she'd need. Practical clothing, nothing fancy. Her warmest cloak. The small dagger her father had given her years before. Enough coin for emergencies.

And weapons. Definitely weapons.

The servants worked quickly under Edith's direction, packing with efficient haste. Within the hour, Maighread stood in the courtyard dressed for travel, saddlebags secured, her horse stamping impatiently.

"Write when ye arrive," Edith urged, embracing her tightly. "Let me ken how yer faither fares."

"I will. Thank ye fer everything. Fer the visit, fer the distraction. It's been good tae escape fer a while."

"Escape from what?"

Maighread smiled without humor. "From the vultures circling me faither's deathbed."

Understanding flickered across Edith's face. "The Council is still pushing the Sinclair match?"

"They never stopped. Before I left, three different council members cornered me separately tae extol Keir Sinclair's virtues." Maighread swung into the saddle, settling her weight. "As if I dinnae ken exactly what that match would mean."

"An alliance. Strength through unity."

"The destruction of me clan's independence. Sinclair daesnae want a wife. He wants territory." She gathered the reins, feeling the familiar leather against her palms. "And I'll nae hand him MacEwan lands just because some old men think a woman cannae rule without a husband."

Edith squeezed her knee briefly. "Be safe. Be smart. And dinnae let them bully ye intae something ye dinnae want."

"I willnae. I promise."

She rode out with two guards, leaving the peaceful Lowlands behind. The road stretched north toward the Highlands, toward home, toward whatever waited there.

Toward her father's deathbed and the political nightmare that would follow.

The first hours passed in focused silence. Maighread kept her horse to a steady pace, fast enough to make good time but sustainable over distance. The guards flanked her, watchful but quiet.

She used the time to think. To plan.

The letter had mentioned succession and alliance, which meant the Council was already positioning. Already planning for a future without Angus MacEwan. The question was whether they'd support her claim or try to force her hand through marriage.

Keir Sinclair had been circling for months. Polite at first, respectful even. Presenting himself as a logical choice, a strong ally, a man who could help her manage the complexities of leadership.

But Maighread had seen through it. Had watched how his eyes assessed MacEwan lands when he visited, how he spoke about "streamlining operations" and "efficient consolidation." He didn't want partnership. He wanted conquest dressed in wedding clothes.

And the Council, bless their short-sighted souls, couldn't see it. Or didn't care. They saw a young woman inheriting a clan during uncertain times and panicked. Better to marry her off to a strong laird than risk instability, they reasoned.

They were wrong.

Maighread knew she could lead. Had been preparing for it her whole life, watching her father, learning from his decisions, understanding the delicate balance of power and diplomacy that kept a clan thriving. She didn't need a husband to rule effectively.

But convincing the Council of that would be nearly impossible, especially with her father too ill to support her.

The landscape changed as they rode north. Rolling hills gave way to rougher terrain, forests thickening, mountains looming in the distance. She was getting closer to home.

Unease settled deeper in her chest with every mile.

By the time they stopped to rest the horses at midday, Maighread's thoughts had spiraled into darker territory. What if she arrived too late? What if her father died before she could speak with him, before she could tell him she loved him one last time?

What if the Council moved to force the Sinclair match immediately after his death, using grief and chaos to overwhelm her objections?

"Me lady," one of the guards ventured. "We should rest longer. The horses need it."

"Another twenty minutes. Nay more."

"But—"

"Twenty minutes." Her voice allowed no argument. "We need tae reach MacEwan lands before dark tomorrow. That means pushing hard."

The guard subsided, exchanging glances with his companion. Let them think her unreasonable. She didn't care. Getting home mattered more than their comfort.

They continued, the pace relentless. Maighread's thighs ached from hours in the saddle, her back protesting, but she ignored it all. Physical discomfort meant nothing compared to the urgency driving her forward.

As afternoon faded toward evening and they made camp for the night, Maighread sat by the fire and stared into the flames. Tomorrow they'd cross into the Highlands proper. The following day she'd be back on MacEwan land and everything would change.

One of the guards offered her dried meat and bread. She ate mechanically, her mind already racing ahead to council meetings and political maneuvering.

She'd need allies. The older council members were set in their ways, but some of the younger ones might listen to reason. And there were clan members who'd known her since childhood who might support her claim based on loyalty rather than politics.

It wouldn't be easy. Nothing about it would be easy.

But she'd fight. For her father's legacy, for her clan's future, for her own right to choose her path. She'd fight with everything she had.

"Me lady," the guard said quietly. "Ye should rest. We ride early tomorrow."

"Aye."

But she sat by the fire longer, watching shadows dance across the ground, steeling herself for what lay ahead. The political pressure. The grief. The battle to maintain her independence in the face of those who'd strip it away.

To the north, her father lay dying. And circling that deathbed like carrion birds were men who saw opportunity in tragedy.

Maighread pulled her cloak tighter and made a silent vow. She would not be forced. Not into marriage, not into surrender, not into anything she didn't choose freely. Whatever waited at MacEwan Castle, she'd face it on her own terms.

When dawn broke grey and cold, she was already awake, already packed, already ready to ride.

"Let's go," she said, mounting before the guards had fully woken. "We've wasted enough time."

They rode north into the rising sun, toward home, toward uncertainty, toward a future Maighread would have to fight to control.