The Highlander’s Defiant Bride (The Munro Brothers #1)

Chapter One

Clyth Castle, Caithness, Scotland

“Market day was a success,” Destiny Gunn said to the aging groomsman as she swung down from her horse with a basket of goods hooked over her arm.

James took it from her with a hopeful smile that slackened the moment she shook her head.

“There were no oat bannocks today,” she said softly. “I am sorry.”

A flicker of disappointment crossed his face before he caught himself. “No matter, my lady. Whatever you and Cook make of this will be a feast.”

Destiny forced a smile, her chest tightening.

She had only had four shillings to spend, barely a fourth of what she once carried to market. “I bought a sugar cone and some cinnamon,” she said brightly. “Cook will work her magic, I am certain.”

“Indeed,” James said, gathering the reins as they walked towards the castle.

At the base of the steps, Destiny pulled off her kerchief and let the wind catch her loosened hair, its golden curls tumbling free.

She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in the sharp, salt-tinged air rolling in from the coast. Clyth Castle rose behind her, solid and proud atop its cliffside perch, its grey-stone towers catching the morning light like a crown.

The distant thunder of waves striking the rocks below echoed through the seaside fortress, a constant reminder of the strength and peril that had shaped her childhood.

Anyone looking upon it would believe the Gunns as prosperous as ever.

Only Destiny knew the truth that lay beneath the polished surface.

In town, whispers of debts unpaid, promises broken, and the Gunn name slipping into shame had followed her like shadows.

But here, lifting her face into the coastal wind, the brine and sunlight washed some of the heaviness from her chest. For a heartbeat, she allowed herself to pretend Clyth Castle still stood on solid ground in all ways, that its grandeur was not hollowed by secrets, nor its future resting on the shoulders of a daughter scrambling to mend what her father had shattered.

Her father’s gambling had drained nearly every coin from their coffers, quietly at first, then so quickly she could scarcely catch her breath.

At the gaming tables in Wick and beyond, he had wagered land, rents, livestock, investments, anything that could be turned into stakes for one more reckless throw of the dice.

The castle itself remained, but the wealth that had long sustained it was gone, stripped away by nights of drink and folly that Destiny had been powerless to stop.

Out of necessity, her father had dismissed most of their servants this past month, keeping only Cook, the steward, a maid, and loyal James, who now tended not just to the cattle but also to the gates, gardens, and hunts.

The crofters would support her father in times of battle but provided for themselves and their families without assistance from the laird.

Destiny had begged her father to let her see the estate ledgers, desperate to find a way to help, but her father had refused. Trust me, he said. I’ll do what’s right for us.

She wanted to believe him. She needed to.

Lifting the basket higher on her arm, Destiny looked towards the great doors of the castle. It was not the life she had known, but it was still hers. And today, it held sugar, cinnamon, and the stubborn hope that things might yet be sweet again.

As they approached the top step, the door opened and Abigail, their maid, appeared. “Milady,” the timid young girl said with an awkward bow. “Ye have a visitor. Yer friend, Sorcha, is waitin’ in the drawin’ room fer ye.”

“Sorcha?” Destiny handed off the basket to Abigail. “Take this to Cook.”

The maid nodded.

“How long has she been here?” Destiny asked.

“Only a few minutes, milady. She said she would wait all day if needed,” the maid said with a smile. “Glad I am fer ye tae have the company.”

Destiny returned her smile. She was not lonely, even though her father had been gone for the past five days.

His absence had given her the time she needed to sell off many of their valuables and furnishings.

Enough, she hoped, to keep the castle and the remaining residents there for the next several years.

Her father would be angry at first, but then he would see that her efforts had been necessary.

He would complain that by selling their things so publicly, she had effectively ruined her reputation.

Destiny shook her head at the thought. She had no status to protect, not anymore.

All her life’s ambitions had dissolved along with their fortune.

Destiny stopped at the doorway of the drawing room and smoothed the front of her gown before stepping into the chamber.

Her gaze clung to the lovely young redhead clad in an elegant green riding habit who stood in the centre of the room because there was no furniture on which to sit.

It had been several months since Destiny had seen her friend.

