Vow to a Tyrant: An Enemies-to-Lovers

Fantasy Romance (Awakened Curses

Book 2) Hayley Faiman
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 Vow to a Tyrant
A BEAUTY AND THE BEAST RETELLING

AN AWAKENED CURSES NOVEL

BOOK TWO
HAYLEY FAIMAN
HAYLEY FAIMAN BOOKS, LLC
 Contents

Also by Hayley Faiman

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Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Sneak Peak
Vow to a Rogue
Prologue

Free Story
About the Author
Also by Hayley Faiman
Vow to a Tyrant

Copyright © 2023 by Hayley Faiman

All rights reserved.
Cover Designer: Cormar Covers. Yoly Cortez
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Visit my website at: http://hayleyfaiman.com
Created with Vellum
Also by Hayley Faiman

Men of Baseball Series—

Pitching for Amalie
Catching Maggie
Forced Play for Libby
Sweet Spot for Victoria

Russian Bratva Series —

Owned by the Badman
Seducing the Badman
Dancing for the Badman
Living for the Badman
Tempting the Badman
Protected by the Badman
Forever my Badman
Betrothed to the Badman
Chosen by the Badman
Bought by the Badman
Collared by the Badman

Notorious Devils MC —
Rough & Rowdy
Rough & Raw
Rough & Rugged
Rough & Ruthless
Rough & Ready
Rough & Rich
Rough & Real

Cash Bar Series —

Laced with Fear
Chased with Strength
Flamed with Courage
Blended with Pain
Twisted with Chaos
Mixed with trouble

SAVAGE BEAST MC —
 UnScrew Me
UnBreak Me
UnChain Me
UnLeash Me
UnTouch Me
UnHinge Me
UnWreck Me
UnCage Me

Unfit Hero Series —

CONVICT
HERO
FRAUD
KILLER
COWBOY

Zanetti Famiglia Series —

Becoming the Boss
Becoming his Mistress
Becoming his Possession
Becoming the Street Boss
Becoming the Hitman
Becoming his Wife
Becoming her Salvation

Prophecy Sisters Series —

Bride of the Traitor
Bride of the Sea
Bride of the Frontier
Bride of the Emperor

Astor Family Series —

Hypocritically Yours
Egotistically Yours
Matrimonially Yours
Occasionally Yours

Nasty Bastards MC —
Ruin My Life
Tame My Life
Start My Life
Dance into My Life
 Shake Up My Life
Repair My Life
Sweeten My Life
Wrap Up My Life

Underworld Sinners—
Stolen by the Sinner
Bound to the Sinner
Caught by the Sinner
F*cked by the Sinner
Stripped by the Sinner
Rejecting the Sinner
Loved by the Sinner

Devil’s Hellions MC —
Dirty Perfect Storm
Cocky Perfect Storm
Taboo Perfect Storm

Awakened Curses —
Vow to a King
Vow to a Tyrant
Vow to a Rogue

Offspring Legends—
Between Flaming Stars
Beautiful Unwanted Wildflower

Esquire Black Duet Series –

DISCOVERY
APPEAL

Forbidden Love Series —

Personal Foul
Kinetic Energy

Standalone Titles
Royally Relinquished: A Modern Day Fairy Tale
 Stay Connected

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I think you ask me what family means, I would say it’s unconditional love.
— LIU YIFEI
 Prologue

“I CANNOT ,” SHE SAYS AS SHE STARES THROUGH GLASSY EYES .

