PROLOGUE
Fraser McLachlan was dreaming that he was lying in a soft feather bed beside a lovely maiden dressed in nothing but a filmy shift who was running her hands over every inch of his body. He had had a very hard day of chopping firewood and shoeing horses, as well as sharpening swords and helping to do some of the mundane tasks that had to be done in order to keep a band of twenty men and horses fed, watered and ready to take up arms at a moment’s notice. Being head of a company of the guard of Castle Burntstane was heavy work.
Accordingly, when he fell onto his blanket, he was sleeping the sleep of the just. Utter exhaustion claimed him, and he was blind and deaf to the noises of men’s voices and their footsteps until his beautiful dream was shattered by the blast of a strident shout in his ear.
The sound sent a dart of pain through his head, and he jerked upright to see a ring of hostile men’s faces glaring down at him, chief among them being his cousin Rowan McLachlan. He was grinning at Fraser with a malevolent glint in his eye, and when Fraser tried to stand up, he casually pushed him down onto the ground again. Then he stood in front of him, hands on hips in a cocky, arrogant stance.
Fraser jumped to his feet at once and looked down at Rowan. He had an advantage of five inches on his cousin, and he was much more heavily built. Even so, Rowan looked at him and began to laugh. He was a skinny man of medium height with piercing dark eyes and wild curly brown hair. However, he might not have been big, but he carried with him an air of authority that made all the members of the company, which should have been led by Fraser, follow him.
Fraser had always treated him with wary tolerance, never being rude but never being exactly friendly either. Nevertheless, he disliked his cousin intensely.
“Rowan!” he cried indignantly. “Is this yer idea o’ a jest? Because if it is, it is no’ very funny!”
“Really, Cousin?” Rowan asked, still chuckling. “Because from where I am standin’, it is hilarious!”
“Well, ye have had yer fun.” Fraser’s voice was grim. “Can I get back tae sleep now?”
Suddenly Rowan’s face became thunderous as he drew down his brows and narrowed his eyes. “No. Ye cannot,” he answered. He leaned down close to Fraser so that their noses were almost touching. “Ye are comin’ wi’ us, pal. We are goin’ tae have a wee talk, ye an’ me.”
Fraser saw the anger and hatred in his cousin’s deep, dark eyes, and for a second he felt a flicker of fear. What Rowan lacked in stature he made up in sheer spite, and he was not a good person to cross.
Before he could stop them, four of his fellow guards had taken hold of Fraser and marched him outside, then they tied his hands behind his back and slung him over the saddle of his horse, laughing as they did it. Obviously maltreating their commanding officer appealed to Rowan’s warped sense of humor.
“What is happenin’? Where are ye takin’ me?” Fraser demanded. His head was hanging upside down and felt as though it was going to burst with the heavy pressure of the blood flowing into it. As well as that, he was badly disoriented and nauseous as he saw the world passing by upside down, and it was all he could do not to vomit.
“Ye will see when we get there,” Rowan said in a voice that was both soothing and sneering. Then he laughed, a low, menacing chuckle. “Don’t worry yerself, lad. Ye will no’ feel a thing.”
With that cryptic comment, he patted his cousin’s head and laughed heartily, and suddenly Fraser was filled with intense dread. What had Rowan meant by ‘no’ feel a thing’? It did not bode well for him, and inside he knew what was going to happen to him; he was not going to get back to the castle alive.
They were approaching the woods a little way away from the village of Burntstane. In a few more yards they would be under the thick shadows of the trees, then they would be invisible from the road and the open countryside.
There were no houses nearby, no one close enough to hear him shout, and even if there were, who in their right mind would go up against a band of armed men? No, Fraser thought, he would have to stay alert and see if he could make a bid for freedom as soon as he could, although that was beginning to look less and less likely.
Rowan lit a lantern as soon as he deemed it safe to do so, then he ordered his men to slide Fraser off the horse. By this time his legs were so weak from his awkward position that he could not stand up, and he crumpled to the ground as soon as his feet touched it. He cursed inwardly, ashamed of his weakness.
There was a gale of laughter from the men around him, then Rowan stepped forward and touched his sword to Fraser’s shoulder. “Can ye no’ stand up, big man?” he asked scornfully, shaking his head and tutting as if in sorrow. “I never took ye for a weaklin’!”
“I am no’ a weaklin’!” Fraser growled. He felt helpless and terrified, although he was not going to show that to the hostile assembly of men. “This is no’ a fair fight! Put a sword in my hand an’ I will show ye. Or better still, fight me barefisted like a man. Or are ye no’ a man at all, Rowan?”
Rowan stood up, looking down at the big man at his feet, his lip curling in disgust. “I am a man, an’ a bigger man than ye, Cousin!” he spat. “A sword in yer hand? I would much rather put a sword in yer heart, an’ that is exactly what I am goin’ tae do now!” He reached backward, and one of his men slapped the handle of a short sword into his hand. The rest stood around watchfully, tense and ready in case Fraser tried to make his escape.
“Wait!” Fraser cried, getting to his feet. The rest of the guards stepped forward to bring him down again, but Rowan raised his hands to stop them. Fraser took a few steps backward. “Before ye kill me, can I ask why? What have I done tae ye?” He was frowning in puzzlement.
“Ye breathe,” Rowan spat. “Every time I see the laird, it is ‘Fraser did this’ and ‘Fraser did that.’ He will be puttin’ up a statue in yer likeness soon and an altar where he can worship ye, an’ he is thinkin’ of lettin’ his daughter marry ye. When ye are gone, I will be the one tae console her. And I have been promised some coin from Mulholland for yer capture or killin’.”
Fraser stared at him with undisguised hatred. As well as being a murderer, Rowan would now be a traitor, and he knew that many of the men standing around him were on his side. Fraser was a warrior and was prepared to die for a righteous cause, but honorably, not like a beast in a slaughterhouse, tied and helpless. He was about to curse Rowan, damning him to hell, but then they heard the sound of hoofbeats not far away, and his men ran, deserting Rowan just as he was about to strike his fatal blow.
Fraser began to run too, but he was off-balance with his hands tied behind his back, and Rowan easily caught up with him, spun him around, and drove his sword into his chest. The last thing Fraser saw was the evil, triumphant glint in Rowan’s eyes before he fell onto the ground and his eyes closed forever.
1
Foraging for extra food for the tavern was Evanna’s favorite part of the day. If she was angry or troubled, the whispering of the great oak trees as they swayed in the wind and the serenade of the songbirds soothed her.
She found that dealing with drunken customers at the tavern, their leering gazes and ribald comments, irritated her beyond reason sometimes. Most of all, she hated it when they attempted to grab her backside or breasts, but she had become very adept at retaliating. She would either dodge their grasping hands or swat them out of the way with such force that the offenders very quickly learned their lesson. She had, on occasion, been obliged to punch a man in self-defense, although this was very unladylike and a tactic of last resort.
She remembered with extreme annoyance an incident that had happened the previous evening when a crowd of noisy, filthy men had entered the tavern, settled themselves at a table, and ordered ale.
Most of the tavern’s customs consisted of honest farmers and tradesmen from the Mulholland estate, but these were people whom she did not recognize. However, Evanna had seen their like many times before. They were strangers, probably bandits, who were foul-mouthed, rowdy, and ready for a fight, and she was ready. However, she was heavily outnumbered.