Sorcha turned, suddenly noting Destiny’s presence, and a slow smile came to her lips.

“I cannot believe you are here,” Destiny said, the sound of her voice overly loud in the empty chamber.

“Where else would I be?” Sorcha replied in a softer voice. “The moment I heard about your financial straits, I came to you.”

If word about selling off assets had reached Sorcha, then her father might know what she had done before he returned.

Destiny swallowed roughly. She had done what she needed for them to survive.

He would understand that, would he not? Forcing the thought aside, she took two steps forward.

A heartbeat later, they raced towards each other and, flinging their arms around one another in a fierce hug, laughed with joy.

“You look wonderful, Sorcha.” Destiny was so happy to see her childhood friend she could not stop smiling.

“Given your circumstances,” Sorcha replied with sympathy, “you do too.”

“It is not as bad as you might have heard.”

Sorcha’s smile slipped as her gaze darted about the chamber that had once been filled with a divan, four chairs, several tables, sculptures, paintings, and tapestries.

“Who needs furnishings?” Destiny grasped Sorcha’s hand and led her to the open space near the window.

She kicked off her shoes and sat on the carpet she had not been able to part with.

Sorcha followed suit, and as they had in the past, they curled their legs beneath them in easy camaraderie and talked about the past—shooting arrows at trees, running though the moorland in their bare feet, and swimming in the lochs in nothing but their chemises.

They had enjoyed their freedom with relatively little supervision by either their parents or Sorcha’s siblings.

After an hour had passed, the conversation took a more sombre tone. “Do you think either one of us will ever find bigger lives than those we have now?”

“You mean marriage?” Sorcha asked, her smile fading.

“Not necessarily. I am content here with Father. But I would like to travel, to see more than the hills and valleys of Caithness, should our finances ever allow.”

Sympathy reflected in Sorcha’s eyes. “Where would you go?”

Destiny shrugged. “Perhaps Edinburgh?”

Sorcha laughed. “Forgive me, but with a name like yours, Destiny, you should set your sights much higher than that. How about Constantinople, Paris, Cairo, even London?”

Destiny smiled, fuelled by her friend’s aspirations. “They all sound wonderful.” But with a quick glance at the empty chamber in which they sat, her smile vanished. “’Tis a dream, and most likely to stay as such, given our present circumstances.”

Sorcha took Destiny’s cold hands in her own warmer ones. “How about this? Let us change our clothes and go outside and shoot arrows at trees again, like we used to. That is bound to cheer you up.”

Destiny’s eyes widened. “How long can you stay?”

“My brother will not return for me for the next two days.” She looked at Destiny with a hopeful gaze. “I hope it was all right that I made the assumption I was welcome.”

“Of course you are welcome. Always.” Destiny’s heart lightened. “Let us go change.”

As they rose, the door of the drawing room opened, and the maid entered and bobbed another awkward courtesy. “Forgive me, milady. Yer father just returned, and he wants tae see ye in his study.”

A spurt of dread knotted Destiny’s hands at her sides. Whenever her father requested her presence, it was never about anything good. He had obviously noticed their lack of furnishings. Would he be pleased or irate? Or had something else happened while her father had been away?

“I will return shortly,” she said to Sorcha as she put her shoes back on, then headed up the stairs leading to her father’s study.

There was no time to change her dusty skirts.

When her father wanted to see her, he meant at that very moment.

The man was never good at waiting for anything, which was probably why they were in the financial trouble they were in as of late.

At the doorway of his study, Destiny paused, swallowing back a moment’s fear. What could he possibly tell her that she had not already imagined in the darkness of night as she waited for sleep to claim her? Or, had their fortunes somehow reversed?

Her father bent over his ledger, his shoulders hunched, the firelight carving harsh lines into a figure that once seemed invincible. The door creaked beneath her hand, and for a moment she thought he might look up and smile, the way he had when she was younger.

He did not.

The scratching of his quill continued, relentless, as if the numbers before him mattered more than the daughter standing framed by the hall’s pale light. She had the absurd thought that she looked like an accusation cast in flesh and bone, and it made her hesitate.

“Sit down, daughter,” he said at last, without lifting his gaze.