The raven-colored castle looms in the distance. She wishes not to live there, but the choices she
has are slim. In fact, they are so slim that there are no other choices.
She is the one.
Aurla was chosen for this.
From birth.
Aurla should feel the sensation of being blessed to be in this position, but judging by the
expression of pure agony on her face, she feels anything except that emotion. Her mouth opens, then
promptly closes. This happens three more times before she finally speaks, the words coming out
slowly.
“I wish not to marry the beast,” she whispers.
“The man is handsome,” the witch whispers, knowing the truth.
Aurla shakes her head back and forth, tears spilling from her dark eyes as her words roll out in a
panicked rush. “Handsome on the outside, but black as coal on the inside. I have seen him. I have
been in a room with him. He terrifies me. I will not marry him.”
Ferelith watches her for a long moment, trying to decide just what she should do. The options are
not many. Closing her eyes, she reaches into Aurla’s mind, sifting through all her memories of the man
she refers to as the beast.
Ferelith knows who he is, has known him her entire life, but has not been around him recently. He
is very handsome on the outside, Aurla is correct, but also, his eyes appear to be dead. Not just
lifeless because of a bad past, of which he has, but dead as if he has no soul behind them at all.
There is reason behind this, but Ferelith did not realize that it had gotten this bad. A shiver of fear
slides down her back as she stares into the memory of those orbs.
Ferelith opens her eyes and takes in the young girl in front of her again. Studying her face, truly
seeing her for possibly the first time. She cannot be any older than eighteen summers.
However, it is clear her mind is very strong, and she will do anything to escape this marriage.
Escape this future. She will go to any lengths, and some cannot be undone, even by a witch of her
status.
“I must warn you that if I am to make it so that you disappear, I cannot always control where you
are sent. The world you are spirited to may be a fate worse than this one,” she warns.
Ferelith has only spirited two people to another world in her life, and she is unsure it even was
successful, as she never heard from them again. It is not something that is done often, and it is
frowned upon. It can interrupt the world in ways that are unimaginable.
 Aurla seems to care not about such warnings. Again, a very clear indication that she is indeed
desperate. It is not surprising—many young girls have brought their plights. Understandable, though
not always fixable.
“It also means that someone would need to replace you here. It matters to you not that another girl
must wed the beast? That you would send another to endure this fate?”
Aurla shakes her head, a tear rolling down her cheek with her next words. “I am selfish. This I
know. No life at all is better than one with him. I am regretful that another must suffer my fate, but
perhaps she will be stronger and is meant to take my place anyway?”
Ferelith sucks in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. The girl is young. However, she does have
some reasoning. At least there is logic to what she is about to do, even if it is heavily frowned upon
and could possibly land her in the dungeon for the unforeseeable future.
This makes her a traitor not only to her own people, but to the new kingdom that is to be hers as
well.
“I hope you find what you search for, dear child,” Ferelith whispers, right before she closes her
eyes and begins the chant.
The chant that will completely change the course of two worlds.
This world will now forever be altered in one way or another, as will the one that Aurla is being
propelled off to, as Ferelith has manipulated it to happen again.
There is now a wrinkle that can never be undone.
She just hopes that she has not made anything too detrimental.
For the girl.
For the king.
For the world.
 Chapter One

LACHLAN

MY EYES SCAN THE ROOM. S OON , IT WILL BE FILLED WITH WEDDING GUESTS . I KNOW SOME OF THEM.
Most I care not about in the slightest. This party is for one thing and one thing only—the kingdom.
This entire event is so that the curse that was brought on this land centuries ago will stay dead and
buried.
Marrying this woman, this chosen woman, and filling her with my seed is for the good of the
country and nothing else. She will bear my heir, and then she can live out her days as she wishes in
the country, and I will do as I desire as well.
“Brother,” a soft voice calls out.
Turning my head, I look down at the petite creature that stares up at me with big blue eyes. She is
no longer a child, though I will forever consider her one. She is the reason I do this. If this life was
only about myself, I would not care and would do as I wish.
However, Kenna is the most important person in this entire world, so if I must keep her safe by
marrying this chosen woman and creating life with her, then that is what I will do. It’s not as if I must
love her or even like her.
I don’t even have to converse with my new bride.
“Kenna,” I murmur.
“You must smile. You’re to be wed.”
My lips twitch into a small smile. My sister. The most positive person in this country. And yet,
she is also undoubtedly the most sheltered. Which is likely why she is the most positive. She knows
enough, but she does not comprehend everything as I protect her from most of the outside world.
“I am,” I say, giving her a tight-lipped smile.
