There were times when Saeran Sinclair felt the need to wring some throats.

Right now was one of them.

"Perhaps we should rethink this," she said, for the hundredth time that morn. Her frustration was barely veiled behind the mask of patience she was forcing herself to use with her sister.

"Nonsense," Blaine said, for once again, the hundredth time that morn. "We've been over this, Sister. ’Tis for the best. I am doing this to protect you. Can you not be grateful for that? Do you want us to be separated? Is that what you wish?"

Saeran pressed her lips together.

"You know that is not my wish. However, I think there is a better way to go about this. What if someone finds out? I don't have the deepest voice in the Highlands." Blaine had a lower tone of voice than she did, but Saeran wasn’t going to add that to the list of reasons why this was a bad idea—she had enough points to make!

"Many lads have squeaky voices. You're my younger brother, Sae, not older. 'Tis not expected of you to look and sound like a brute."

"I have breasts," she said bluntly. Her sister didn't seem to understand this. She had breasts that were barely hidden with binding, and hair too thick and curly to be kept in the tight bun she had decided to make. "He will eventually take notice."

Blaine gave her a patronizing look. The need to wring her throat rose again. Her sister did not understand at all.

"If you play your part, and help me like you promised, it won't be a problem. He'll be under my thumb so firmly, that when we reveal who you really are, he won't think of sending you away. You can live with us, and life will be well. You'll see."

Then, just like that, she turned to the window of the carriage, forgetting about Saeran's life-altering problem. As if it felt Saeran’s pain, the carriage tipped to the side. Blaine gasped, her head hitting the edge of the window.

Saeran hid her spiteful smirk by following her sister’s example, looking out the window. The Highlands were beautiful this time of year. With rolling green hills, thick bursts of forests, and flowing rivers…it felt right—like home. It had been so long since Saeran had been to the Highlands.

When their parents, Lord and Lady Sinclair of Wilkshire, had been alive, they'd lived in the Lowlands. Blaine had flourished in court, opening like a flower to both the possible suitors and the gossip. It was never ending and had quickly turned into a pain for Saeran.

Still, in a way, she should be grateful for their time at court. They were the last peaceful moments they'd had as a family, and while it was the court’s influence on Blaine that had gotten her into this situation, she couldn't make herself regret it.

If only they had been going to the Highlands for a more pleasant matter.

Saeran sighed.

"Don't be so woeful," Blaine snapped from across the small area. The forest green walls of the carriage only made it seem smaller. "You sound like a lady."

"I am a lady," Saeran muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Yes, but you do not look like one, and you certainly should not act like one.” She paused, her lip lifting in a sneer. “Saeran, fix your hair. It is starting to fall out of the bun." The only reason Saeran listened to Blaine was because she was older. Otherwise, she would have reached across the carriage and acted on her mental urge to strangle her sister. "We should have sheared it clean off. Then it wouldn't be a problem."

Saeran started to sigh again—then cut herself short. No reason to give her sister more to complain about.

She undid the pins holding the cap to her head and gathered the soft waves in a fist, reaching farther up to re-tie the bun. When her hair wasn't piled on top of her head, it was shoulder length—half of what it had been before this whole fiasco. Her throat was tight as she threaded her fingers through the short curls.

Her hair had been the single redeeming thing about her.

While her sister took every ounce of beauty from their mother, Saeran had been stuck with only one thing to enhance her soft features. Her hair. Once, it had been long, golden, and falling in loose ringlets that curled as naturally as the sun shone. Being cut had taken the wave out. Now she only had intense curls.

"Yes, we definitely should have sheared it off. When we get to Laird Shaw’s territory, I will ask a maid for a pair of shears." Blaine reached over, patting Saeran on the hand comfortingly.

It didn't comfort her at all. In fact, it made her stomach drop. She'd definitely drawn the short end of the stick, but Blaine was the oldest...and the bravest. Only her sister would be courageous enough to take on The Lion of the Highlands—and as a prospective groom, no less.

"Did you hear me, Saeran?" Blaine snapped her fingers in Saeran's face, drawing her bitter attention. There was only so much nagging Saeran could take in a day, and she was reaching her limit.

Thank the Lord they were almost to The Lion's territory. In no time at all, she would be settled in a room, and hidden from sight. Mayhap then she could take a relaxing bath and unbind her breasts. Her breath was short and painful, and the relief she craved was much needed.

"Of course, sister," she murmured demurely, finishing her bun and pinning the cap back to her head. It took every bit of strength she had not to growl at Blaine. She'd like to see her with bound breasts.

Although, it probably would not have the same effect. Blaine's breasts were much smaller than Saeran’s, blending into her sister’s wider figure.

"Good. Now, I think we should smudge your face up a bit more with dirt. We will be there soon, and I fear that some of your womanly features are showing."

Of course they are, you ninny. I'm as much a lady as you are. I can't become a boy overnight, even if I do have the name of one. Saeran held back the retort, as much as she wanted to let it fly. Her sister had been nagging, pestering, and picking at her since the plan entered her head.

Saeran watched her sister notify their horseman of her wish to stop, and sighed.

