Chapter One

January 1706, the King’s Dungeons

Contemplating murder, especially at a wedding, was probably a sin and most definitely a crime, but Alayne Ranald wasn’t sure she cared. As far as she was concerned, she could think of it all she wanted, so long as no one ever caught her indulging in her fantasies. Though for now, she had other, more im-portant things to think about.

The air was damp, cold, and musty, the corridor ill-lit and thick with dust, spider webs and rat droppings, as well as other things she shuddered to think about. On either side of the grim passageway, heavy oak doors reinforced with steel bands stood at regular intervals, each one with a single barred window just above her eye level.

The king’s dungeons were not a comfortable place to be, especially not for lady of her status. The pres-ence of the stoic, completely silent guard didn’t help. Had her reasons for going there been any less dire, Alayne knew she would likely have decided against making the trek.

But again, those thoughts were less important than her reasons for being there. Alayne steeled her nerves and followed the guard with her head held high.

Finally, they came to a stop in front of a door. The guard pulled a key from his belt and shoved it in the lock, grunting as he turned it. Once the door was unlocked, he looked at her with dull, faintly contemptu-ous eyes. She could tell he was aware of her discomfort, and probably thought her a soft, weak-willed woman. As far as she was concerned, all the better.

After a moment, he grunted again. “Ye’ve got five minutes, then I escort ye back or drag ye. Nay argu-ments.”

He pulled open the door with one meaty fist, grabbed her arm with the other, and shoved her inside. Alayne stumbled, narrowly recovering her balance as the heavy oak panel thudded back into place and latched behind her. She took a moment to glare at it, then turned to stare at the cell’s single occupant.

Donall Ranald had been a healthy, well-built, handsome man when the king’s guards had stuffed him into his cell over a month ago. Now his hair hung in lank, greasy, matted knots around a face adorned with a wild tangle of beard. His clothing was worn, and so grime-encrusted that no washer woman would ever be able to get it clean again. He’d lost weight as well, his clothing loose and his cheeks hollow as he rose from his single, odorous straw pallet and stepped toward her. “Alayne?”

She stepped toward him and wrapped her arms around his malnourished frame, clinging to him with all her strength. Donall was her brother and her lifeline, the only reason she had in the world for living, and being without him for the past two months had been unbearable.

That was why she’d dared bargain with the king to convince him to release her brother. The price was high, but nothing compared to what she was willing to pay to secure her brother’s freedom and safety.

Donall held her close for several moments, then pulled away and looked down at her. His voice was hoarse, but still carried the familiar tone of worry and command as he spoke. “Why are ye here?”

“Tae tell ye ye’ll soon be free, dear braither.” Alayne smiled up at him. “I’ve struck a bargain with the king. As soon as he kens I’ve upheld my end o’ it, ye’ll be released, and be able tae return home.”

Donall groaned softly. “Alayne, I didnae want ye involved any further in this. ‘Tis me mess and me re-sponsibility, nae yers. I’m the one that chose tae pursue a feud with Clan MacLean tae avenge Faither’s death, and I’m the one who was fool enough tae steal away Daemon MacMillan’s lover tae try and force Darren MacLean tae surrender. I should have kent better, and kent as well that vengeance against him wouldnae be such an easy matter. I was a fool to rush intae the fight, instead o’ taking me time tae plan and avoid any dishonor.”

Alayne shook her head. “Ye had the right o’ it. Faither’s death at the hands o’ Keegan MacLean had tae be avenged. At the very least, their clan should have paid blood wergild. The feud is Darren MacLean’s fault, nae yers.”

Darren MacLean. The very name made her jaw clench and her stomach twist in knots. Laird of the Mac-Lean Clan, he’d been her personal bane ever since he’d claimed the title and her father had tried to arrange a betrothal between them.

It was bad enough that he’d spurned her and refused the alliance, claiming he was too new to his position to consider such a thing. The argument would have held more weight had she not heard that he’d tried to activate an old marriage contract with the Stewart Clan not long after he refused her. From what she knew, he’d have married Isobel Stewart, if his youngest brother hadn’t been in love with her first.

Then, when her father had tried to avenge the insult, that same damned brother had killed him, and Darren had never so much as apologized, let alone acted to honor the blood debt he owed for killing the laird of Clan Ranald. It was enough to make her sick, even without the events that had placed her brother in the king’s dungeon.

