Page 1 of His to Keep
CHAPTER 1
Eilidh—aged fifteen
No matter how hard I try, I just can’t wrap my head around the idea of my brother marrying a Drummond. For as long as anyone can remember, their family has been at war with ours. Their hatred for each other stretches back for centuries. According to legend, the feud began in 1316 when King Robert the Bruce confiscated lands from the Drummonds and gave them to my Cameron ancestors as a reward for loyal service. I’ve never found a reliable source to confirm that, but my dad has never been one to let the truth get in the way of a good story.
Tonight, we’re setting hostilities aside and coming together to formalize a marriage contract that will bind our families irrevocably. In the name of peace, my second oldest brother, Alexander, is being sacrificed on the matrimonial altar. I’m surprised Stewart Drummond agreed to the match with his only child, Cara. Many men would have considered it an insult that my dad didn’t offer up his firstborn son, Jamie. He’s not officially promised to anyone, but I suspect my brother refused to consider Cara because he has his heart set on another woman.
In our world, arranged marriages are the norm, and it’s important that both parties are of equal status. Some might see Alexander as less worthy because he’s not Dad’s heir. It’s bullshit, but these are the rules we live by. One day, it will be me whose life is bartered for more power and influence.
As we enter Blackfold House, the ancestral home of the Drummonds, the first thing I notice is a stag’s head mounted on the wall above the coat rack. Its mournful eyes make me shudder. How can an inanimate object look so sad?
I’m still staring at the once magnificent creature when Jason Henry, the Drummonds’ chief enforcer, strides along the corridor toward us. His arms are outstretched like he’s planning to hug someone and he’s grinning like a self-satisfied hyena.
“Welcome to Blackfold!” His greeting is overly enthusiastic. He’s spent the last decade maiming and killing our men on Drummond’s behalf while my dad and brothers have done the same to his soldiers. Forced civility would be believable. Warmth is not.
“Thanks,” Dad says drily as Jason drops his arms to his sides. “We’re glad to be here.”
“And we’re glad you all came. Please, follow me. Everyone is waiting.”
Jason turns and walks off along a narrow corridor. It’s gloomier than our home at Dunblair Castle. There’s little light coming from the lamps overhead. With dark wood panels lining the walls and a deep green carpet on the floor, it’s oppressive. If I was claustrophobic, I’d be in full-blown panic by now.
“I don’t like this,” I mutter. “I want to go home.”
Jamie ruffles my hair as if my trepidation is adorable. “Don’t worry so much, pipsqueak. We’re here to bury the hatchet.”
I raise an eyebrow. “In whose back?”
Jamie laughs and my sister Erin turns to shush us as we enter the dining hall. If I thought the corridor was oppressive, I don’t have words for this place. It’s an enormous room, but the dark green walls, ceiling, carpet, and curtains make it feel much more enclosed. There’s a black metal chandelier on the ceiling and a fireplace large enough to spit roast an elephant at the far end. High-backed wooden chairs provide seating for about thirty people. There must be almost that many men standing around the room.
It’s strange that my mother, sisters, and I are the only women here. Drummond’s third wife has been famously bedridden for most of their marriage, so I didn’t think we’d see her tonight. I’d have expected some of Drummond’s men to have brought a female companion, though. This is meant to be a family occasion, after all. As I scan the room, I realize the bride-to-be isn’t present either. That makes me uneasy and a glance at Alexander tells me he doesn’t like it either.
As Dad and Stewart Drummond greet each other with a handshake, the interaction appears friendly, but neither man’s smile is genuine. Their facial muscles are pulled tight, and their eyes don’t reflect an ounce of warmth. Though they’re both heavyweights in the Scottish underworld, the two men are vastly different. Younger than Drummond by twenty years, Dad is a head taller and a lot more muscular. His thick brown hair contrasts with our host’s encroaching baldness.
Their personalities couldn’t be more different either. Even-tempered, my dad is known for fairness, even when dealing withtraitors. Drummond, on the other hand, has a reputation for cruelty. He doesn’t spare his own family from his sadistic streak, if rumors are to be believed. I can’t believe we’re getting into bed with a man like him. If I had a say, I’d refuse any part of this peace deal.
“Everyone please be seated,” Jason Henry calls out over the hubbub of conversation as if he, and not his boss, is the host.
There’s no assigned seating so there’s an undignified scramble to find a place at the table. Drummond’s men make asses of themselves, trying to get a spot close to their boss. I’ll bet he loves that.
My parents and Alexander end up together, close to where Drummond occupies the position of power at the head of the table. Lorna and Erin find seats across from them while Jamie and I find ourselves at the far end, separated from our family and from each other. It makes me uneasy, especially when I’m flanked by two of Drummond’s men. The one on the right is tall, thin and reeks of cigarette smoke. The man on my left is short, balding, and has scars running from the corners of his mouth toward his ears. A Glasgow smile, they call it. I wonder what he did to earn that punishment.
“Where’s your beautiful daughter?” Dad asks Drummond.
“She’ll join us later, when we sign the contract.” He offers no explanation for her absence.
Suspicion flickers across Alexander’s face. He leans over to whisper something to Dad and then gets up from his seat.
“Please excuse me, Stewart,” he addresses our host. “I brought Cara a gift and seem to have left it in the car.”
Alexander, Jamie, and I drove up to Blackfold together. I don’t recall him having a present for his bride-to-be. I suspect he knows something about this situation stinks. Perhaps he intends to find Cara and make sure she’s okay. I know my brother. If she’s unwilling to marry him, he won’t force her.
“You can fetch it later,” Drummond says.
“I’d rather get it now,” Alexander’s tone is firm, but he maintains a placid expression.
“Very well.” Drummond purses his lips in displeasure and motions for his enforcer, who’s sitting opposite me, to stand. “Jason, please show our guest the way.”
Alexander waves his hand dismissively, then softens the insult with a deferential tone. “Please don’t trouble yourself. I remember where to go.”