"What?" Blaine asked sharply.

"Nothing. It's lovely out. I'll look forward to a chance to stretch my legs." She couldn't help the shortness in her voice.

Blaine's harsh expression softened. "You must know how sorry I am for all of this, but it is for the best. It must be horrid, being bound and trussed up like that. If any of the ladies at court saw you in those trews, the scandal would be horrendous!"

Tears welled in her sister's brown eyes, and some of the anger washed out of Saeran. She reached over, feeling terrible for her attitude. She knew her sister only meant to protect her.

"No one will find out," she promised, rubbing her sister's back. "Just as you said, we shall stay together, and you will marry The Lion." A tear rolled down her sister's face. "I shouldn't be so ungrateful. You must be terrified of what's to come."

Blaine's distraught face only made Saeran feel worse. "You know what they say about The Lion. We have both heard tales of him."

Saeran nodded.

The man was a brute. He was the fiercest warrior in all of the Highlands. It was said he had the strength of ten men in each arm, and one heave of his claymore could slice a man in two with ease. His land was reported to be filled with hate and distrust from everyone, and the people were only loyal out of fear. She heard that he killed his own sister and mother out of anger.

Fear for her sister came over her. Blaine had a rare confidence that The Lion would only break. The sacrifice she was making for Saeran made tears build in her own eyes. She did not want her sister to be married to such a barbarian. Regardless, orders from the king were orders, no matter that they were cousins to King James.

The thought was too daunting for her to dwell on, so she forced it from her mind.

Saeran put an arm around her sister's back. Blaine had the curvaceous figure that Saeran had never been graced with, though her sister had often told Saeran that her weight was perfectly fine, that she looked better with less meat on her bones. Saeran had a thin waist, with her arms and legs as frail as twigs. Basically, as Blaine had pointed out time and time again, she had no figure to distinguish her as anything but the boy she was claiming to be. She even had a boy’s name, thanks to her father hoping for one.

Another reason Saeran was better suited for her role as the brother, despite the danger her sister was in.

"Aye," Saeran murmured, patting her sister's head awkwardly. She'd never been one for affection, giving or receiving. Unlike Blaine, she hadn't flourished under the influence of the court, and had rarely partaken in any of the events that would make her socially adequate. Their mother had been the only one with the tenacity to show her the error of her ways. Her father, Lord Sinclair of Wilkshire, had been busy recounting battle tales with his friends.

Blaine looked at her sharply. "'Aye? Is that all you can say for what I'm sacrificing?" More tears welled in her eyes, and Saeran flinched. "I'm sacrificing my body for your freedom, and all you can say is 'aye' to me?"

"Blaine, I—"

The carriage jostled, throwing them both to the side.

Blaine's anguish vanished as quickly as it appeared, panic replacing it as she demanded, "What was that?"

"We may have run over a rock—"

The carriage jerked again, this time worse. There was a shout from outside, sounds of pounding hooves, and the clatter of swords being drawn.

"That wasn't a rock," Blaine whispered frightfully, clutching Saeran’s arms.

"Aye."

Saeran pushed herself away from the seat as the carriage came to an abrupt stop.

"Again with the 'aye'," Blaine hissed. Well, at least she wasn't crying.

"Hush," Saeran said quietly, reaching under the seat. This was her father's carriage, and he had always been prepared for the worst. They had been accosted by ruffians once before, and though her father's men had taken care of it, that hadn't stopped her father from reaching for protection. Now, she called on those memories to grab the dirk that was strapped underneath the seat she'd been sitting on.

It was cold and heavy in her hands. Holding it made her want to vomit. She had never been a violent person—she much preferred her books and numbers. But she couldn't leave her sister to suffer a fate worse than death, though she was sure their demise would come shortly after the brutes were finished with them.

Blaine was a beauty. No man would hesitate at possessing her. A sour taste climbed her throat as she clutched the dirk tighter.

The false sense of security she felt with it in her hands was cut short. The second the door opened, all the courage she'd felt slid straight to her stomach, her heart joining the journey downward. The harsh spill of light from the door blocked her view of the enormous man.

There was a tense, horrible silence.

Blaine started to cry. Saeran backed farther into the carriage, out of reach from the barbarian that was reaching towards them. Her back hit her sister's drawn knees.

"If you back away, I will not harm you," she threatened weakly. Even with the danger, something told her to keep up her pretense as a boy. Her lowered tone might need some work, but it served in making the man pause.

Then he laughed.

"We mean no harm, lad. Donna fash yerrself. Step out, and we can carry out proper introductions, aye?"

Saeran swallowed thickly. His voice was rough but pleasant, thick with the Highlander brogue.

"How do we know you're not planning to carry out your attack the moment we move out of this carriage?" she demanded boldly. Blaine's fearful hand on her arm gave her strength she did not possess.

"They're Shaw warriors, come to escort you."

The face of the footman they had hired for the journey poked his head into the carriage window. There was not a bit of fear on his face, a sign that he was not being forced to vouch for them.

She relaxed her grip on the knife, but did not back down completely.