She lets out a giggle before her governess steps beside her and gives her a stern expression.
Pressing my lips together in a thin line, I give my sister a wink, then shift my attention to the
governess.
“She is to be taken to her bedchamber after the ceremony and dinner have been completed.”
The governess drops her chin and at the same time curtsies. “Seadh, a Rí.”
Dipping my chin as well, I turn back to watch the people who are mingling around the great hall. I
hate it here. I hate all of the people, their expectations, their wandering eyes and their judgments.
 They’re all rich, spoiled, and entitled. I smirk to myself, as if I am not the exact same way. Being
raised as the Prince of Sgaldachadh, I have only lived a life of luxury. Except, it is not something that
I crave. I prefer to be without the servants and luxuries.
I prefer to be in my true home.
My true home isn’t in the castle. It is far from here. It is in the country, a small estate that my father
gave my mother when he was finished using her. It was where I was raised until I was old enough to
be trained for my position as the Prince.
It is the only place where I hold even a moment of happiness.
This castle is the place I come to when I am needed to fulfill my duties, but it is definitely not my
home.
“Mo Rí,” a deep voice I would recognize anywhere murmurs from behind me.
“Tavish,” I respond.
He takes a step up and stands beside me as he looks out at the people who are waiting for this
ceremony and party to begin. He clears his throat but does not speak immediately. Turning to him
slightly, I lift my gaze to meet his, arching my brow as I wait for him to speak. He has something that
he clearly wishes to say to me, so I wait.
“You do not appear to be happy about this.”
“Indeed.”
He chuckles, shaking his head once before he rocks back on his boot heels, then begins to speak.
“She is a beautiful woman. You have met her already. Are you this distraught about marrying
her?”
I raise my hand to wrap my fingers around the back of my neck, squeezing to relieve the pressure
and tension there. He is not wrong.
She is a beautiful woman.
But there was something about her eyes, the way she looked at me, the way she completely shut
down in front of me. In turn, I want nothing to do with her. However, I do not have a choice in the
matter.
By the end of this day, she will be my wife.
“I’m not distraught. She is just not the woman of my choosing. I knew this was the way it would
be. I will be fine.”
“You’ll put her up in some villa as far away from you as possible, then you’ll have children with
whomever you desire later, just as your father did.”
His words are not incorrect.
That is exactly what my father did indeed do. Kenna is only my half-sister, but it matters not, as I
love her as if she were my full sister.
My mother was married to my father until the day they both perished. However, she only lived as
his wife until she brought me safely into this world. They remained married in name just to assuage
the curse, to keep the gods at bay.
And I will be the same.
This is for my people, for the country, and Kenna. That is what matters. Not my happiness, not if I
am pleased with my new wife or not. It simply does not matter much. Saving the country is all that
does.
“Likely so,” I agree.
Tavish smirks, his eyes connecting with mine before he speaks. “Then you will have a great love
with your mistress and the family you desire,” he says.
 I arch a brow. I do not agree with his statement. In fact, I have no desire for love of any kind.
Mainly because love means nothing to me. It’s not as if I can have that sensation flow through my
veins. It cannot be. Therefore, I do not desire it.
My focus is the country and Kenna. Love with anyone, in that way, does not interest me. Perhaps it
was in watching my mother’s heartache. Perhaps it was in watching my father, who chose to break
hearts. Perhaps it is the curse that was put upon me as a young man. I know not, but in all honesty, that
kind of power over another is not enticing.
“Perhaps I wish to just be free,” I state.
“Perhaps,” he mutters.
He says nothing else. As nothing else needs to be said. I’m sure that he has an opinion, as Tavish
always does, but regardless, the wedding will take place today. The woman who will be called my
wife will bear my children, and with that, I will ensure the safety of the land and the safety of my
people.
“As your friend, I must tell you that I wish for this to be a happy union. But as your brother…” he
continues.
Though Tavish is not my blood brother, he is indeed my brother in every way he could be. He has
had my back more times than I can count. He’s saved my life, and he’s been in the trenches with me.
Tavish was raised in the neighboring village to my mother’s. His father is the Lord there. When I
was a boy and sent to live with my own father, for an education, I demanded that Tavish join me.
It took about a year, but eventually, he did, and we were given the same education and training.
Though Tavish was allowed to see his parents much more often than I was permitted to see my
mother.
“As your brother,” he continues, “I wish for your happiness in general, no matter how that comes
about.”
My lips lift into a brief smile, and I dip my chin. I know he means those words from the bottom of
his heart. I open my mouth to speak but hear the royal presenter’s drum sound. The entire ballroom
goes silent, and I turn around to face the presenter.
“The bride has arrived.”
It is time.

