Laird of Vengeance (Preview)
Chapter One
Banqueting Room, Campbell Castle, January, 1689
“Stand straight, shoulders back. Ye arenae cattle, ye’re prizes,” the lady barked from behind the line, her voice sharp as winter frost. “And when ye enter, ye’ll sit still until yer name is called. Ye all ken what will happen tonight. So dae as ye’ve been told and keep yer mouth shut.”
Her rough voice cut through the nervous whispers as guards herded Liliane Munro and the other young women through the stone corridors of the castle. Her stomach twisted with each echoing footstep, and the clank of armor from the dozen guards flanking their procession.
“Remember,” hissed the lady in her unnaturally high-pitched tone, her sharp features pinched with authority as she swept alongside them in midnight blue silk, her face concealed behind an ornate feathered mask. “Shoulders back.”
Liliane’s fingers trembled as she smoothed the emerald velvet of her gown. The fabric was finer than anything she had ever worn, ordered especially by her father for tonight’s occasion. The bodice was cut to display her figure to best advantage, and the skirts were heavy with gold thread that caught the torchlight.
“Ye will enter with grace. Ye will sit with dignity. And ye will smile.” Her cold gaze raked over each girl. “Any display of hysteria will be met with consequences. Ye are all expected tae bring in very high bids taenight.”
Around her, the other ladies looked equally magnificent. Auburn curls crowned with pearls, raven hair adorned with silver combs, silk in every jeweled tone that made each girl appear as a living gemstone.
Yet, even as their masks lent them an air of mysterious allure, Liliane could see terror shadowing every perfectly coifed lady.
“Mother Mary, preserve us,” whispered the girl beside her, her voice shaking so hard Lilianne wondered if she would make it through the evening.
“Silence!” barked another guard.
He pushed the massive oak doors of the banqueting hall, causing it to grudgingly groan before opening, releasing a wave of heat, pipe smoke, and masculine voices that rumbled like distant thunder. Liliane’s breath caught as she took in the spectacle beyond the threshold.
The great hall had been transformed into an arena of wealth and power. Torches blazed in iron sconces along the stone walls, casting dancing shadows over masked figures who filled rows of wooden chairs arranged in a horseshoe pattern around a raised platform.
Nobles and lairds, their faces hidden behind masks, some simple black silk, others elaborate creations of feathers and gold leaf with clan colors conspicuously absent. The anonymity made the air thick with tension, each man a mystery, their intentions veiled behind false faces.
The air thrummed with their deep voices, discussing politics and alliances over goblets of wine while servants in plain dark clothing moved between them like shadows.
“Look at how well-endowed that lass in blue is,” rumbled a voice from the crowd as all eyes turned on the girls.
“Aye,” came the response. “But be reminded we are here for alliances, not for bonnie lasses.”
“The redhead over there has large bones. She will breed strong bairns. If her clan is prosperous, taenight ends in a good deal fer me,” came another assessment, as clinical as evaluating horseflesh.
“Form a line,” hissed the lady, her voice sharp as a blade, yet low enough for the lairds not to pick it up. “Move.”
Lilianne took her position at the room’s center with the other ‘prize’ ladies. Their faces bore the same expression of barely contained terror she felt clawing at her own composure.
The room buzzed with low conversation, the sound rolling like distant thunder. Those men, lairds all by the richness of their dress, had gone there with coin in their purses and ambition in their hearts.
Lilianne knew invitations to this auction had been sent only to those clans her father and Angus Campbell deemed useful for their greater cause. Every match made tonight would strengthen the web of alliances within the Pact of Argyll.
Her gaze swept across the assembled crowd, searching for any familiar figure, any hint of how the night might unfold. Her father was easily recognizable. Even with a plain leather mask, Roderick Munro dominated the center seat, with his barrel chest straining against his finest doublet, and stretching over his broad shoulders.
His graying beard was freshly trimmed, his eyes gleaming beneath the mask with the satisfaction of a man whose plans were unfolding exactly as intended.
Beside him lounged a heavy-set man, who she knew to be Balgair Ross, whose thick fingers drummed against his thigh with barely contained anticipation.
“She’ll dae nicely,” the man murmured to his masked companion.
“Aye,” came the muffled reply. “Worth every mark.”
The predatory assessment made her skin crawl, but she had no idea which of those anonymous figures would be bidding for her.
To her father’s other side sat another masked laird, his bearing radiating the same quiet authority as the man at the center of that vile gathering.
Liliane could not tell who he was; the mask concealed everything, even the smallest hint of familiarity. The anonymity of it all made the air heavier, colder. She hated it, being unable to see the faces of the men who would decide the rest of her life.
“Begin!” Her father barked, flicking his wrist and the lady stepped forward.
“Present yerselves,” she commanded, with one sharp clap of her hands.
As one, the line of women lifted their chins and straightened their spines, transformed instantly from terrified girls into displays of Highland beauty and breeding as they took one step forward. Liliane felt sick as appreciative murmurs rose from the crowd.
