Prologue

Aros Castle, Isle of Mull

September, In the Year of Our Lord 1490

Death stalked a slow path through the village and keep of the Clan MacLean on the Isle of Mull. It took the young and the old, the weak and the strong, and the rich and the poor. It cared not if a life had been well- or ill-lived. It took and took until, satiated, it left as silently as it had arrived. Clan MacLean mourned the deaths of so many of its own.

Lachlan MacLean surveyed the number of graves before him with a bit of shock and sadness. His mother and brother lay beneath a newly-strewn covering of dirt at his feet. His father, devastated in a way Lachlan had never seen, stared off into the misty hills that led away from their village. Lachlan swore that Dougal MacLean aged a score of years in just this last fortnight.

Villagers, kith and kin drifted away after the priest finished his blessing. Lachlan turned to go. The rough hold stopped him.

“Her father comes on the morrow. We will discuss the matter when he does.” His father nodded across the graves to tall, lithe Wynda MacLeod, his late brother’s betrothed.

He’d completely forgotten about the young woman in the hurried arrangements for the many burials. Now, Lachlan noted that her calm, blue eyes stared over at the keep, unfocused as though in deep contemplation. When her eyes shifted and met his, the lack of grief in hers surprised him.

“The matter?” The older man now clenched his arm harder and shook him. “Father, I canna …”

“Ye will do yer duty now that ye are my heir.”

With those words, his father released him and strode to the keep, not glancing back at his living son, or the dead one, again. Lachlan understood the message and the warning in his father’s words. Everything had changed on the death of his brother.

He must get word to Ailis before she heard it from someone else.

Ailis MacKinnon believed they would marry. He had pledged his heart and honor to her. They had plans and had promised their lives to each other. They hoped that their fathers would eventually agree as a way to keep the peace, though neither would like the idea of linking their families. The MacKinnons were a thorn in the side of the MacLeans of Mull and had been for generations, so he and Ailis had made certain that few knew the true extent of their relationship.

If his father wished to broker a marriage between his second son, and now heir, and The MacLeod’s daughter, Lachlan would be expected to disavow his promises to Ailis. If word got out that he’d broken faith with her, the tenuous peace between their families would shatter and make their clans enemies.

But none of that was the worst thing about this. The worst was that he would be forced to marry another and break Ailis’ heart.

Lachlan went into the keep and climbed the stone steps into the tower to his own chamber. He found some parchment and wrote the message that would bring her to their trysting place. He’d just handed it to a boy to take to her when Artair stepped in front of him.

“Do ye think that is a good idea?” he asked, looking in the direction the servant had gone. Artair knew how they communicated secretly … and where they met.

“She must hear it from me.”

“So, ‘tis a deal already done?” Artair asked.

“The MacLeod comes on the morrow to make the arrangements. Father has decided that I will take my brother’s place and marry the MacLeod lass.”

“Wynda.” So much anger infused the one word. Lachlan looked closely at his closest friend.

“Have ye knowledge of the woman that I dinna have?” At his friend’s silence, he narrowed his gaze and asked again. “Is there aught I should ken, Artair?”

“She had no liking for yer brother,” he muttered.

“It matters not, the betrothal was made and she agreed. As will this next one.”

“Aye, it matters not,” Artair repeated. “Ye are the heir now.”

Lachlan couldn’t understand why his friend’s words, nay the tone of his words, bothered him. Something swirled in the back of his thoughts, glimpses of gestures and looks exchanged between his friend and his brother’s betrothed. The truth struck him. He gasped at the recognition of it.

“I would never betray ye, Lachlan. ‘Tis done as of this moment.”

Artair held out his hand, offering his word and solemn vow that he wouldn’t betray his trust and consort with the woman Lachlan would marry. Lachlan paused before accepting his friend’s hand. Artair was a man of his word. Artair was one of few men Lachlan would trust and had trusted with his life and safety.

“I ken,” he said, clasping the man’s forearm with his hand. After a few seconds, he released his hold and stepped back.

“When will ye see her?” Artair asked as they walked out of the keep and into the yard. Not many knew of the extent of his involvement with Ailis. They kept it quiet because of the tenuous situation between their families.

“In the morn. Once The MacLeod is sighted, word will spread.” Lachlan nodded to the stables. “I have matters to arrange.”

As he walked away, Artair spoke his name. Lachlan turned and saw a strange expression on his friend’s face.

“She is not as she appears, Lachlan. She never was.”

Did his friend speak of Wynda or of Ailis? Did he know something more after all? Before he could ask for an explanation, Artair walked away.

The rest of the day passed in silence, his family still reeling from the deaths around them. Supper was a somber meal. Those living in the keep had little patience for idle or joyful chatter that night. Rest wouldn’t come to him, so he rose long before dawn to be on his way.

He reached the cottage just as the sun broke the eastern horizon. There was no sign of Ailis, so he walked inside to wait. Smiling at the memories of this place and of her, Lachlan tugged open the wooden shutters to watch for her approach. When the sound of footsteps behind him interrupted his thoughts, he turned, thinking he’d missed her arrival.

“Lachlan,” she said softly as he turned.

That was the last thing he would remember.