NEÒIL

I INHALE A DEEP BREATH AS I STARE AT THE WOMAN ACROSS FROM ME. A CASE WORKER. I’ VE AGED OUT
of the system, and I’m alone. She gives me a few choices. I can apply to enter the extended foster care
program, apply to supervised independent living program, or live in trial independence and have six
months of supervision. All come with a small stipend.
I want no part of any of it. I’ve been dreading this entire moment of my life because I have no
plan. My grades aren’t good enough to get into any kind of decent college, and even if I could, there’s
no way I could get a scholarship or pay for it.
“How long do I have?” I ask Miss Margaret.
She’s been my caseworker for the past three years. She's nice enough, but this is very much a job
for her and not in any way a passion. Which is fine, but she doesn’t go above and beyond for anyone
or anything. She is better than some of the others I’ve had in the past, so there’s no reason to
complain.
“Tomorrow.”
Tomorrow is my eighteenth birthday.
“That doesn’t give me any time,” I whisper.
I knew it was coming, but since I didn’t know my options, I thought that maybe I had more time.
She clears her throat and looks up from her computer, her gaze connecting with my own. Then she
lets out a sigh before she leans back slightly.
“Honestly, I’m behind. I should have arranged this meeting when you were sixteen, but that’s
about how far behind I am with my cases. I apologize for the last-minute decision.”
Tomorrow.
No matter how many times that word plays on repeat, it doesn’t make me feel any better. In fact, I
feel as if I’m going to go into straight-up panic mode. My heart starts racing, and I pinch my eyes
closed as I try to breathe.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper.
I graduated high school just one month ago, and I’ve been working at a clothing store while I
research possible technical schools where I could earn a degree and start working immediately or
maybe get a paid internship. I haven’t been able to make a decision. There is nothing I really want to
do, and even if I did, they all cost money.
Money I don’t have.
Shaking my head, I pinch my eyes closed again. I don’t know what to do. This is too much at once.
Also, this is something I should have had two whole years to think about and plan for. I have no doubt
that she was supposed to help me with a whole exit plan and strategy, too.
But now…
Now I have nothing.
Picking up a stack of papers, she shoves them across her desk toward me. “This is all the
information. Talk to your foster parents tonight, see if they are willing to keep you on for a few
months, then we can try to come up with a plan. I apologize again for this getting away from me. Life,
you know.”
Margaret shrugs as if this is no skin off her nose. In reality, it isn’t. She doesn’t give a shit about
me, about anyone, which is perfectly clear now. She’s going to get off work tonight, relax in her home,
and come back tomorrow to do it all again.
Taking the paperwork from her grasp, I hold it to my chest and stare at her for a long silent
moment. She gives me a tight smile then dips her chin and begins to focus on the other papers in front
of her. She’s probably readying herself to ruin someone else’s life right after this appointment with me
is finished.
I grip the papers in my hand and stand. I’m trembling, but she doesn’t give a shit. She doesn’t even
notice. Turning toward the door, I walk out of the office and wonder what the hell is going to become
of me tomorrow.
My foster parents are nice enough, but they don’t love me. Their home is definitely the type of
kids in, kids out, collect the check, and move along. They aren’t abusive or neglectful. They’re
around. We have food and clothes. It’s better than a lot of other places I’ve lived, but I don’t imagine
them wanting to keep me around much longer, especially not for free.
Instead of heading home, I decide to go on a walk to my favorite spot. It doesn’t take me long to
get there. I stay within a ten-mile radius of everywhere I need to be. And this is definitely one place I
need to be.
 When I finally arrive, my feet carrying me straight toward my place, I let out a sigh. I am at peace.
The area is a pretty walking trail with a lake in the center. It can get crowded because people fish the
lake, but it’s quiet today.
I walk toward one of the cement tables and benches, where I climb onto the tabletop and place my
feet on the bench as I look out at the water. It’s calm. Serene even.
I feel lost.
Alone.
Terrified.
Then, before I realize what’s happening, everything starts fading and turning almost liquid around
me. It’s as if the color of the world melts away right in front of my eyes.
I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.
There is silence.
Deafening silence.
 Chapter Two

