Page 1 of When the Laird Conquers

PROLOGUE

Clan Buchlann

The West Highlands.

An ancient and feared clan, one of the most powerful in Scotland, infamous for its cruelty, cunning, and outlandish acts of violence. Past lairds wanted by several monarchs across history for crimes of piracy. Never punished.

James Monroe Niall, deceased. Wed to Marie Alison Niall, née Tavistock, of Clan McVey, also deceased.

Succeeded by Gordon Declan Niall. Also known as the Mad Laird, the Cruel One, the Last Wolf of the Highlands.

Observe the map for boundaries. All are advised to avoid Buchlann territory under the rule of the new Laird.

1

Imust be insane.

So it was probably fortuitous that she was moments from entering the realm of the Mad Laird.

“Quiet now, sweet girl,” Agnes Norton whispered, stroking the nose of the restless grey mare that had carried her and her niece safely from England. “I’m not going to leave you here. With any luck, I’ll only be gone a short while.”

Through ancient oaks that wore coats of thick moss, a great castle rose up. Weather-worn stone caught the glow of flickering braziers, shadows moving along the crenelated edges of two round towers. Above, an inky sky hinted at a dawn that was still an hour or so away.

I might die before I even make it to the Laird.

She gulped.

Checking the knots of the cloth carrier that held her baby niece, Lizzy, snug against her back, she drew in a steadying breath of the fresh forest air. She had come all this way. She couldn’t retreat now, so close to her objective.

Stealthy as a fox, she slipped between the thick trunks of the oak trees and prayed no twigs would crack underfoot. She had been waiting all night for the right time to make her move. It would be a shame if she failed now.

Pulling the hood of her cloak lower over her face, she joined the road that led up to the gated entrance and approached with what she hoped was the air of an innocent, passing traveler.

A guard stepped out. “State yer business.”

“I come to rest and to seek food for me and me daughter,” she replied in the Scottish accent she had been rehearsing since she left her aunt’s country residence.

“Show yer face.”

Agnes teased back the edge of her hood and wondered if the leather eye patch she’d put on was too much. Her face was streaked with dirt she’d smeared from the forest floor, and she had bitten her lip to make it seem like it had been split.

The guard frowned. “Where do ye hail from?”

“Ardroy,” she replied, remembering the name of a village she had come through a few hours ago. “I mean to continue north to me aunt. Please, sir. I just need rest and food, and to bathe me daughter, if I can. I will be gone in a day or two, but I must get off the road before me braither finds me. He’ll kill me and me daughter if he does.”

She marveled at how easily the lies tripped off her tongue. Although if her plan worked, she would probably have some explaining to do to this guard in particular.

The man gestured. “Show me yer bairn.”

The last word was unfamiliar to Agnes, but she could guess what he meant. Without hesitation, she lifted her cloak until Lizzy’s sleeping face was revealed.

Please, take pity. I just need to get inside.

Otherwise, she was going to have to scale a wall, and she did not know how that would work out for her. A fall to her death, perhaps? Being shot down before she ever entered the castle boundary? Not to mention, she would have to leave Lizzy outside, for the child’s safety. Who would look after the baby if something happened to her?

“There’ll be soup by the barracks,” the guard said, surprisingly sympathetic for someone belonging to such an infamously violent, callous clan. “Ye can rest in the barn. Just keep out of everyone’s way and be gone before ye overstay yer welcome.”

“Thank ye,” she replied, careful not to smile in case it showed the pristine white of her teeth.