Chapter 1
Five years later...
Sorcha McPherson urged the horse on, feeling the mud splatter as she raced through the moors.
She loved to run her beloved mare, Iron, after a good soaking rain.
She had named her Iron after the mare hadn’t moved during a particularly nasty fall when she was just a young foal.
The mare’s flanks hadn’t even quivered as the healer had patched her up, remarking that the horse must have iron flowing through her veins.
The name had stuck.
Sorcha let the mare run a little longer before pulling her to a slow trot, patting her neck.
“There now,” she said, soothing the horse’s sweat-lathered skin.
“That’s a good girl.” There was another reason that she enjoyed the solitude with her horse.
It was a means of escape, where she didn’t have to think of anything.
Namely, her future.
Thunder clapped in the distance, and Sorcha sighed, turning Iron around to head back to the keep. She knew that if she didn’t turn up shortly, her sister would send out the warriors to find her, and she didn’t like the looks they gave her for having to do such a menial task.
That and she enjoyed racing away from them like a wee bairn, which only added to their ire.
Sorcha took her time making her way back to the village, the mare plodding down the narrow path that led to McPherson Castle.
The castle had always been her home. She was the youngest of three girls and the only one that remained unwed.
Her eldest sister, Fennella, lived in a neighboring clan, with two bairns of her own.
Her sister, Moira, was the laird of their family clan, having wed five years prior.
Her husband was the laird of the Stuart clan, but they chose to remain in McPherson land, with their two wee bairns.
Sorcha loved her nephews. The eldest, Logan, was precocious and forever getting into trouble while sweet Ian was always smiling.
The McPherson lineage was set between the two sisters, meaning Sorcha had no need to marry for political reaches or to secure the future.
Nay, she was just the spare sister, and she was perfectly fine with that. She loved her family and the ever-growing additions. They had suffered at the hands of their father, never once finding any sort of peace until he was gone from their lives.
Now that their family had found happiness, both her sisters expected Sorcha to find the same.
Finally, Sorcha reached the stables and slid off Iron’s back, leading her into the warm recesses of the building.
Here is where she felt the most comfortable, with the smell of hay and the barn cats rubbing at her ankles.
Sorcha wiped Iron down with a rag before ensuring she had enough water and feed in her stall, leaning against the roughen planks of the stall as she watched the horse eat.
She was lingering knowing that her sister was waiting for her at the keep, likely with a long list of what Sorcha had done wrong today.
She loved her sister, but now that she was of age to be wed, Moira had started to speak of her marrying one of their warriors or someone in the village.
Sorcha didn’t wish to do so. The keep had become crowded now that her sister had started to have bairns.
Sighing, Sorcha walked out of the stall and the stables, halting when a tall, shadowy figure stepped in front of her. “Sorcha.”
“Garrett,” she replied evenly. “Move out of mah way.”
He didn’t, not that she expected him to do so on a whim. “Have ye given any thought tae mah words?”
Garrett was one of Tavin’s warriors from the Stuart clan, having only been here for a year or so on behalf of his laird.
Somehow, he fancied himself in love with her and had proposed marriage more times than Sorcha could count.
She turned him down each and every time, having no interest in marrying the brute.
He had even gone as far as to ask for her hand to Tavin and Moira both, but they had not yet relented to his demand, knowing that Sorcha did not favor him as her husband.
Still, the hardheaded Scot was not giving up. “I’ve told ye before, Garrett. I have no interest in being yer wife.”
He chuckled as if her words did not mean anything to him. “Aye ye might not now, but soon ye will be forced tae find a husband and I might not be as willing tae take ye, lass.”
“Good,” Sorcha replied, her hands on her hips. “Because I am not keen on having ye as a husband anyway, no matter the circumstance.”
His grin turned into a frown, and he narrowed his gaze. “In another month, I will have Tavin’s blessing, and then I will teach ye how tae talk tae yer husband.”
Sorcha brushed past him then, not because he was frightening her with his words, but because he was going to make her late returning to the keep. Garrett was persistent, but she would rather be married to the eldest clan member than to have him rutting above her.
Owning her.
Sorcha hurried to the keep, opening the heavy door that led inside to the great hall.
There was no way she was going to wed Garrett or any other man that tried to force his way into her life.
She wanted her choice, just as Moira had, though she had vastly different opinions on what her marriage was to look like.
Just as she suspected, Moira was standing near the large fireplace, her back to her. “Ye had a few more minutes before I would have sent out the warriors, Sorcha.”
Sorcha walked over, holding her hands out to the fire to warm them. “I know. Why do ye think that I am back?”
Moira shook her head. “Ye enjoy making mah worry.”
“Nonsense,” Sorcha replied.
Moira looked over and arched a brow, her eyes taking in the breeks that her sister was wearing. “Ye aren’t even clothed properly.”