“Ye’ve that look in yer eye again. Whatever ye’re thinking, leave it be, sister. I dinnae want tae see ye in a cell next tae mine.” Donall’s arms tightened around her shoulders.

“I willnae be.” She hugged him a little tighter. “Though I cannae say I like the alternative. But still, ye’ll likely be free within the fortnight, a month at the latest.”

“Dinnae see how.” Donall frowned at her.

“I told ye, I made a bargain with the king. A part o’ it is I’m tae nae sing the king’s anthem, but the rest o’ it is that I’m tae marry Darren MacLean within the fortnight, and when the king receives proof o’ our marriage, he’ll set ye free.”

“And ye’ll be shackled tae the devil.” Donall winced. “I wish ye hadnae made such a bargain.”

“I’d have made one twice as poor, fer the chance o’ seeing ye free.” Alayne spoke the words with deter-mination. “Ye’re me braither, after all, and the only kin I have.”

“I still dinnae like that ye’re sentencing yerself tae another sort o’ prison, simply tae get me out o’ this one.” Donall looked at her expression and sighed. “But I ken ye and can see there’ll be nay talking ye out o’ this path, and since ye’re so set on it, I’ll give ye me gratitude and me blessings. Along with me hope that ye manage tae find a way tae ensure yer ‘husband’ never touches ye.”

“Dinnae fret on that score, dear braither. I’ve some ideas in mind. Nae the least o’ which is that this mar-riage forces Laird MacLean tae acknowledge an alliance between our clans, and he has tae abide by the courtesies o’ kin-by-marriage toward everyone in Clan Ranald. Including ye.” Alayne promised him. Donall smiled at her.

The groaning sound of the door opening alerted both of them that her time was up. Alayne gave her brother one last, fierce hug, then stepped out into the hall before she could be dragged out by the stone-faced guard. She waited while the door was locked, then followed the man. She made sure to keep her head down and her expression neutral, the image of a properly demure young lady. Behind that facade, her mind was full of plans.

Darren MacLean would have her as a bride, and the hostilities between their clans would be ended, but that didn’t mean he himself would have any peace. Alayne was determined that he should pay dearly for the harm he’d done their clan.

For he was the devil incarnate, so far as she was concerned, and Alayne was determined to see that he experienced his own version of hell. And that he never bore a legitimate heir for his line. That such ac-tions would assure no second son ever claimed Ranald – and that the clan would return to the Ranald line and her brother’s eventual children that much sooner – was simply an additional benefit. That was a small vengeance, since he had a younger brother who could inherit, but she would take it all the same.

And if her actions convinced Darren MacLean to send her back to her family, or to otherwise exile her from his presence – well, the king had only decreed that the marriage would take place. He hadn’t said how long it had to last, nor that husband and wife were required to live in the same household.

Alayne intended to see to it that Darren was eager to send her somewhere else – and she knew exactly what her opening moves would be.

Chapter Two

Two weeks later…

Darren hadn’t expected to have a particularly happy marriage, not once the king had decreed he would marry Alayne Ranald. However, by all the powers that existed, he’d not expected to be furious and mis-erable before the ceremony even started. And yet, his temper was on the verge of snapping, and he was seriously considering getting drunk for the first time in years.

Blind, stinking, can’t even stagger his way to bed drunk. God above knew that, if this was a precursor for what married life would be like, anywhere was likely to be more comfortable than his marriage bed. Dar-ren sighed and looked about the small reception room he’d chosen to hold the wedding in.

Alayne was more than half an hour late, for all that he’d sent maids up multiple times to offer assistance. He’d even sent Lyla, his ally Daemon’s new bride, to speak to the girl, and got nothing but excuses in return. He was of half a mind to go up there and drag her downstairs himself, but he kept himself in check.

It didn’t help that the weather was abysmal, and had been for days. Ice and snow blanketed the ground, and bitter winter winds off the Firth of Lorne made stepping outside an ordeal. Daemon and Lyla had been lucky to make it as far as MacLean Keep, for both his brothers had been unable to make the journey. He’d always hoped to have Marcus and Keegan by his side when he eventually wed, and instead, his groomsman would be Daemon MacMillan.

All of that, and it didn’t even begin to cover the fact that he’d never wanted to marry Alayne in the first place. The bad blood between them made the prospect unappealing, to say nothing of the fact that he’d rejected a marriage proposal for her before.

