Chapter 1

My parents loved to tell the story of my birth. Whether entertaining travelers to our castle or for fellow lords at banquets, the tale of my arrival into this world was humorous, easy fodder. At least, for my parents it was. After the dinner plates were cleared and everyone was well into their cups, my father would laugh and spear a sly eye down the head table, canvassing all of us children.

"See them, eh?" He'd say, looking across the eight of us with a glassy pride, "my brood. Fine stock, all of 'em!"

"Very nice, my lord." Someone would compliment from the crowd.

"All boys, all of 'em. Except the youngest, down there." Father would jerk his head toward where I sat. "My girl, my Eilean."

All eyes would shift to me and I would wish for magical powers so I could turn myself invisible. Or perhaps the gift of flight so I could soar out of the great hall and away from the humiliation. Only five or six-years-old, I was intelligent enough to know I was the butt of the joke. My face would burn with shame.

"The night she was born was such a shock, wasn't it?" Father would ask Mother, settling down into his chair. Buckling in for the story.

"Aye it was, my lord," Mother agreed with a smile. "A massive storm raged, and I believe it was a Gathering — so we had everyone from the Islands in our home."

"And you were drunk!" Father teased. Mother tried to shush him.

"The details are foggy," Mother said, deflecting her own embarrassment, "but when the midwife held up the creature and proclaimed it a girl I didn't know what to do with myself."

"The MacLeods don't have girls!" Father said, laughing. His voice would get louder, here, as if to add significance to the proclamation. "A thousand years we MacLeods have ruled Ellesmure Island and not a single daughter!"

"The midwife assured me that with such a fine collection of sons, his lordship would be happy to have a girl. 'Every man needs a little lady to dote on', she said. And, she was such a pretty baby, it was easy to love her." Mother said.

About this point in the story, I would feel myself going a little blank in my mind. I did not have to hear the rest, I had heard it so many times. So I would focus on whatever I could stare at the longest. A fork, the candlelight, the stitching on my gown.

"We didn't even know what to call her. We didn't have any names picked out — so unlikely were our chances for a girl." Father laughed.

"And the midwife had to tell us the correct title for the daughter of a Laird!" Mother shrieked, now caught up in the hilarity of my birth.

"Miss Eilean MacLeod, the first woman born of Stormway Castle since time began!" Father would exclaim, raising his glass to toast me. As if I was a blessing and not the object of mockery. "Whatever shall we do with her?"

"Marry her off, my lord!" The audience would always cry. "She must be a true token of luck!"

"Aye, well at least I do not have to parcel out my lands to her, eh? This MacLeod comes cheap!" Father said, drinking deeply from his cup as the crowd hooted around him.

I grimaced in return, doing my best to snuff out the cheers and the teasing. If I stared long enough at the fork or the flame or the stitching I couldn't hear them at all. Could barely see anything aside from upon which I fixed my attention. It was easier to retreat than feel.

~

Despite my distinction as the only MacLeod daughter born in over a millennia, I had a typical childhood. Lonelier, perhaps, than others. My brothers were significantly older than me and gave me a rather wide berth. I believe they found me dull, and on the rare occasion they let me join them in their fun, they complained that I was too slow or too stupid to be a suitable playmate. With my skirts and my ribbons, I was not free to run wild across castle grounds as they were.

The only attention Mother paid me was in regards to my outfits. She would order the latest fashions from the Mainland and ensure I was turned out only in the most elaborate styles. The collars and starched sleeves of my dresses were itchy and constricting. I was forever being scolded for pulling on the neck and cuffs of my outfits. Negligent in my schooling, Mother often suggested that life would teach a lady by-the-by, and so long as I was pleasant and had good manners, I would do well for myself. My brothers, she rationed, would need a firm hand as they were expected to run lands and titles.

Father was less wary of me and would let me watch him work while he toiled over account books in his office. I was often privy to conversations between financiers and renters on the estate — never understanding what I was watching, but not shooed out of the room, either. When meetings were scarce, Father would teach me my numbers and simple math. Though, I suspect the instruction was more to keep himself occupied than from any belief that it was information I might require across the course of my life.

When I was eight-years-old, Father's eldest and dearest friend, Lord Maxwell Leslie of the Fist of the Mainland, died. A letter arrived informing Father that the late Lord Leslie's son, Alexander, would be delivered to the MacLeods for his raising. It was thought the influence of an army full of boys would be beneficial to the newly orphaned and titled child. A ward of Laird MacLeod might grow into an intelligent and useful man. Father sent for the boy at once. I knew scant details about Alexander Leslie except that he was my age and of robust health.

The prospect of having someone my age to play with was exhilarating to me. As soon as I learned of Lord Leslie's existence I dreamed up all kinds of scenarios — we could have a treehouse, and I would have someone to talk to. Lord Leslie would not sneer at me or be mean like my brothers. He would be my friend. Sure, he was a boy, but everyone else in my life was, too. I created a paper chain and strung it around my rooms in order to count down the days until his arrival. After six months of waiting, Alexander Leslie, infant Lord of the Fist of the Mainland, would finally appear.

~

I tugged on my sleeves, wishing they were more forgiving in the elbows. The satin bodice was tight-fitting and pulled my shoulders back at an odd angle. Posture would be perfect, and if not, the construction of my garments would ensure it was so. I strained at the seams, crossing and uncrossing my arms to earn an inch of slack.

"Eilean, stop that at once, stand still!" Mother said, looking down the line at me with a stern glower.

I dropped my arms at once and schooled my face into a mask of calm. I looked out across the courtyard, noticing nothing. The morning disappeared into a haze of mental fog as I retreated into myself. We were all outside, awaiting Alexander Leslie. Father and Mother stood by the main door, us children in stair-step height beside them. Most of the household servants were waiting in the courtyard. It was a tense, brittle scene as we awaited the young Lord's carriage.

