CHAPTER 1
Ach,me head.
Skye opened her eyes gingerly, wary of the angry sunlight shining through her closed lids.
Sure enough, the moment she opened her eyes a crack, light stabbed through, making her head ache worse than ever. Had she drunk too much wine?
Nay, it cannae be that. I’d never allow meself to drink enough to impair me judgment. That’s one lesson me braither taught me early on. Daenae risk it.
Wincing, she lifted a hand to the back of her head, feeling all around the base of her skull. Surely she’d hit her head or something.
There was no lump, though, no graze, no swelling, not even a smear of blood.
Strange.
A headache pounded between her temples, but there was no localized soreness, no bruise, nothing to indicate an injury on the outside of her head.
Drawing in a ragged breath, she opened her eyes properly, the sun seeming to stab right through her pupils and into her brain. She imagined the light beam bouncing around inside her skull, stabbing wherever it landed.
Blinking, she took in her surroundings. She lay on the floor, curled up in the corner of a tent. A few empty crates and burlap sacks were shoved in an opposite corner. The tent itself stunk of damp and mustiness. There was no rug or sheet laid on the ground, leaving her stretched out on the bare earth.
At the top of the tent, where the central tent pole held up the roof, thick, dusty spiderwebs clustered, undisturbed. There were no seats, no furniture, not even a pallet bed or a bedroll. Not even a jug and basin to wash in.
This is a storage tent. Where am I? What am I doing here?
She had been lying on her side, facing the flapping entrance to the tent, which explained why the sunlight had assailed her so violently. A second question followed the first, and this one was much more unsettling.
How did I get here?
In fact, it was the answer to the question that terrified her, because she didn’tknowthe answer. In fact, Skye had no idea howshe had come to be in this tent, let alone why.
A throb of quiet anxiety started up at the back of her mind.
Shouldn’t she remember? How long had she been here? What had possessed her to crawl into a storage tentof all places, and then drift off to sleep? Were others looking for her? Was she far from home?
Questions flooded her mind, bringing sharp terror along with them. Each answer came at once, an endless parade ofI daenae ken, I daenae ken.
Then, quite gradually, memories started to slide back into place, and she sighed with relief. The terror receded. It was nothing more than a little confusion after waking up, nothing to fret over.
I ken why I am here,she thought, crawling toward the entrance.I came with me cousin, Creighton. This is the bride swap to solidify the treaty between Clan MacColl and Clan Bryden. I’m to live with Laird Bryden for a year at his keep, while Creighton takes whichever lass Bryden offers.
Then that means this is the Leanan Festival.
She crawled out of the tent, blinking in the sunlight, and rose stiffly to her feet. She still wasn’t entirely sure whyshe’d come to the storage tent, but the memories were coming back, and thatwas all that mattered. As she’d guessed, she was near the woods, where the storage tents were kept.
Larger tents and stalls were found toward the center of the field, selling food and drinks of all kinds. Faint music reached her ears, some toe-tapping melody that would doubtless thrill the dancers. Lairds and ladies could—and should—dance, of course, but they generally weren’t supposed to enjoy dancing too much.
It wasn’t serious enough. Things like relaxation and simple enjoyment were reserved for the common folk. Lairds and ladies had weights pressing down on their shoulders, and they had to constantly think about what impression they were giving.
For example, if anyone were to see her at that moment, crawling bleary-eyed out of a storage tent, she would look thoroughly silly. She straightened up, surreptitiously brushing dust and spiderwebs off her skirts.
With horror, she noticed a brownish stain on one knee, probably from kneeling on a patch of damp ground. Cursing, she scrubbed at it with her palm, but of course the stain did not budge.
Oh, well. She’d have to hope that the man she was here to meet would not notice the stain, or at least did not care. Perhaps he’d be busy staring at her face and would have no time at all to spare for a glance at her knees.
I’ll ask Laird Bryden to dance.I’ll put him at ease. He’ll answer for what he did; I’m determined to make that happen. But I cannae risk the treaty, so I shall have to be careful. For now.
Breathing deeply, she lifted a shaking hand to her face. No mask. Well, too bad. She’d have to walk through the festival bare-faced.