"I heard shouts," she said. Blaine rustled behind her, and then her sister was pushing past Saeran in a flurry of rose perfume and skirts.

"Do not be ridiculous," Blaine chided, hands fluttering delicately in the air. She knew it was a sign for her to quiet down before her sister became angry. She had never been an actor, but she was going to pretend she was one until it was safe to reveal her true identity.

"These men are not a threat to us. Put the weapon down before they take offense." She gave the warrior standing in the door a blinding smile. He returned it with little vigor, but it was enough to convince Saeran to slide the dirk into the leather belt around her waist. There wasn't a sheath, but the cross-guard kept it from slipping.

Still, she kept her hand on the hilt, watching them.

If push came to shove, she'd probably cry, then attack. But at least she'd be doing something to defend them.

The warrior stepped away from the carriage. Blaine went after him, acting like a damsel in distress and holding onto both his arms as he lowered her to the ground. When the man set her down with ease, Blaine preened. At court, her weight had often made it hard for the softer courtly men to lift her during dances and horse rides.

As a 'lad' now, Saeran had to help herself out of the carriage. No gentlemen to take her hand, no footman to be concerned about her as she exited. She didn’t miss it, per se, but stepping out on wobbly legs made her look like a ninny.

Saeran held onto the carriage as she stepped into the small clearing.

A silence fell over the group as she took in the large, looming men. Fear choked her. Even if these weren't enemies, one wrong move, and they could rip her to shreds.

Her and her sister.

From what Saeran could see, there were twenty men. All large. All terrifying. All glaring at her and her sister like they were pieces of meat their laird told them they couldn’t eat. Their faces were dirty and harsh, just as cruel as their rugged bodies. Their plaids were threaded with yellow, orange, and green. They were Shaws, no doubt about it. Not only did they wear the colors, but they all looked as fearless and barbaric as they were rumored to be.

The one who had found them inside of the carriage frowned. Saeran tensed, grabbing for her sister’s arm.

“The king said there were two lasses. No’ just one.”

Blaine held onto Saeran’s hand tightly, just as terrified as she was.

“The king has too large a family to remember them all accurately,” Saeran lied, forcing her voice to be deep. It hurt—and she felt utterly ridiculous. But the men seemed to buy it, so she pressed on. “There’s only my sister and I.”

“How old are ye’, lad?”

Saeran grit her teeth at the word ‘lad’.

“Two and twenty—”

“Oh, my,” Blaine exclaimed, voice weak. Saeran slid her arm under her sister’s back worriedly, supporting her even though she herself felt weak. “The strain of the events has made me… made me so tired. Saeran, tell them we must hurry, afore I faint dead away. Please, dear brother.”

Saeran thought Blaine was laying it on a little heavy, but it did the trick. The men heard her not-so-quiet whisper. Half of the warriors saddled their horses, the other half going to the carriage. The one that had found them came forward, leading two mares. The leader of the group, Saeran assumed.

“I had thought we would ride in the…” Blaine trailed off, as the man picked her up by the waist, slinging her onto the saddle.

“The ride is too rough for a carriage like that, lass. The men will take yer things. If ye’ need assistance, ye’ can ask yer brother or m’self.”

Just as he said, men came out, each holding a trunk—most of which were Blaine’s. Saeran had never been one for clothing and jewelry. Since she was posing as a male, she hadn’t brought along any gowns. Her wardrobe consisted of trews, tunics, and a lone plaid that survived the fire that had killed her parents.

Aye, it was definitely a step down from the extravagance of Blaine’s attire. Right now, she was dressed in a deep purple gown that accented the stark blackness of her hair. Though it was not proper at all, her hair had been left down and around her face for the journey.

Blaine seemed not to notice, though the other men did. Saeran had to bite her tongue against saying anything to the men as they stared at her sister. Their expressions were stony, cold, and unwelcoming. She had no way of knowing what they were thinking. Blaine was too busy examining the leader of the men.

“Are you The Lion?” her sister asked boldly. Saeran sucked in a breath, shocked. It was improper to ask such a question like that. Normally, a lady would require that the male initiate the introductions.

“Blaine,” she hissed, taking the horse’s lead from the man. She was so stunned by her sister’s frankness, she forgot about the issue of mounting the horse. She had always preferred her books to other things, like learning how to mount and ride a horse. Now, she gravely wished she had taken an interest in horses. The one in front of her, a gorgeous bay, leaned its giant head towards her, and nudged her by the shoulder. She jerked away. Oh, yes. She should have definitely taken an interest.

This journey was going to be a pain.

“Quiet, Saeran. I’ve asked the barbarian a question, and I would very much like an answer.”

In an instant, the air stilled.

All of the warriors froze.

Even the footman paled.

Saeran felt the world shift under her feet as Blaine’s

words echoed in the silent forest. She was too shocked to move, too horrified at what her sister had said to react. The horses around them hooved the ground nervously.

Saeran’s blood went cold as the leader’s lip lifted in a silent sneer.

She reached for the dirk at her hip, staring at the leader, knowing that she would die to protect her sister.