“Lairds and honored guests!” The auctioneer’s voice boomed across the hall, finally breaking the spell that held her captive. “Let the evening’s proceedings begin!”
A collective hush fell over the crowd as the first young woman was brought forward. Liliane’s stomach plummeted as reality crashed back over her like a wave.
This is truly happening. Women are about tae be sold like prized mares, our futures decided by the weight of silver in strangers’ purses.
And me own fiather will sell me off fer clan alliance.
Guards lined the walls like sentinels, their hands resting on sword hilts, eyes scanning the crowd with predatory alertness. The message was clear, no one would be permitted to leave until business was concluded to their hosts’ satisfaction.
“Gentlemen,” a laird’s voice boomed across the hall, “welcome tae this evening’s proceedin’s. Each alliance forged taenight strengthens our collective position, our shared vision fer the Highlands’ future. Now, let the coins flow.” He took his seat.
Liliane’s hands clenched in her lap.
“Ladies.”
The auctioneer’s gaze lingered on each girl in turn. When those pale eyes reached Liliane, they seemed to linger a moment longer than necessary.
“The first bride,” the auctioneer announced, his voice carrying clearly across the hall. “Fifty pounds fer the lass with the auburn hair!”
Liliane Munro’s stomach clenched as she watched the girl beside her being dragged toward the platform. The poor creature seemed extremely young, her face pale as parchment. She shook so violently the guards half carried her forward to the podium.
“Sixty!” the first voice barked from the crowd of masked lairds.
“Seventy-five!”
Liliane pressed her lips together, her own hands trembling and resting in her lap as she stood rigid in the procession.
After a few instants of silence, the auctioneer called out: “Sold to the laird in the third row fer seventy-five pounds!”
Applause rippled through the crowd as the girl was led away. Liliane watched her go, memorizing the defeat in her posture.
“The second bride!”
Another lady was dragged forward, sold within minutes to a masked figure in the front row, her sobs echoing off the stone walls as she was led away.
Liliane felt the lady beside her trembling and reached out instinctively, squeezing her hand beneath the cover of her skirts.
“Dae ye think,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the murmur of the crowd, “that any of these matches were arranged beforehand?”
The girl with dark hair and wide, frightened eyes, shook her head shakily. “Daes it matter?” she whispered back. “Nay good man would be here, biddin’ on lives as if we were prize horses.”
Liliane’s jaw tightened. “Ye’re right.”
But even as she agreed, her mind was racing ahead to her own strategy. After her father had secured his position within Campbell’s precious Pact, they would return to their keep and collect her belongings before pursuing their journey to the laird’s keep. That would give her one last chance to reach Nessa.
Nessa. Her fourteen-year-old sister, sweet and trusting, currently locked away in her chamber at home. Her father’s threat still echoed in her mind,
Defy me again, and it will be Nessa on that platform instead of ye.
Chapter One
“The third bride,” the lady shouted, “goin’ fer seventy pounds!”
Liliane barely registered as the lady was led to the podium.
Her turn would be next and if her plan failed there would be no one left to protect Nessa. Her sister would be alone with their father, defenseless against his rages. The thought made her stomach twist with familiar dread.
Their mother had tried to shield them both, and it had cost her everything. When a fever had taken her some years before, Liliane knew it was because her body had been broken by years of Roderick Munro’s fists. Now Liliane stood as the only barrier between Nessa and a very unfortunate fate.
She would endure that humiliation, the sale of her body and future, because the alternative was unthinkable.
“Seventy-five.” A laird with a black and silver mask made his bid.
“Eighty-two pounds!” Another shouted with pride, confident his marks would not be outbidded.
“Sold tae the laird fer eighty-two pounds.” The satisfaction in his voice was final. “Now fer the fourth bride.”
Her legs felt like water as the guard’s iron grip closed around her arm, hauling her forward. Each step toward the platform echoed in her ears like a funeral dirge.
“All the ladies presented so far taenight have been exceptional. This one is no exception. Eighteen summers, skilled in music and letters, and blessed with the beauty of the northern isles. Only a laird who truly appreciates beauty will bid fer this lovely specimen.”
A murmur of appreciation rippled through the crowd as all eyes turned to assess her. The weight of their stares felt invasive and unwelcome, as though their hands groped her.
“Look at her,” came the gruff voice of Ross, thick with entitlement. Even behind the mask, the way the man’s gaze raked over her made Liliane’s skin crawl. “Worth every coin I’ll be spendin’, that one.”
“Aye,” her father rumbled back, pride seeping through his tone, “she’ll breed ye strong sons, mark me words.”
She lifted her chin, refusing to show fear or repulsion at their insensitive words, even as her pulse thundered so loudly she was certain everyone could hear it.
“Biddin’ begins at seventy pounds.”
The laird’s hand lifted immediately. “One hundred!” His voice boomed across the hall with the confidence of a man who expected no competition.