NEÒIL

DARKNESS SURROUNDS ME. THEN THERE IS A VOICE. A WOMAN ’ S VOICE. IT IS SOFT AND SOOTHING ,
almost lyrical. It calms me down immediately, and I’m not sure if it’s genuine or not. I’m on my ass,
sitting on a hard surface, outside somewhere. A warm breeze passes over me, and for whatever
reason, in the midst of the chaos, I feel tranquility wash through me.
Blinking, I look in the direction of the voice and squint. It is a woman. She lifts her arm, and there
is a candle in her hand. The light shimmers over her face, and I notice she has blonde hair and soft
facial features.
She’s beautiful.
Far more beautiful than I could ever hope to be.
She gives me a gentle smile, then raises her hand and presses her palm against my chest. When
she opens her mouth, some words come out that I don’t understand at all. It sounds like a chant in
some foreign language, so foreign, in fact, that I have zero idea what it could be.
Then, in the middle of it all, the warmth fills me from the inside out and I begin to comprehend
her. She is chanting something about understanding, learning, and consuming. Then she stops and
smiles. Her gaze searches mine, her lips curved up, and she’s even prettier than she was before.
“Do you grasp me now?” she asks.
“I do,” I whisper. “What is happening?”
Her hand drops from my chest and she straightens, holding her palm out for me to take. Lifting my
arm, I slip my fingers into hers. She gently tugs me to my feet, and that’s when I really take her in. The
light from her candle shines brighter, or maybe my eyes are a bit more adjusted than they were a few
moments ago.
This woman is wearing a long floor-length gown that is tight at the chest and waist, then flows
down, brushing the ground. She also has on what I can only describe as a cape with a hood over it.
I’ve never seen anyone wear a cape before. It’s floor length just like her dress, and it’s beautiful.
“You’ve been spirited away from your world,” she announces. “And now you are in
Sgaldachadh.”
I have zero idea what she’s just said. I’ve never heard of that place before, and I don’t understand
how I’ve been spirited away anywhere. So, instead of responding, I stare at her wordlessly.
 She continues to watch me, tilting her head to the side as if she is waiting for my response.
Pressing my lips together, I roll them a few times before I speak.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper.
It’s all I can think to say, because I am so shocked by her words, along with completely confused.
“I am a witch,” she states. “I wish that I had the time to properly explain what’s happening, but I
do not. You must go. It is time for your wedding.”
“Wedding?” I ask.
This is definitely some kind of dream. It must be. There is no other way to explain it. A wedding?
That is laughable.
She smiles, flexing her fingers around mine, tugging me behind her as she turns and begins to walk
swiftly into the darkness. I struggle to keep up with her. She is on a mission, and that mission includes
me.
Then she halts abruptly. I am unable to stop as quickly, and I end up running into the back of her.
She doesn’t say a word to me about that. Instead, she takes a step to the side. I lift my gaze to the view
in front of me.
It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.
It’s beautiful and horrifying all at the same time.
There is a glowing red light that surrounds us. Turning my head, I look behind me to see that we
had been in some kind of thick forest just moments ago. Shifting my attention back around, I suck in a
breath.
There is a tall black hill, so tall that I have to tip my head back to look up at the top of it. At that
top sits a large black castle. It appears eerie, haunted, horrifying, all of the above. It could be a
villain version of the Cinderella fairy tale castle, if something like that existed.
Actually, I know that the Beauty and the Beast castle was in the woods somewhere in the cartoon,
but that’s what this looks like. It doesn’t appear to be lived in or loved in any way whatsoever.
Surrounding me are the colors red and black everywhere, nothing else. I wonder what it looks
like in the daylight, because this is disturbing. Turning my head, I look over at the woman—the
woman who claims to be a witch.
“What is this?” I ask on a whisper.
“This is Sgaldachadh.”
“But what is this?” I ask again, and I can hear the tremble of fear in my own voice, so I know she
must realize how absolutely terrified I am.
I am so confused. I don’t understand any of this, but this woman, she’s staring at me like she
expects me to do something. To say something. To be something. But instead, I just stare at her,
dumbfounded, and wait.
“This is your wedding day. You must marry him.”
“Him who?”
She rolls her lips together. “The king…”
“The king?” I exhale, my lips are parted in awe.
A king?
What the hell is happening here? I’m in some strange place I’ve never heard of before, and now
this strange, beautiful woman is telling me I’m going to be marrying some stranger, some stranger who
is a king.
This must be a dream.
“The beast,” she whispers. “There is no time to explain. You must be readied. I will try to tell you
as much as I can while the women work.”
Women?
Before I can ask any questions, a group of women appears, seemingly out of nowhere, and they
start grabbing at my clothes. I am in so much shock that I don’t even stop them. They undo, peel off,
and shimmy down every stitch of my clothing until I’m completely naked. Only when the warm air hits
my bare body do I jump.
“Do not fret, dear girl. They are going to make sure you are prepared for the event. Many eyes
will be on you.”
Turning my head, I look at the woman. I am in so much shock about all this that I can only think of
one thing to say.
“What is your name?”
Her lips twitch into a smile. “Ferelith, and you are not Aurla, are you?”
Shaking my head, I clear my throat. “No, my name is Neòil.”
Ferelith takes a step toward me. She raises her hand, cupping my cheek for a brief moment before
her hand drops back down to her side. “Pretty name for a queen,” she whispers. “The king will be
happy.”
The women continue to paw at me, tugging on my hair and twisting and manipulating it, then I am
guided toward a woman who is holding a dress on the ground. I am told to step into the center of the
garment, and I do, slowly.
She slides the dress up my body. It is lace. Black lace. I expect it to scratch my skin, but it’s not
prickly at all. The dress is so soft that I can’t believe it is actually lace. There is also blood-red lining
that shows through the lace.
The shoes that are set in front of me are also blood red. They are flats, almost like a ballet flat
with a bit thicker leather soles. I’m glad they aren’t high heels, because I don’t know how to walk in
those.
Then one of the women stands in front of me with what I can assume is a makeup pallet. My eyes
widen at the contents. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before, not that I know much about makeup.
All three of the women step backward, and Ferelith is in front of me. Her lips curve up into a
smile. She hasn’t explained much to me at all. She’s just told me a bit about this country, and that this
is what is meant to be. I guess she’s trying to say that it’s fate or something, but I don’t buy that at all.
“You are stunning.”
“Is this a dream?” I ask.
She laughs softly, reaching out and taking my hands in hers again. “It is not a dream. Follow your
husband’s lead. When the clock strikes midnight, you will be eighteen years of age. Your marriage
bond will be secure. You will be the Queen of Sgaldachadh. I will come to you a bit later, when I can,
and explain everything, but for now, take his lead.”
“Won’t he know that I am not his bride?” I ask.
Ferelith shakes her head slowly. “He has only seen her once from afar, and you, Neòil, are her
identically in features.”
“Except?” I ask.
She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and takes a step backward, releasing my hand from hers.
“Your eyes. They are haunted. You have lived a life. You have been hurt. You have power.”
“Power?” I ask, but she shifts away from me and disappears into the shadows.
The three women swarm me again, except this time, they all guide me toward something I had not
noticed before now.
 A carriage.
A black iron carriage being led by two massive black horses. Everything here is so dark, I can
only wonder what this king will look like, especially since she keeps calling him the beast.
I open my mouth to tell them no thank you, when I am hoisted into the carriage and placed on a red
leather seat. Alone. Ferelith disappears as the driver makes a noise and the carriage lurches forward,
the door slamming closed.
Red and black aren’t really my colors, but it seems like that is all there is here. Darkness
surrounds me. I shouldn’t look around. I shouldn’t take in as much of this place as I can, because none
of the things I see are inviting.
All the trees appear gnarled and dead. There are rivers of red on either side. They almost seem to
have lava flowing through them as I pass by them. The rest of the terrain, from what I can tell, is
rocks.
Lots of rocks.
What on earth is this place? I’ve never in my life seen anything like this. Not in books, not on the
Internet, nowhere. And yet, my eyes are looking directly at it all, taking it all in, unbelievingly so.
This can’t be a dream, can it? I wasn’t asleep. I was awake. Wasn’t I? Maybe I’ve been drugged?