He glanced at the clock again, then at the priest, who was looking visibly weary, and not a little uncertain about performing the ceremony. He looked at the doors again. He hadn’t wanted to start his married life by dragging his bride to the altar, but…

“Dinnae even think it. I ken ye’re impatient, but dinnae dae anything rash.” Lyla laid a hand on his arm and shook her head. “She’ll come. She was the one that sought the marriage tae end hostilities, and she’ll nae go back on it, I’m thinking. Especially nae with the king’s order.”

“She’s late.”

“Aye, and likely nervous, as well as unhappy.”

Darren snorted. “She’s nae the only one unhappy.”

Daemon spoke up, putting an arm around his wife’s shoulders as he did. “Och, we all ken that, Darren, but she is the only one who comes tae the wedding without any kith nor kin at her side, and that cannae make her feel comfortable.”

Darren grimaced, but he knew the words were true. He also knew that Alayne blamed him for that fact, and with good reason. His younger brother had killed her father while rescuing him from the Ranald dungeons almost two years ago, and he himself had delivered her brother to the king’s dungeons. It wasn’t his fault that she’d lived a fairly secluded life, kept almost a prisoner by her father, but it was his fault that she’d not escaped sooner, and that she’d suffered the embarrassment of being rejected as a mar-riage prospect.

He had offered to seek out any friends she might have, even a maid or cook or village lass, to stand with her for the ceremony. It had only earned him an icy glare and the sarcastic question of why he’d think her father would have permitted her friends among the servants, when he’d allowed her none among ladies her own station.

Lyla would be the witness for Alayne, but she would walk to the altar alone, and there was no one to give her hand over to him in marriage.

The door creaked open, and one of the maids he’d sent to aid Alayne in preparing for the ceremony came in. “Me laird, Miss Alayne is ready now.”

Darren heaved a sigh of relief. “Good. We’ll begin in a moment.” He gestured to the musicians to begin the wedding march. The guests – Daemon and his friend Ryan, as well as Darren’s advisor Bard, the council members, and his new war leader Adrian – shuffled into place on either side of the aisle. Darren had specifically asked for there to be equal members on the bride’s side and his own, to make it a little less uncomfortable for Alayne.

The music began, and Darren turned to face the doors as they swung open to reveal his bride. It took eve-rything he had not to groan, or swear, as she stepped into view.

Alayne was beautiful, with her chestnut hair and green eyes, and she’d taken care with her appearance. She’d also dressed in a dark, plain dress, understated jewelry, and a dark shawl draped over her head as a ‘veil’. The outfit was one more suited to lighting a funeral pyre than to becoming a wife. Her whole as-pect was one of mourning, rather than celebration, and the implication was clear.

He’d known she was likely to be unhappy to be ordered to wed him, but he hadn’t realized she would go so far to demonstrate her displeasure. His stomach knotted with tension, as he forced a pleasant expres-sion onto his face – as pleasant as he could manage, given his mood and the tracing of tattoos that he’d used to hide the scars on his body. He knew he looked fierce and warlike at the best of times, but he did his best to present a welcoming face to his bride.

She stopped at his side, and he offered her his arm as courtesy. She ignored it. Darren sighed again, then shifted so that he was offering her his hand instead. “Ye need tae take me hand. ‘Tis part o’ the ceremo-ny.”

Alayne gave him a look that suggested she’d rather stick her hand in a midden heap, but she did reach out and lay the very tips of her fingers on his hand. Darren took a deep breath, and reminded himself that Alayne had every reason to be unhappy. He could bear with it, even if her actions made him angry at the deliberate and very public snubbing.

The priest stepped forward to speak the opening lines. “Who comes this day to be joined in holy matri-mony?”

“I, Alayne Ranald, sister tae Laird Ranald, come this day tae be wed tae this… man.” Her voice was strong and clear, but she made no effort to hide her dislike of him.

Darren cleared his throat, and spoke his own words. “I, Darren MacLean, Laird o’ Clan MacLean, come this day tae be wed tae the Lady Alayne.” He kept his voice even and his tone courteous, mindful of the things Daemon and Lyla had said to him earlier.

The priest intoned a short blessing. Then gave a speech on the sanctity of marriage and the importance of coming into wedlock with the proper mindset. Darren fought to keep a scowl off his face. He’d told the priest it was an arranged marriage, planned solely to form an alliance and end the fighting between their clans. Did the man really think either one of them wanted to be here, let alone feel a deep sense of ‘loving commitment to a lifelong partnership’?