Sorcha looked down at her mud-splattered breeks and oversized tunic that she had thrown on in haste. “I was riding.”
Moira sighed, pressing her fingers to her forehead. “Sorcha, how are ye supposed tae find a husband dressed like that?”
Sorcha turned her attention back to the fire, watching as the flames danced around the logs, shivering as she thought of Garrett’s idle threat. “Any lad that cannae take mah like this doesnae deserve tae have mah at all.”
“Sorcha,” Moira pressed on, “ye havnae even shown up tae the dinners lately. Do ye think ye are gonna just have a husband drop in yer lap?”
“Ye mean much like yers?” Sorcha teased, thinking about how her sister had wed Tavin.
The couple had met during the gathering, where he had planned to help his da and brothers steal the keep under their noses.
Tavin had ended up falling in love with Moira, thwarting the attack and turning on his own family.
Moira’s face reddened. “’Tis different Sorcha. I had no choice but tae wed tae carry on our family’s lines and secure the clan’s future.”
“That or ye couldnae live without him,” Sorcha added with a smirk. Sometimes they made her slightly sick to her stomach the way they carried on.
“Still,” Moira continued, clearing her throat. “Fennella has wed. I have wed. ’Tis only the next course for ye tae do the same.”
Sorcha’s smile faded. “I will on mah own time. I dinnae want tae be forced intae marriage.”
“I would never,” Moira said softly. “I only want ye tae be taken care of, Sister. I only wish for ye tae find happiness.”
Sorcha reached out and touched her sister’s arm. “I know, and I will. Dinnae worry.”
“Moira!”
Both sisters turned to see Tavin walking down the stairs, holding a wiggling Logan in his large hands. Her nephew was naked as the day he was born and covered with...
Oh no.
“Oh!” Moira gasped as she hurried to her husband. “Logan Stuart! Have ye been playing in the chamber pot again?”
Sorcha smothered a giggle as the little boy grinned, and his mother sighed, taking him from her husband.
Tavin looked green around the gills, wasting no time striding out of the hall without a backward glance.
“Tavin Stuart!” Moira called after him, holding her son at arm’s length. “Where are ye going?”
“Out.”
“Do ye need help?” Sorcha called out as her sister stormed up the stairs, grinning as Moira didn’t respond.
Sorcha turned back to the fire; the cold now chased away from her limbs. She knew what her sister was saying. Women were brought up to marry and give their husbands bairns. Then they would raise them and keep the household while they warmed their bed.
It was all a woman would do.
And her sisters, they had found something more than just marriage. They had found love with their lumbering husbands. Her sisters were happy, yet Sorcha wasn’t looking for the affection the other sisters had found.
She wanted her own clan, her own keep, her own future. She wanted to become more than just a woman bearing bairns and keeping a household.
She wanted a partnership.
Sorcha drew in a breath. In order for her to have those things, she would have to marry a laird.
But what laird would want to marry a woman who couldn’t bring anything to the marriage? She couldn’t bring the union of two clans like her sisters had or bring a political alliance to secure a border. She had nothing.
Well, it did not matter. Sorcha was not interested in marrying someone of her own clan, which meant she would have to find a laird in need of a wife.
And dodge those that thought they could talk her into marriage in the meantime.
Sorcha carried herself up to her chamber as another torrential rain hit the keep, the wind howling through the cracks and crevices of the stone foundation.
A bath was waiting, so she stripped off her muddy clothing, easing herself into the still-warm water.
Her sister was wrong. A man who genuinely cared for the woman he was enamored with would not care what she dressed as or how she chose to conduct her business.
Not that it mattered to Sorcha. She was not looking for affection, yet a proposition. What would her sister think if she sent out missives to the surrounding clans, asking for an alliance?
She likely would be carrying Sorcha to the dungeon to lock her away.
Sorcha had no thought to have what Moira went through to find a husband and knew her sister would protect her at all costs.
Yet there would be the council to contend with if Sorcha waited too long. They were the ones that had interfered with Moira and had brought Tavin here, and though it worked out in the end, Moira had fought them tooth and nail only to lose at the end of the day.
Perhaps she should just set out on her own. Sorcha ran the cloth over her skin. Her sister would never agree to it, and though it seemed like a sound decision, she would never want to worry either sister.
So, running away was not the answer.
Sorcha held her breath as she dipped under the water, allowing everything to go silent around her.
Her time with her sister would be drawing to a close.
She could feel it in her bones. She could not stay here at the keep, marry, and become some Scot’s wife.
She wanted her own home, and now she would have to find a laird who was willing to give her one.
It would not be an easy feat, but it was one she would welcome with open arms.
Sorcha rose from the water and wrapped herself in her towel, the water running off her body in rivulets, much like the rain on the window. Her sisters would understand in time, but she was not meant to have the futures they had.
She wanted so much more.