LACHLAN

THE WOMAN DOES NOT PASS THE GATES UNTIL SHE IS MY BRIDE. TRADITION DEEMS IT SO . I’ VE SEEN
her from afar before, but it was not here in the Castle of Dorchadas. I went to her village, met her
people, finalized the marriage agreement, and that was that.
I didn’t even speak to her.
She will be my wife for the purpose of procreation, and to keep Sgaldachadh from being taken
over by the ancient curse that was laid upon our lands thousands of years ago. I’m not sure that I even
quite believe the curse at all. However, I am also not one to test the theory.
“Your bride is near,” Kenna announces at my side.
I do not know when her governess allowed her to reach my side, but she is here nonetheless and
smiling up at me as if this is such an exciting moment for her. I open my mouth to ask her why she is
so enthusiastic, but in her joy, she blurts out the reason.
“I am so pleased to have a sister,” she announces.
Arching a brow, I do not respond to her excitement immediately. I am unsure that Kenna really
understands what is happening here. She is young and does not fully comprehend what marriage is
like for me, for herself, for anyone in this position that we hold.
“Indeed,” I murmur, not breaking the news to her that people in our stations marry for contractual
obligations, not for love.
But for another day, Kenna will remain innocent. Those become fewer and fewer as she grows
into womanhood. I know that it will be up to me to broker a marriage for her soon enough and she
will have to be thrust into the real world.
But not today.
The iron carriage makes its way closer to us. I can make out the horses and the riders’ shadows,
though both are shrouded in darkness. Still, to be fair, this whole place is shrouded in darkness.
Tavish clears his throat, and the officiant hums to himself as the carriage approaches.
 I watch them as the horses stop several feet away. They neigh as they move a few steps backward
before they’re turned, and the door of the carriage faces me. There are Lords and Ladies on either
side of a walkway, creating an aisle for her.
Glancing around the people who line the aisleway, I take them in, trying to see them from a
stranger’s point of view. Every single person is dressed in black from head to toe. All black.
Except me.
I’m wearing a black jacket and shirt. However, my formal kilt is in a black and red plaid. Red is
the only other color that is acceptable. The colors of my crest, the colors of the flag, the colors of this
country.
Crimson and raven.
The driver climbs down from his bench, then approaches the carriage door. I watch as he opens it,
the steps automatically moving into place at the same time. Then she begins to make her way down
that small stairway.
Once she is on the ground, she straightens the black and red dress that hugs her body and lifts her
head. My heart pounds inside my chest—it skips a beat even. She is breathtaking. I do not remember
being affected by her at all when I went to her village.
She takes one step, then another, her eyes focused on mine. They are wide, and she looks scared.
She should be. This life is not anything that she expects. Her parents were more than happy to broker
her marriage to me. It was more of a sale than anything else. I paid a price, and they handed her over
to me.
I own her.
But as she stares at me, as she makes her way toward me, I am breathless. Her blue eyes consume
me. They are wide and full of fear. I can practically smell it wafting off her, but she has nothing to
fear as I want nothing except one heir from her.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
 Chapter Three