Finally, they got to the wedding vows. “Dae ye, Darren MacLean, take this woman tae be yer wife, tae have and tae hold, tae care fer and tae guard, in wealth and poverty, sickness and health, troubles and joy, fer as long as ye both shall live?”

He didn’t want to. Nonetheless, Darren forced himself to speak the words. “I dae”

“Ye pledge yer troth tae her, and promise tae take nae other intae yer bed or yer heart?”

“I dae.” That at least was easier to promise – he knew his own honor would insist on faithfulness to his new wife, no matter how difficult she made his life.

The priest turned to Alayne. “Dae ye, Alayne Ranald, take this man tae be yer husband, tae have and tae hold, tae care fer and tae stand beside, in wealth and poverty, sickness and health, troubles and joy, fer as long as ye both shall live?”

Silence greeted the question. Darren turned his head to look at Alayne, and found her standing with her lips pressed tightly closed in silent refusal.

Whispers spread throughout the room. The priest looked uncomfortable as he looked imploringly be-tween the two of them. “Lady Alayne?”

She remained silent. Darren clenched his teeth and nudged her leg with the toe of his boot. Alayne turned to give him a look that, if looks could kill, would have slain him on the spot. Darren stared back, refusing to stand down. The vows were part of the ceremony – a vital part without which the whole arrangement could be declared null and void.

“Lady Alayne… yer vow?”

Another piercing glare, and then she finally turned to the priest. “I suppose I dae.” The words were be-grudging, but at least they weren’t a refusal.

“Dae ye pledge yer troth tae him, and promise tae take nae other intae yer bed or yer heart?”

Silence again, and Darren prodded her with his boot a little more forcefully. Alayne’s lip curled in a brief sneer before she deliberately smoothed her expression over into one of disdainful indifference. “Aye, since I suppose I must, or we’ll nae ever leave here.”

The priest was wise enough to leave it at that. He offered up another blessing, and a brief discourse on the expectations of marriage – as if they didn’t know what was expected of them – then announced. “By the power vested in me, I dae pronounce ye husband and wife. Ye may kiss yer bride.”

Darren wasn’t expecting to be met with any enthusiasm, but he wasn’t expecting Alayne to jerk back as if he’d tried to slap her. Her eyes blazed fury at him. “Dinnae even try. I’ll nae have ye kissing me.”

Darren felt his face burn with mortification as another wave of whispers, and not a few poorly muffled chuckles, went through the room. He was half tempted to let her have her way, but the kiss was meant to seal the bond. It was another part of the ceremony that couldn’t be ignored.

He stepped close, and caught her arm when she tried to back away. He lowered his voice to a deep rum-ble, audible only to the two of them. “I dinnae demand a proper kiss, but ‘tis part o’ the wedding tae have one, as a sealing o’ the vows. Make it as chaste as ye like, but I will be kissing ye.”

“Is me wish tae count fer naething?”

“Yer wish counts well enough, but I’ll nae yield on this.” He couldn’t afford to. Bad enough that she’d made it plain there was no love lost between them, and humiliated him in front of his clan. He couldn’t have her leaving any loophole to say the marriage was invalid. Especially not in a situation where she might be able to give him the blame, and thereby force him to incur the king’s wrath.

She glared at him, and Darren stared back, determined to keep his word. Finally, she tossed her head. “Very well. Ye may kiss me on the cheek, if ye must.” She turned her head and presented her left cheek to him.

He was tempted to grab her chin and turn her back to face him, so he could insist on a proper kiss. He restrained himself. He’d never forced his attentions, or physical intimacy, on a woman, and he wasn’t go-ing to start now, even if she was his wife.

He bent and kissed her gently but firmly on the cheek, then stepped back to give her some space. He wasn’t at all surprised when she gave him a venomous look and swiped a hand across her cheek in ap-parent disgust.

The priest once again proved his wisdom and hastened the dismissal. “I give ye the Laird and Lady Mac-Lean!”

Customarily, Darren would have offered her his arm or his hand to lead her from the room to the Great Hall for the wedding feast. Given her reactions, he thought it better to choose a different course of action. He bowed to Alayne. “Will ye join me at the door fer greetings, me lady?”