The crowd stirred at the generous amount. Liliane’s attention turned to the front row. She watched with disgust as her father openly displayed his satisfaction, and the way his shoulders straightened with pride.
“An excellent openin’ bid!” called the auctioneer. “Dae I hear more fer this Highland beauty?”
“One hundred pounds going once!” the auctioneer announced.
Her father leaned toward the man next to him, whispering something that made them both chuckle loudly. Everything was proceeding according to their arrangement. Their smug expressions made Liliane’s stomach twist with dread.
“One hundred pounds goin’ twice!”
Ross settled back in his chair with the air of someone who believed the outcome already his. His thick fingers kept drumming against his thigh. In moments, she would belong to him, bound by law and coin to whatever fate he deemed fit. Relief and revulsion warred in Liliane’s chest. At least the charade would end quickly. She could steal Nessa away, and they could disappear before—
“One hundred and ten silver fer the bonnie lass.”
The voice cut across the room like a blade, deep and commanding. Every head, including hers, turned toward its source.
Who—?
The breath fled her lungs. His head turned with deliberate slowness until their eyes met across the crowded hall. His gaze was winter-green and utterly merciless, studying her with the focused intensity of a predator.
There was no warmth there. No softness. Only a cold intelligence that seemed to strip away her defenses and see straight into her terrified soul.
A shiver raced down her spine that had nothing to do with the drafts in the castle, and she quickly looked away.
Her new bidder sat apart from the others, his dark hair pulled back severely, and though a black silk mask covered the upper half of his face, it could not hide the sharp line of his jaw or the way his mouth remained set in a hard line of what Liliane would have thought was distaste, if he hadn’t just shown his clear intent to buy a lass.
Her bidder jerked upright in his chair, his face flushing red behind his mask. “What is the meanin’ of this?”
“It means,” the stranger replied calmly, rising to his feet with fluid grace, “that the biddin’ isnae yet finished.”
Her father leaned forward, squinting toward the masked figure with a flicker of curiosity. “A new bidder, eh?”
His tone carried no real challenge, only interest, the kind that came from a man who smelled more coin entering the game.
“A man with coin and interest,” came the smooth reply. “Is that nae what this gatherin’ requires?”
Gasps echoed through the hall. Liliane’s stomach fluttered traitorously at the sound of his voice, so calm and assured while chaos erupted around him. She scolded herself harshly.
What is wrong with ye? The man is tryin’ tae purchase ye like livestock, ye should feel naethin’ but disgust.
Yet that flutter remained, stubborn and unwelcome.
Ross’s voice rang out, sharper and clearly irritated now. “One hundred and fifteen marks.”
But before the auctioneer could acknowledge the bid, the stranger spoke again, his tone never changing from that infuriating calm.
“One hundred thirty.”
Gasps echoed through the hall. It was nearly double what any other girl had commanded, a sum that spoke of either desperate desire or calculated insult.
What daes he want from me that is worth such coin?
The auctioneer’s voice seemed to come from very far away. “Dae I hear one hundred and thirty-five?”
Liliane’s knees threatened to buckle. The laird in the front row hesitated, his shoulders tensed, as if weighing how much she was truly worth to him. The stranger didn’t even pause. “Two hundred.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Liliane stared at him across the hall, this man who bid for her life with the casual air of someone purchasing livestock. His eyes never left her face, and she saw something there that made her blood turn to ice water.
Recognition. As if he knew exactly what he was doing, exactly what his purchase would accomplish.
Liliane glanced up at the stranger. His eyes were still on her, and even when their eyes met again, he didn’t look away. Didn’t blink. Just continued that steady, unnerving stare while her pulse thundered and heat flooded her cheeks despite the chill in the air.
What is wrong with ye, lass? The man is here, at this vile spectacle, ready tae purchase a woman like chattel. Nay decent man would darken the doorway of such proceedings.
Two hundred pounds was beyond reason, beyond what even a political alliance could justify.
“Goin’ once,” the auctioneer called.
Liliane’s world narrowed to a pinpoint. Everything she had planned, everything she had hoped for, was slipping through her fingers like sand.
“Goin’ twice.”
The stranger’s lips curved into something that might have been a smile, but held no warmth whatsoever.
“Sold tae the laird at the back fer two hundred pounds!”
Applause thundered through the hall, but it sounded like the oar of an avalanche to Liliane’s ears. She swayed on the platform, the room spinning around her as the reality struck home.
Two of the castle’s guards were on her arms again, guiding her toward the side door where she would meet her purchaser. Where the masks would come off and she would learn the identity of the man who had just bought her life.
Her legs moved without her conscious command, carrying her toward whatever fate awaited beyond those doors. Behind her, she could hear her father’s voice rising above the crowd, but it seemed distant now, irrelevant.
The door loomed before her, and with it, the moment when she would finally see the face behind those piercing green eyes.
The face of the man who now owned her.
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