NEÒIL

MY ENTIRE BODY IS TREMBLING SO BADLY THAT I’ M SHAKING , SHIVERING . IN FACT , I DON ’ T KNOW IF
I’m scared or cold. I’m not sure what is happening, but I am walking toward him as at least fifty
people watch.
I don’t know what this place is or why I’m here. Ferelith has given me some information about
this, but I halfway think this is probably just some kind of dream or drug-induced something. I can’t
believe that this is real. It can’t be… can it?
This feels like a dream or a movie. It does not feel like reality. Even this man in front of me. He
doesn’t not appear to be real. As I make my way toward him, I cannot fathom that he is genuine. He is
stunning. He has blond hair and dark eyes. He’s tall, broad at the shoulders, and wearing a kilt.
A kilt.
It’s like every fantasy I’ve ever had in my life balled into one human being. If this isn’t a dream or
drug haze, then I cannot imagine how the girl who should be here ran away. It’s clear that they were
set for a wedding today.
The puzzle pieces start to click into place. The woman who is supposed to be in these shoes,
wearing this dress, she didn’t want to be here. That’s about all I know, and that is enough.
It’s terrifying. Why would she call this man a beast?
And why would she be so scared of him?
I don’t know how it happened, but maybe I’ve switched places with her?
Maybe it’s like one of those Freaky Friday things? Like we switched lives or something, but I’m
in the same body, so that can’t be it. My thoughts completely fade away as I approach him and stop
directly in front of him. Tilting my head back, I look up into his eyes.
He doesn’t smile. His gaze is dark, and he appears almost emotionless, but if I look deeply
enough into his eyes, I can grasp a spark of something. I don’t know what I see, but there
is something.
I hear a giggle to the side. Turning my head, I look at a girl who is standing next to this Adonis
creature in a kilt. She is perfectly adorable, gorgeous even.
My lips curve up in her direction, and she flashes me a wide smile. She’s cute. Probably only
about five years younger than me, but adorable nonetheless, and beautiful, too. It is clear, just by
looking at her, that she is related to the man at her side. The gorgeous man who is to be my husband.
At least I assume that this is the man who is about to become my husband. He is standing in front
of someone wearing robes and a gigantically huge hat. The hat is tall, ornately decorated, and unlike
anything I have ever seen before. It screams religion, just not one I know.
Plus, there is the fact that he is staring at me intently, almost unnervingly, and he’s the only one in
any color… that color being red, just like my dress lining. There is only one thing he could be, and
that is the man I am here to wed, according to Ferelith at least.
The man in the big hat begins to speak. When he does, I realize I don’t understand his words.
Whatever it is that he’s saying is in a language that Ferelith didn’t give me access to. At least she said
that’s what she was doing when she placed her hand on my chest. In all honesty, I have no idea what
is really happening here. And I’m not even sure that I’m conscious.
As the man continues to speak, the godlike gorgeous one in front of me reaches out, takes my hand,
and tugs me roughly against his side. Then he turns to face the religious ceremony person, not even
glancing down at me at all.
The religious man moves his head from side to side as he rambles on, and I can’t help but stare at
the hat wondering when it’s going to go flying off his head, and if it doesn’t, I wonder if he has it
pinned down or something to keep it steady.
There is some more talking.
Rambling, really.
Then the religious man throws his hands in the air and starts shouting as loudly as he can. The
move and noise cause my spine to straighten, and I jump slightly. However, I don’t get far. The
gorgeous being beside me, his grip tightens on my hand, keeping me steady.
There is a moment of complete silence after the shouting. The religious guy slowly lowers his
hands, then turns to the man next to me and says something. He, in turn, nods his head and rumbles a
deep, “Yes.”
My God.
That voice.
A chill slides down my spine and goose bumps break out over my entire body. I’ve never heard
anything so sexy before. I’ve never really been into boys much. My life has been about survival.
But this.
God.
That voice.
It does something to me. My belly tightens. It tingles and flips. Now I understand why women are
completely stupid over men. With looks like his, and that deep voice he’s got—understandable.
The religious guy repeats himself but turns to me this time. I assume this is equal to him asking me
if I will take this gorgeous man beside me as my husband. I’m not sure that I do. I don’t really know
what is happening here, but I’m afraid to say no.
Also, I’m too young for marriage, even if this is a dream. What kind of dream is this, anyway? It’s
my eighteenth birthday today. There is no way I am ready for marriage. This place is completely
crazy. But I can feel the Adonis creature’s eyes on me, and when I glance over at him, my entire body
melts on the inside.
“Yes,” I exhale.
The tall hat officiant throws his hands in the air again and lets out a bloodcurdling scream. I gasp,
taking half a step backward, but the man beside me tugs me against his side, gripping my hand so
tightly that it starts to ache.
 I whimper, but he doesn’t release his grasp on me. Instead, he turns to me, and I’m forced to face
him as well. He leans down slightly as his other hand grasps the back of my neck. His mouth slams
against mine in a hard kiss, and my entire body freezes.
When he lifts his head, my eyes find his, and for a split second, they’re bright and almost shining.
Then the expression vanishes, and I’m left with the dead eyes staring back at me, but as much as he
tries to hide them, I can see there is something lurking deep behind those black, seemingly empty, and
soulless orbs.
Suddenly, I am spun around. It knocks me off balance a bit, and I am faced toward the people who
appear as if they’re at a funeral and not at a wedding. They raise their hands and clap, but there is no
smiling, no hooting, not cheering, just clapping.
“I present to you the King Lachlan McQuarrie and his Queen of Sgaldachadh,” the officiant shouts
from behind us. He is the only person in this whole place who speaks above a whisper. I’m certain of
it.
Then, as I am guided away from the people and toward the large gates that begin to open, I realize
that this man said my husband’s name.
Lachlan McQuarrie.
My God.

