Highlander Mine. Juliette Miller

      CHAPTER ONE

      THE DANGER OF the journey ahead was equal to the perils we had left behind, this I knew. My knowledge of the Highlands was practically nonexistent. I might as well have been embarking on an escapade to the jungles of Africa, or captaining my own pirate ship to the newly discovered Americas.

      Yet I was glad to be free of stuffy, seedy Edinburgh. I had never been past its borders and I was sure we had entered another world entirely, one that was as free as it was possible to be. As we hitched rides farther and farther up into the rolling peaks of the high country, it seemed impossible that such a place could harbor threats of any kind, so peaceful and serene its landscape appeared. We could hide ourselves in these picturesque hills and protected valleys, I was sure. No more murderous ganglords to contend with. No cardsharks or knife fights. No bawdy dens full of loose women and predatory men. Just wide-open countryside, glistening expanses of sparkling, sun-shimmered water and an endless azure sky.

      Of course, there were dangers. I was a young woman traveling alone, after all, aside from my small nephew, who fancied himself a mighty warrior but was in fact a nine-year-old waif with a toy wooden sword that he clutched even now, in his sleep, as we rode along on the back of a hay wagon. Its driver was unaware of our quiet presence—we had become surprisingly adept at keeping ourselves hidden, with all the practice we’d had over days past. As soon as the wagon slowed, we’d jump and take our chances with the next mode of transport.

      I wasn’t sure of our exact destination. The Highlands had seemed a good place to hide from our pursuers. Indeed it was a perfect choice. Was there a more expansive place on earth? I doubted as much, though I’d only read books on the subject of travel. I had spent my entire life cooped up in two city residences only streets apart. And, while the social divide of my homes’ geography might as well have seen oceans between them, this was a detail that hardly mattered now. My past was well and truly behind me.

      At least for now.

      We’d been on the road for five days, climbing ever higher into the undulating green mountains. We’d seen very few people. Farmers, mostly. A lone fisherman. Shepherds and goatherds, who seemed as mild and docile as the flocks they tended.

      Aye, this world was new to me, but I wasn’t that naive. Men were men, after all, and I knew of their tendencies far too well. Everyone had heard of the Highlands clans and their armies, their fearsome warriors and their bloody battles. Watching the glowing orb of the yellow sun hover ever lower over the horizon, I wondered now if those stories were merely folklore. I’d seen no sign of war or aggression in these lovely heather-peppered hills. Only honest endeavor and peaceful coexistence.

      It might have been a sixth sense or the slide of a silver-edged cloud over the low-hanging sun, but some instinctive flutter warned me that safety was only a temporary illusion. Despite this, I felt wary but not afraid. Even sword-wielding warriors were preferable to the threats we’d left behind. At least skilled soldiers loyal to their cause and their kin might have some sense of honor and integrity, not like the lawless, malevolent beast who would be scouring Edinburgh at this very moment to find our trail.

      I only wished we could travel faster. I would go to the very ends of the earth to hide and protect Hamish. As I looked around at the countryside, it occurred to me that we might have actually reached a place where that might be possible.

      The wagon driver slowed his horses to a walk. I peered around the back of the wagon to see we were approaching a large tavern. We’d reached some oasis of community within this vast green desert of solitude.

      I shook my nephew. “Hamish,” I whispered. “Wake up.”

      Hamish was instantly alert, his dark eyes bright, his sword held in his small fist. He understood the danger, even if he didn’t grasp the severity of our current predicament. It helped that his lifelong dream was to travel to the Highlands, a desire that seemed almost innate. He’d yearned for an adventure for as long as I could recall.

      And now, despite the gravity of our situation, I almost smiled at his sparked excitement. He loved the open majesty of this place, so different from the enclosed, squalid streets of the city. “You’ve taken ridiculously well to this life on the run,” I told him quietly.

      He perched at the edge of the wagon’s deck, his sandy brown hair tousled and flecked with hay. He looked back at me, a smile on his beatific face. “So have you, Ami,” he whispered, pronouncing the address with all the flair of its French meaning: friend. He was the only person who used this shortened form of my full name, Amelia. Once, a short lifetime ago, I had attended one of the most exclusive schools in Edinburgh. Hamish had never had such a privilege. So I’d taken it upon myself to teach him everything I knew. It was one of the few things I had to be proud of: my nephew, at the age of nine, could read, write, do sums and speak basic French better than many of the fully grown men who frequented my family’s establishment. I was slightly less proud of Hamish’s uncanny knack not only for counting cards but also for dealing them. I’m only taking after you, Ami, he’d said to me. You’re the best dealer in Edinburgh. Whether or not it was an accurate accusation was no longer relevant. I’d only done what I needed to do to survive, as I would again, in