She gave him a single, sullen nod and walked beside him to the door, then stood at his right. Darren took a deep breath as the guests lined up to greet and congratulate them. The council members were first, the Elders and then the younger members of the council. Then came his friends and family.

Daemon and Lyla were last in line, behind Adrian. Darren knew she’d met both of them, and been Lyla’s caretaker during her brief captivity. Still, he introduced them dutifully. “Me lady, I present tae ye Laird Daemon MacMillan, and his wife, Lady Lyla MacMillan. Laird, Lady, allow me tae introduce ye tae me wife, the Lady Alayne MacLean.”

He didn’t miss the flash of ire in her face as he spoke her new name, and resigned himself to keeping a sharp watch on his cup during the feast. He didn’t think she would outright poison him, but there were plenty of things that, if slipped into a cup of mead, would make him uncomfortable for days.

Daemon and Lyla offered a courteous greeting and a softly spoken “Congratulations, me laird, me lady.” Then they exited to the Great Hall, and he was left with Alayne.

By custom, they would both attend the feast, while the married chamber, and more importantly, the mar-riage bed, were prepared for them. However, Darren wasn’t sure either of them could stomach eating to-gether. His gut felt tied into knots, and she looked as if she wanted to spit at him.

“Dae ye wish tae go tae the wedding feast, or dae ye wish tae retire? I ken this has been a difficult day fer ye, and I’ll respect either course o’ action. I can make yer excuses easily enough.”

Alayne gave him a contemptuous look, followed by a wicked smile. “Och, o’ course I’ll attend the feast. ‘Tis part of the marriage customs and ceremony, is it nae?”

“’Tis. And ye’re more than welcome, if that’s yer wish.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we enter?”

She refused his arm, but did consent to step into place beside him. Darren took a moment to steel himself for the likely ordeal of the meal, then strode through the door and down the short corridor to the Great Hall.

The room was filled with whispers, all of which stopped at their appearance, and Darren clenched his teeth again. No doubt all the talk was about how Alayne had made a token refusal of him not once, but thrice, at the altar.

Given his tenuous position already, the council was going to be insufferable for days, and he’d be weeks, if not years, repairing the damage to his reputation.

They made their way to the head table and their chairs. Darren pulled Alayne’s out for her. Alayne stepped in front of it, but didn’t sit. “I wish tae say something afore the feast begins. Am I permitted that?”

Darren suppressed a groan. He already knew that whatever she intended to say, it would mean nothing good for him. However, she was the bride, and it was the right of the wedding party to make speeches and toasts. He dipped his head in agreement, and moved to stand before his own chair.

Alayne looked out at the small assembly of guests. Silence fell. Darren braced himself, sure he was about to be embarrassed once again.

He wasn’t disappointed, as Alayne lifted her cup. “Gathered guests, we come taeday tae mark the end o’ a life – the end o’ me life, the freedom I’ve had and me peace o’ mind. We come tae see me clan bound over tae those who have already deprived it o’ two lairds. I stand here, with the man who was me braither’s sworn enemy, nae out o’ love, but out o’ duty tae me clan and the king. I stand here, kenning I am shack-led tae a husband I didnae choose, all fer the sake o’ ending a feud that was also nae o’ me making.”

She lifted her cup higher. “Let us drink taenight, in remembrance o’ a life where choices werenae dictated by conquerors, but guided by kinfolk, and in remembrance o’ the freedom and dignity that a maiden may have, and wife may nae.”

She drank, and Darren felt his gut roil as a good number of the assembly followed her lead. Not Daemon or Lyla or Ryan, he was pleased to note, and not Adrian or Bard. But the fact that most of the council seemed to side with his new wife meant more headaches for him.

He’d tried to put up with her antics, but enough was enough. Darren reached out and took the cup from her, then secured her arm in a firm grip, though he was careful not to exert bruising force. “Come speak with me a moment, wife.”

He didn’t give her a choice as he all but dragged her back to the nearest secluded alcove. He would have taken her from the hall entirely, but didn’t trust her not to pretend that he’d hurt her if they were out of sight for an extended period of time.

Once they were far enough away to not be overheard, Darren released her. Alayne’s expression was full of rage, but Darren gave her no chance to vent it. She’d had far too many such chances already. It was his turn to vent some frustration. “What dae ye think ye’re doing?”

The direct question at least gave her pause. “What dae ye mean?”