"I think it would be sad to be a Laird at eight," I remarked, looking toward my next-youngest brother, Robert. "Notwithstanding your parents are dead."

Five years my senior, Robert was thirteen and puffed up on his own significance. He looked down at me, annoyed. "What does it matter, as you will never be Larid of anything?"

"Neither will you, you're seventh in line to Stormway," I remarked.

Robert ignored me and smoothed his coat sleeves and then spent a fair amount of time straightening his waistcoat. He was flushed and jittery, sweat dampened the hair along his temples.

"Why are you so nervous?" I asked.

Robert stiffened, lifting his head proudly. "I suppose it will be up to me to teach Lord Leslie the way of things here at Stormway. We are the closest in age."

"I am the closest in age to him." I protested. "We are the same age."

"But you're a girl, what do you know about anything that goes on around here?" Robert sneered.

"As much as you know. If anything John, as the eldest, should be the one teaching Alexander what to do."

Robert sniffed and rolled his eyes, "Stop talking to me. You're annoying."

"I'm right and you know it," I taunted, sticking out my tongue. It was the wrong move, Mother saw me and scolded me sharply.

After a moment of quiet to smother my shame, I dared annoy Robert once again. "Is the Lord Leslie a powerful Lord?"

"His lands are larger than ours."

I considered this and tried to remember the map of the world that hung in Father's study. As Islanders, we were used to compact, small spaces spread across enormous distances. We owned more ocean than we did land. The Mainland was huge and dominated most of the page. It was intimidating, perhaps, to know that so much space could belong to only one person.

Where the map was fuzzy, however, another thought was not. Since receiving news of Alexander's imminent arrival, Mother and the other ladies of the castle had been in a state to make sure that I was as amiable and as well groomed as possible. Their hope was that I would grow into a suitable match for the young Lord. If I married him, one day I would have triple the land of my brothers.

"Perhaps you are jealous because Lord Leslie will like me best and then marry me. I will be Lady Leslie and outrank all of you in status and property." I said, smug. I looked up the line of my family, imagining leap-frogging from the end of the line to the head.

"Shut up," Robert hissed, shoving me. He pushed me hard enough that I teetered on the gravel.

"Eilean! Stop fidgeting!" Mother commanded.

Sighing, I squared myself on my feet. It was useless to correct Mother's interpretation of events. Besides, a carriage was finally coming up the lane and it wouldn't do to have his Lordship arrive mid-squabble.

"When I am Lady Leslie," I muttered to Robert, "I am throwing you in the dungeons."

"Shut up!" He said under his breath.

Smiling to myself, I watched the gilded carriage wheels as they flickered in defiance of the misty, overcast day. They were splattered with mud, an outrageous waste of craftsmanship. Still, the powder blue cab was pretty and looked like something out of the fairy tales my brother Walther liked to read from at night. Pulled by a team of gray horses that all had shimmering coats, first impressions of Lord Leslie's arrival were quite spectacular.

Coming to a stop before the crowd of family and servants, a coachman dismounted from the back of the carriage and made a great show out of pulling down the steps and opening the door. He helped his young charge out of the carriage and into the courtyard of Stormway Castle.

Alexander Leslie was a wide-eyed lad with golden curls and the heavy eyes of a boy now alone in the world. I thought he looked sad like he needed to play a game or go riding. Any time spent trying to cheer his spirits would have been a useful occupation. He lacked the bright-cheeked luster and zest for life that my brothers seemed to have in spades.

Looking up and down the long column of MacLeods, Alexander's eyes settled on mine. He smiled timidly.

I curtsied, "My Lord," I said, doing my best to remember my manners.

"Lord Leslie!" Father said, his voice robust and large, echoing through the open yard. "Welcome to Stormway! I hope you had easy travels."

Alexander simply bowed his head.

Father took a few steps toward the boy and clapped his enormous hands on the child's tiny shoulders. "While you are here, I hope you consider this your home and family."

"Yes, Lord MacLeod," the boy said. His voice was soft. A stark contrast to my father's. "But please, call me Alex."

His voice trembled and he looked on the verge of tears. To his credit, Father seemed to notice and pulled the boy into his side in a rough half embrace.

"Alex, of course," Father said with a nod. "We are all very pleased to meet you. You may call me Malcolm if you wish."

Alex nodded. He stood awkwardly, hovering between where he had gotten out of the carriage and what lay beyond — unsure if he would take another step or clamber back into the carriage and demand to be taken home.

I felt wretched for him, knowing all too well what it felt like to be distinct and alone in the face of my imposing family.

"Do you like books?" I asked, blurting out the first thing that came to my mind. It was breaking every rule of etiquette to speak to him directly and before any of my brothers had. I was breaking rank, but desperate to make Alex feel at ease and welcome.

"I do," Alex answered with a smile.

I walked up to him, hesitating to see if my mother would shout at me. She did not.

"Then come," I said, offering him my hand, "I will show you to the library and you can pick out a book to read if you want. If you're not too tired we can see what Cook is up to. We heard she is making cinnamon buns in honor of your arrival. Maybe we can sneak one!"

I felt the eyes of my entire family on my back, their gaze felt heavy on my shoulders.

"That sounds nice," Alex said, smiling. "Cinnamon buns are my favorite. Did someone tell the cook?"

Shrugging, I again reached out my hand. "I don't know, but maybe it is a sign of good luck."

Alex slipped his hand into mine, allowing me to pull him away from the carriage and into the castle.

We were inseparable after that.