CHAPTER ONE
Sea of the Hebrides
Scotland, Spring 1311
Annora Munro was shivering, but it wasn’t the chill of the early spring breeze swirling up from Loch Moidart that was causing her to shake so. No, it was dread of the future that consumed her.
Today was the day she’d been living in fear of for the past two months, ever since her father, the Laird Graham Munro, had sent her here to Castle Tioram. The prison where she had been staying with her aunt and uncle awaiting the birlinn belonging to her betrothed.
Her time had run out, and she’d had no luck persuading her aunt or her husband, Laird Ranald, that she’d be happier there with them in the Highlands, than married to the ghastly old Englishman she’d been betrothed to against her will.
Aunt Beatrix shook her head when Annora begged to be allowed to remain at the castle.
“Dinnae be a foolish lass,” she had said, smiling grimly. “Baron de Radcliffe has a very grand castle, so I’ve been told by those who ken the place. He is an important man, lass, and ye’ll have a fine castle in yer charge.”
Ugh!The very thought of Baron Bertram de Radcliffe, his bony hands, cackling laugh and wrinkled visage made her queasy. She cared not a jot for his fine home and his favor with King Edward. But now word had come to Castle Tioram that her soon-to-be-husband’s birlinn was riding at anchor in the nearby cove awaiting her embarkation.
She pulled her fur-lined cloak close around her, raising the hood for extra warmth, covering her carefully braided coppery-hued tresses and hiding her face.
Blinking away hot tears she gazed around, taking one last look at the silvery waters of the loch and the far distant Castle Tioram, the forested hillsides, the pale pink morning sky and the seabirds wheeling overhead.
Her little party plodded on toward the sheltering cove where de Radcliffe’s birlinn awaited, ready to sail south to his castle near the coast of Cumberland. Every passing minute drew her closer to a fate she despised.
She considered putting her heels to her pony and attempting to outrun her two guards, leaving the big horse laden with pannierscontaining the gowns and items of her dowry, without a second’s regret.
An uncertain life here alone, despite the hardship that that would pose, was far preferable to becoming the possession of a man who cared nothing for her. Her stomach roiled. Her father had traded her like one of his prize breeding cows for the coin and allegiance offered by the Englishman.
In turn, de Radcliffe was gaining a toehold in the Highlands, where there was a great deal of opposition to the English King Edward.
She huffed quietly. The wretched, fearful man would not allow his birlinn to sail any further north for dread of it being attacked by what he’d called ‘Scottish barbarians’ and what she considered to be proud Scottish warriors. As a consequence, she’d been sent south to meet the birlinn to appease the man’s fear.
But then, as they began the descent to the cove, Annora spied two ships moored there. One was flying de Radcliffe’s flag alongside the English King’s standard, and the other had no flag she could make out.
Her heart jumped hard against her ribcage and she caught her breath. The two boats sitting at anchor were close beside one another. Mayhap she could find a way to board the wrong ship and from there flee.
She set to work formulating a plan.
It turned out to be simple to convince her guards that the second birlinn was the one she was intended for, than even she could have hoped.
When they arrived at the landing point, she pointed firmly at the ship with no flag.
“That is the ship I’m tae sail in.”
The older of her two guards tilted his head in the direction of the other ship.
“But mistress, the other one flies an English flag…”
She extracted a parchment from her satchel and waved it for him to see.
“It says here, “the ship has a band of red painted along the side. These are measures that have been taken fer yer safety. Ye are tae board the anonymous birlinn, fer if there are any possible attacks, they will be directed at the other vessel.”She pointed to the red marks on the along the larger birlinn as the man skeptically surveyed the side of the ship in question. Holding her breath, she handed him the parchment, counting on him not being able to read. It was a note from her aunt wishing her well for the journey and for her upcoming marriage to de Radcliffe.
The man peered at the parchment, nodding. “I beg yer pardon, me lady. Of course, I was mistaken.”
She blew out her breath as they dismounted. Once they’d loaded her panniers onto the waiting rowboat she stepped in and took her seat. They hauled the small craft into the water, jumped in and picked up the oars.
Given the early hour, no one was on deck of the other ship, and Annora thanked her lucky stars. The gods must have been on her side. It had been planned last minute that they arrive earlier than the English expected them to avoid problems with Scottish rebels who would have been alerted of the voyage, but she didn’t think it would go so smoothly. As her two men pulled their small craft alongside the birlinn a tall, gray-bearded man peered over the wooden hull.
“Who goes?”
