Prologue

Scotland, October 1884

“Ye must leave this place. Go…and never look back.”

As Rose Fleming cradled her brother’s limp body at the river’s edge, her aunt’s desperate words sliced through her like a rusty knife. She pressed a hand to his cheek, praying he’d stir, desperate for some small sign he still breathed. Still lived.

Breathe, Angus. You must not give up.

Bitter tears seared her eyes. She brushed a crimson-soaked lock of hair from her brother’s brow. “Angus, please…stay with me.”

Huge raindrops pelted her face like icy pebbles against her skin, mixing with the blood trickling from a cut near her left temple. Rose’s attention jerked toward an eerie creak as lightning sizzled behind her. A wheel on their wrecked carriage spun as if by its own volition. A sudden gust, and the wheel picked up speed, rotating wildly on its broken axle as a mournful sound whipped through the trees.

Her brother had been driving the carriage when they’d departed Fleming House. At first, she’d joined Angus on the bench, engaging him in bland conversation intended to distract from the miserable truth—they were leaving their home for the last time. As the sky turned a forbidding gray and the first cold drops of rain fell, he’d slowed to a stop and insisted Rose enter the coach. Soon after, traveling at a breakneck pace, they’d hit a deep rut in the road.

The sharp crack of the axle and the terror in her aunt’s screams would be forever etched in Rose’s mind. As the coach careened on its side toward the bank of the river, another jolt tossed her about like a rag doll. Her head struck something hard. Something unyielding.

Everything went black.

She’d awakened to Aunt Helen’s imploring voice and the feel of her aunt’s fingertips against her forehead.

The carriage had landed with its door against the ground, so she’d pulled her bruised body through the opposite window and helped Aunt Helen from the coach. She’d spotted Angus then. He’d been thrown from the bench, landing against a tree stump.

Now, she traced the single wound over his right temple with her fingertips. The laceration was scarcely bleeding. Reaching up, she unfastened her cloak and fashioned a pillow for his head with the swath of wool. Swiping mingled rain and blood and tears from her cheek, she gazed down at him, denying the truth. Her strapping, courageous brother with his bright smile and quick wit could not be lying there so still.

So lifeless.

He could not be dead.

This. Can. Not. Be.

“There’s nothin’ to be done for Angus now.” Aunt Helen’s voice was raw with grief. Tenderly, she stroked Rose’s rain-matted hair. “But ye must save yourself.”

Rose met her aunt’s tear-filled eyes. “I will not leave him.”

“There is no choice. I could not protect ye when yer da was alive. But now…now I know what must be done.”

One of the horses, that had faithfully pulled the family carriage for so many years, gave a plaintive whinny. Even after their halters had broken, freeing them from the carriage, the geldings had not bolted. Rather, they paced restlessly, observing the scene with sad eyes that seemed to understand and share their sorrow.

Her aunt took Rose’s hand in hers. “Angus tried to save ye. And now, he’s given me the means to protect ye.”

Rose gave her head an anguished shake. “I don’t understand.”

“Take Galahad. Ye’ve always delighted in showing everyone how ye could ride the wildest beast without benefit of a saddle. This gentle creature should prove no challenge. I’ll tell everyone the horse was spooked and ran off after the carriage wrecked.”

She met her aunt’s imploring gaze. “Then we shall both go. We’ll make it to London…and MacAllister.”

Aunt Helen shook her head as she brushed rain off her spectacles. “If you bring him into this, ye’ll put his life in danger.”

“He will know what to do. Angus had faith in him.”

“MacAllister Campbell is scarcely more than a lad. He’s not equipped to deal with the likes of a man like Merrick, even if he wanted to—and ye’ve no guarantee of that.”

Doubt sliced through her heart. Months earlier, MacAllister had left Scotland to seek his fortune. He’d made her no promises. He’d never misled her about his intentions.

Still, she had faith he would not abandon her. After all, he had loved her. At least for a little while.

“MacAllister will help me.” In her heart, she believed that.

“Cyril Merrick will kill anyone who stands in his way. Do ye want Campbell’s blood on yer hands?”

Dear God. The truth of her aunt’s words knifed through her. She could not put MacAllister’s life at risk.

Rose gulped against a wave of emotion. “Then what now—what would you have me do?”

“My sweet girl, ye’ve been the brightest joy in my life. But now, ye must go from this place.”

Rose blinked against scalding tears. “I will not leave you.”

“There is no choice.”

“But Merrick won’t stop. He will chase me to the ends of the earth.”

“Unless he believes there is no point—unless he believes…ye’re dead.”

“Dead?” The thought of never again seeing those she loved and the land she adored was a dagger to the belly.

“I have a friend—I trust her with my life, and with yers.” Her aunt pressed a small leather purse into her hand. “Everything you need to find her is in this bag. She will give ye shelter until ye can leave the country.”

Rose shuddered at the burst of pain. “Please do not ask that of me.”

“With her dying breath, your mother trusted me to protect you. And now, I will do whatever it takes.”

In the distance, the steady rumble of hoofbeats drifted to her ears. A rescue party? Or had Merrick’s men tracked them down?

“They’re coming. It won’t be long now,” Aunt Helen murmured. Turning back to Angus’s still body, she scooped up Rose’s cloak from beneath his head, rushed to the bank of the river, and flung the garment into the rushing water. As the brisk current swept it away, her aunt drew her close and kissed her cheek.

“Go now, Rosie. Do not look back.”