“The way ye’re acting. I ken ye despise me. A blind man on the other side o’ the Highlands could tell that much. But what dae ye mean by continually shoving it in me face, and insulting me? Like it or nae, and I ken very well which ye feel, we’re married now. The clans and the king will expect us tae make a decent showing o’ it, and ye ken that as well as I.”

“And what am I tae make o’ that, if ye think I’m lacking thus far?” Her eyes sparkled with anger, her chin up in defiance.

“Courtesy. The courtesy due a husband from his wife. I’ve nae asked fer much, but casual contact and a kiss or two is expected, and if I’m tae be married, then I’ll have that much from me wife at least.” Darren scowled at her.

Alayne’s eyes narrowed, her body tensing in clear outrage. “Ye call that courtesy due a husband? Kisses and embraces and holding hands? And why should I be giving ye any o’ it, when ye’ve so much already, me laird.” She spat the words like a curse. “After all, ye’ve kith and kin tae support ye through a disap-pointing marriage, and tae coddle yer pride if ‘tis bruised. I’ve nae one, nae friend nor family member – nae faither, maither, sister or brother. And two o’ those can be laid directly at yer feet, fer ‘tis yer fault me faither lies buried and me brother in gaol.”

Her words were sharp as knives, and nearly as cutting. Darren winced as a stab of guilt passed through him. She was speaking the truth, but even so, he couldn’t simply let her use that to excuse her continual insults and mockery. “Yer braither and faither attacked me and declared feud on me clan. I didnae have much choice. And yer faither would as soon have killed ye as me and mine, the day me brother dis-patched him.”

“Mayhap. We’ll never ken. But whatever me faither was, whatever kind o’ man he was, he was still me faither, and me kin. Why should I forgive the man who had him killed?”

Darren bit the inside of his cheek to avoid speaking words he knew he’d later regret. “I told ye, I didnae ask fer forgiveness. Only courtesy, and the respect due a husband.”

“Ye’ll get both when I think they’re merited.” Alayne tossed her head. “And as fer yer ideas o’ kissing, or anything more o’ me ‘wifely duties’, I tell ye this now: Ye’ll take them by force, or have naething from me at all, fer I’ll nae kiss nor bed me faither’s killer and me braither’s gaoler.”

Before he could find a response, she whirled around and stalked back to the table. Darren followed, a massive headache forming behind his eyes and around to the back of his skull as he did.

He understood Alayne’s position, of course. He wasn’t exactly enthralled with the idea of bedding her, and he certainly wasn’t planning on forcing his attentions on her. But she didn’t have to be so sharp about it.

Adrian stood as he approached, the pale hue of his skin and the slightly forced smile on his face a clear indicator that the gossip had been going strong – and it was entirely possible that a servant would have heard them speaking, which would have fueled even more talk. The war leader lifted his cup. “A toast tae Laird MacLean, who is generous enough tae take someone like me intae his clan and his home. May his marriage be prosperous and peaceful.”

Darren snorted into his cup, and Alayne gave hers a look that suggested someone had switched her wine for horse piss. Adrian might wish him a prosperous and peaceful marriage, but Darren was fairly certain it was a futile wish.

A guard at the door interrupted his thoughts, as servants began to bring out the meal. He started to rise, but Bard, his chief steward and advisor, waved him back and went to answer it. He came back moments later with a sealed missive and a worried expression. “Me laird, I believe ye’ll want tae read this immedi-ately.”

Darren took it, and suffered an intense urge to bang his head on the table when he saw the royal seal on the parchment. He restrained himself, and broke the seal open.

Twenty seconds later, he was biting his lip to avoid cursing and scandalizing his guests with his own in-temperate display.

The message had clearly been delayed by the weather, but that made it no less ominous. Bard leaned over from his chair. “Ill news?”

“The king is sending a man, a royal messenger, tae verify the wedding has taken place. Nae just taken place, but been consummated. We’re required tae provide proof – the sheets from our marriage bed, tae be precise.”

Bard gave him a sympathetic look as Darren folded the message and stuffed it into his sash.

They both knew the king required evidence of the ‘claiming’ of Alayne’s maidenhead as proof. The blood shed by a virgin on her wedding night.

Darren knew, as surely as he knew the sun rose in the east, that any attempt to secure such proof would leave his blood on the sheets, not Alayne’s.

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