Prologue
Liam McCullam paced in front of the fireplace, his hands running through his red hair that he liked keeping short. The storm raged outside the keep, the thunder rattling the stones, the rain lashing against the windows with such ferocity that Liam knew the fields would be flooded come morning.
The fields were the least of his concerns. His mind was on the second landing of the keep, where his wife was birthing their first child.
His heir.
Nelia had gone into labor the day prior, and the entire clan waited to hear word of the birth of their laird’s child. While the midwife informed him that birthing a child could take a few days, Liam was ready to celebrate the birth and ensure that Nelia was alright.
After all, his mother had died in childbirth and had nearly torn the clan apart.
“No word?”
He looked up to find his uncle Sheamus standing near the fireplace, his blue eyes alight with interest. His uncle was the man who had shown him how to be a laird after Liam’s father had died, the one who had been by his side for years.
“Nay,” Liam replied, his voice taut. “I dinnae think it would take this long.”
Uncle Sheamus chuckled. “Bairns have their own time in mind, laddie.”
Liam didn’t join in, his eyes going to the stairway once more. He just wanted to know that his wife was alright. He wanted to see Nelia’s tired face and hold her close as they celebrated that she had brought a small life into the world.
Scarcely an hour passed before the midwife was on the stairs, her face pale. “Mah laird.”
The tone in her voice had Liam starting toward the stairs, pushing past the woman to make his way to his chambers. Another midwife met him at the door, a small bundle in her arms. “I’m sorry.”
Liam didn’t understand. “Wot’s happened?”
She handed him the bundle. “’Tis a son.”
A son? Liam pushed the blanket away and his heart turned over in his chest as he saw the pale face. It wasn’t the face of a bairn newly born.
It was the face of a bairn that was not alive. Liam fought against his knees buckling underneath him. His son had not made it. Reaching up, he traced the soft cheek of his dead son, tears coming to his eyes. This was not supposed to happen.
“Mah laird.”
Liam looked at the midwife, seeing her hands twisting together. “Wot?”
“Yer wife.”
No. He handed the dead bairn back to the midwife and closed the distance to the bed, grimacing at the sight of the blood that had drenched the sheets. Nelia lay on the pillows, her red hair spread out and her face deathly pale. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, taking her hand in his.
It was ice cold.
“She’s gone,” the midwife said softly. “I couldnae save her.”
Liam’s throat tightened with emotion as he realized what was going on. Nelia was gone. His wife, his partner in life, was gone.
“Get out.”
“Mah laird.”
“Get out!” he yelled, sending the women present scurrying out the door.
Liam waited until the door had been closed before he lay his forehead against her hand, the tears streaming down his face.
He had bested some of the finest warriors in all of Scotland, fought in battle, and protected his warriors.
Yet he couldn’t protect his wife and their bairn. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, letting his tears wet her skin. “Och Nelia, I’ve failed ye.”
He had lost everything that mattered. “Why?” he asked as he gathered her close. The keep, his warriors, every battle he won mattered not if she was not at his side. She had been happy when she had found out that she was with child, knowing that she had fulfilled her duties as a laird’s wife.
It had been so much more than that to Liam. It was to be a product of their affection for one another, proof that the gods were smiling down on them as a married couple.
Now he had nothing. His wife was gone.
His bairn, his son, was gone.
Liam didn’t know how long he lay there with his dead wife, but soon he felt the heavy hand of his uncle on his shoulder. “Come on lad,” he said softly, his voice ravaged with grief. “’Tis time tae let tha women take care of her.”
Liam pressed his lips to his wife’s cool forehead before climbing out of their bed. “Burn the chamber,” he told his uncle, his voice raw. “I dinnae want anything tae remain.”
“Laddie—” his uncle began, but Liam cut him off, wiping the remainder of tears from his eyes.
“I dinnae want tae remember anything of this day.”
His uncle’s mouth formed a thin line, suppressing his concern, and he nodded. “I will see tae it mahself.”
Liam started toward the door, his knees weak. He didn’t want to remember anything about the past three years. He didn’t want to remember Nelia’s smile or the way the bairn had moved under his hand as they lay in their bed together.
He didn’t want to remember any of it. If he could cut out his heart, he would.
Liam made it downstairs without falling down them and strode outside, ignoring the tear-stained faces of those around him as he did so. He was their laird, yet he had failed them.
He had caused the death of their beloved lady of the keep.
He walked past the stables and the village, climbing the hill that was just outside the village, the hill that faced the sunset that his wife used to enjoy watching. There Liam fell on his knees in the grass, hanging his head in shame and grief. He had not been able to protect his wife and bairn.
He had not been able to protect the one person that he needed to protect.
His future.
He could never say the words enough to her. “Nelia,” he whispered, tears streaming down his face, “I’m so sorry, lass.”