Prologue

"Nay! I will NOT marry the old Laird of Brincairn. I refuse!" Eileen was pale and trembling, unable to believe Canton would actually do this to her. "He must be forty years old!"

"Ye will," replied Canton, her half brother. His cold blue eyes seemed to slice her to ribbons and indeed, Eileen felt cut to the heart. "Ye've been unwed for far too long, Eileen, and the oath has already been sworn between me and the Laird. The wedding will take place in three days, prepare yourself."

"But ... but he is an old man! Why would ye do this to me?"

"Take heart," he sneered, the moustache on his cruel lips lifting on one side. "The Laird is ill and no one knows how long he will last. When he croaks, ye will be a rich woman." His eyes gleamed with avarice, his ebony hair pulled straight back from a low forehead, creating an almost brutish look. He studied her without compassion, feeling no remorse for what he was doing.

Eileen knew it was useless to plead anymore, they had been arguing for the last half hour already. "I'll never forgive ye for doing this to me, Canton," she said finally. "I'll see ye in hell before then." Her deep purple eyes flashed at him. "If Morg were here, he would not make me do this!"

Canton's face went red with rage, and he struck out with a long arm, slashing her across the face with the back of his hand. "Ye will not mention my cowardly half brother in this house: I've already told ye that."

Eileen gasped and put her hand to her reddened cheek, realizing she was only driving him more insane with the mention of Morg. He was wildly jealous of her full-blooded brother, even though he had been gone for several years now. Canton and their greedy Uncle Roger had cheated Morg out of his inheritance.

With a sob, she turned and ran across the stone floor of the main hall of the castle, and up the broad stone staircase to her room. Once inside, she threw herself on the beautifully embroidered coverlet in a fit of weeping.

"Where are ye, Morg?" She groaned, wishing helplessly once again that he had taken her with him when he left. But he had left alone, angry because she had saved his life and made him look small in the eyes of the clansman. He had left like a whipped cur, not even considering her feelings. Shaking off her clutching hands, and ignoring her pleading tears, he had stridden out, vowing to return someday and claim his rightful place. That had been 4 years ago.

Eileen beat her small fists furiously against the coverlet, kicking her feet up and down in the soft leather shoes. Finally, when she could cry no more, she wearily got up and flipped her long wheat colored braid behind her head so she could dab some cool water from the bedside pitcher on her hot face.

Depressed, she walked to the window and stared out across the moors where the fog was beginning to roll in. She shivered and ran her hands up and down the backs of her slender arms. As she stood there in the deepening twilight, she made another vow.

"I swear on our mother's grave, Morgan Macalister, if you don't save me from this fate, I'll never forgive ye either ... not even with the last breath I take." Her eye's burned with impotent fury and anguish, and she determined to shed no more tears. She began to plan ... she would get away. She would go and find Morg, and Canton would not be able force this upon her.

In spite of her plans, however, her wedding night came three days later, and she faced the ailing and aging man who had become her husband. Eileen shuddered with the knowledge that soon his gnarled old hands would be upon her young tender flesh, demanding his husbandly rights.

She bravely faced him, determined not to let him daunt her as his eyes swept from the tip of her bare toes up her body, lingering on each curve of her naked form, inspecting it as one might inspect a prize horse, or cow.

When his dark eyes finally fastened on hers, she saw no lust there, only hatred. She raised her chin defiantly, not understanding, but determined that he would not break her spirit whilst he claimed her flesh. He stared at her for so long that she started visibly when he finally spoke.

"Ye appear to be in fine physical health, although your hips are fairly slender for birthing. For your sake, let's hope your brother has not cheated me with my purchase."

"Purchase?"

"Aye, ye didn't think I was in love with ye? I agreed to marry you so I could have an heir. Gallagher will pay for leaving me!"

The old man's eyes gleamed maniacally, and Eileen shrank back, not understanding what he was talking about. She knew Gallagher was his only son, the one whose mother had died a few years ago.

He shook his fist at her suddenly, his anger flaring up. "Are ye stupid, wench? I married ye with the agreement of gold to refill the coffers of Castle McKenna, and twas a pretty price I paid. If ye can't produce a child to take my place, I will have been robbed!"

Anger and resentment surged through her then, her lip curled in scorn as she drew herself up. "That would be a shame wouldn't it? Mayhap you should have given more thought to your age affecting reproduction than my lack of ability," she mocked.

She seethed with the knowledge that Canton had sold her. Sold her! If she could defeat both their purposes, it would give her great satisfaction.