Page 1 of Ruining a Highland Healer
BONUS PROLOGUE
MacNeacail Keep, Isle of Skye, 1691
The fire crackled behind the grate, throwing restless shadows across the stone floor of her father's study. The smell of smoke hung heavy in the air—not only from the fireplace, but from her father’s clay pipe that was perpetually lit in his hand—but it was the silence between them that bit colder than the draft seeping into the room from under the door.
Valora MacNeacail stood tall before her father’s desk, chin lifted, fists clenched at her sides. Across from her, Laird William MacNeacail watched her with the flinty patience of a man who’ had long since stopped seeing his daughter as anything but a political tool.
“Ye’ll attend,” he said, voice measured, like he was discussing grain shipments or the winter feasts. “An’ ye’ll dae so with a smile.”
“Nay,” Valora answered, steady but quiet. “I willnae.”
There was no question in her mind that her father’s plan would only bring her immeasurable pain. Even though women like her, who were born in noble families, rarely married for love, what her father proposed was far from the ordinary.
“This is what everyone daes,” her father said with a shrug. “How else will ye find a husband?”
“Balls are fer courtships tae begin,” Valora pointed out. “What ye’re suggesting’ daesnae sound like that tae me.”
“Because ye’ll have tae secure an alliance that very same night?”
There was a mocking tone to her father’s voice; a scoff. It was the same tone he used every time he wanted to paint her as unreasonable. It was the same tone he assumed whenever he wanted to make her doubt herself, and even now, even though she knew precisely what he was doing, it still worked to unnerve her.
Is this normal? Is this how findin’ a husband works?
No, it couldn’t be. Valora was no fool, nor was she that clueless about such matters. Her father was simply trying to make her think so, but this time, she wouldn’t fall for it.
“Aye,” she said. “I wish tae be courted, at the very least. So, I willnae go.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed. “Dae ye fancy ye have a choice?”
Anger swelled inside her, flooding her chest with a familiar ache. Not for the first time, Valora wished that she was the daughter of a different man—commoner or noble, it didn’t matter. She only wished that she could have known the love of a father instead of having to face such coldness and cruelty. But the man before her was her father, and nothing could change that. She was the one who had to take care of herself.
“I fancy I have a spine,” she said, stepping forward, her soles firm against the stone floor. “I willnae parade meself afore a hall o’ strangers like some prize mare at market. Nae fer ye an’ nae fer anyone.”
“This isnae about pride,” her father snapped. “It’s about survival. The MacNeacail name is fading in strength while our neighbors grow teeth. The Frasers build ships. The MacDonalds arm their sons. And the Gunns,” he scoffed. “They’ve begun courtin’ alliances further south.”
Valora’s jaw tensed. “So ye will simply hand me over tae the man who gives ye the most power?”
“I’ll wed ye where it makes sense,” he said flatly. “Tae a man who can give this clan protection. Or lands. Or peace. If that offends yer sensibilities, best leave them behind with the embroidery ye never finished.”
Valora flinched. Not at the insult, which was mild by his standards, but at the truth beneath it. Her freedom was alwaysconditional. Her will, unimportant next to his. And now, it seemed, her future would be bartered as though it had never been her own.
Valora turned her back to him, looking out the narrow window slit toward the gray horizon where sea met sky. The Isle of Skye was wind-lashed and wild, but it had always been hers.
“I willnae go,” she said again, lower this time.
Behind her, she heard the creak of his chair as he rose, then the footsteps that followed as he approached. He never got close, though. Her father always kept his distance, whether he was being reasonable or threatening.
“Nay?” His voice was quieter now, and more dangerous for it. “Then perhaps Althea will.”
Valora froze.
Of course, that would be the one thing her father would rely on. Of course, he would resort to this when none of his other tricks or persuasion tactics worked, as he knew that Valora would do anything to protect her sister. She was too young, too innocent. She was too pure for a deal like this, and Valora feared she wouldn’t be able to handle the weight of it all, the grief that would come with being traded off for power to a man who could very well be cruel to her, too.
He continued, circling toward her, expression calm as if discussing the weather. “She’s younger, but that makes her more… yieldin’. Softer-spoken. She’s nae likely tae argue with every order given tae her by her dear husband, unlike ye.”
“Ye wouldnae dare,” said Valora, but it was weak. She believed he would; sheknewhe would.
“I would. An’ ye ken it.”