LACHLAN

THIS IS NOT THE SAME WOMAN WHO I SAW IN HER VILLAGE. ONE KISS , ONE LOOK INTO HER EYES , AND I
know this to be true. She is not that woman who I brokered a marriage for—the woman who is
supposed to keep this land from falling under a very deep and tragic curse that will kill anyone and
everyone in its wake.
Passing through the gates, I march her forward, dragging her behind me without care for her, if she
can keep up with me or not. My subjects move aside, their eyes wide with interest as they take in their
new queen. None dare say a word to me as I quickly pass them.
Making our way into the castle, I move toward the great hall. However, instead of stopping at the
head table to sit and eat the prepared meal, I do not halt. My feet continue to move. The people of the
castle who have been preparing for weeks all pause and watch us.
It matters not to me if they stare. It is the least of my worries in this moment. I start to move
toward the staircase but decide that I should take her into my library.
With a sharp turn to the right, I move toward the library, pulling her behind me, then tossing her
across the room before I turn and block the doorway.
Spinning around, I face her. But she isn’t watching me, and she isn’t on the ground. She has her
back to me, her head tipped backward, and I hear her gasp. Lifting my gaze, I take in the room, or at
least follow her line of sight to see what has her so mesmerized.
We’re standing in the middle of my library, the books all around us, from floor to ceiling. They
are books from my country, from the inception. But besides, my great-great-grandfather was an avid
reader, so they are also a collection from around the world.
The books haven’t been touched in a while, but my grandfather, my father, and I have added to the
collection out of tradition for him. Though I am unsure why. It’s not as if any of the men in our family
have been good people.
 Shifting my attention from the books to her, I watch her and wait for her to take in her fill before I
discuss the fact that I have married an imposter. She must sense my gaze on her because she turns
around slowly, and her eyes connect with mine.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I look down my nose at her. She’s short. Too short. And she’s far
too thin to be considered a woman able to birth my heir. I am unsure of why this woman fathoms that
she can pass for the one who I brokered this marriage for.
“You’re staring at me, and whatever you are thinking, it is not positive,” she says.
“You are observant. I will give you that much.”
Her tongue peeks out, sliding across her bottom lip. Her words and her accent strike me as odd.
However, those are the last things on my mind at this moment. I take a step toward her, then another,
until I am just a few feet from her body.
“Who are you?” I demand. Before she can answer, I continue. “Because you are not the woman
who I brokered a marriage for. You are not the woman from the village. You look like her enough, but
it is very clear to me that you, indeed, are not her.”
Instead of staring at me with big, wide, feigning innocent eyes, she tilts her head to the side,
narrows her gaze on me, then speaks. When she does, it’s honest and truthful, which surprises me.
“My name is Neòil.”
I should be thankful she’s told me the truth before I bed her, before I filled her with my seed to
create new life, an heir. My heir. But I’m not. I’m angry. I’m furious. I growl, moving toward her, then
I lift my hand, and in a fit of rage, I grip her throat tightly.
This could destroy my whole country. These games, whoever is playing them. She does not make
a move to pull my gasp from her throat, though it matters not. Gripping her tightly, I watch as her face
turns red.
“You lied to me. The king, your king. I can kill you right here and now. Nobody would care. Your
body would be tossed into a fire, and that would be that, never to be thought of again.”
When her eyes begin to widen as I lift her feet off the ground, only then do her hands lift and begin
to claw at my wrist. Releasing my grasp of her, I watch as she collapses to the floor. I feel nothing at
the sight of this, not that I thought I would. The only emotion that I hold is for Kenna. Nobody else.
There is a knock on the door. I ignore it as I stare at this woman who I’ve just married in front of
my entire country and the gods themselves. She’s not only betrayed the country, possibly causing a
shift with the curse that cannot be undone, but she has also embarrassed me, and that is unforgivable.
Red smoke fills the room, right in front of me, between Neòil and me. It is so thick that I cannot
see her at all. Just red smoke. I know that the only thing this can be is a witch, or witchcraft. Perhaps
that is what Neòil is—a witch. It would make sense.
“Cailleach,” I hiss.
“You are right, and then again, you are very wrong,” a soft, lyrical voice calls out before a shape
appears in front of me.
It is not Neòil, but instead a beautiful woman. I do not recognize her at all immediately. She raises
her head, her eyes finding mine. I do not break the contact. I stay firm in my place, watching her and
waiting for whatever this is, knowing that this entire situation was created by witchcraft.
“It is not exactly what you think, Rí.”
“Then tell me what it is that you are doing here, Ferelith, with this woman who is not the one who
was supposed to marry me. The cursed woman who was meant to be my wife. The one who was
supposed to keep this country from falling to pieces.”
The witch dips her chin, then clears her throat before she begins to speak. “Aurla, the woman who
was your betrothed, came to me. She was not ready to wed. She desired something different, so much
so that she was desperate.”
I motion for her to continue. I could fight with her, try to kill her, but what would be the point?
This is the woman who holds the knowledge of what’s happened to my betrothed. She is also a
woman who once lived here and walked these halls when I was a boy.
“I traded her for another form of her in another world.”
Pressing my lips together, I roll them a few times, trying to comprehend what she has just said to
me. I cannot. Not fully.
“Another world?” I finally ask.
The witch’s lips curve up into a small smile. “There are many parallel worlds. Neòil is from one
of them. She has unknowingly sacrificed her life here to ensure that the curse does not come to
fruition.”
“How can that be?” I ask. “She is not the chosen one. She is not the cursed one. The curse on the
land will be awakened, and there will be nothing we can do to stop it.”
The warnings are clear in the writings. It is clear and set that if the king does not wed the chosen
cursed one, if he does not keep the curse at bay by filling her with a child, the curse will unfold. The
rules of engagement are very clear.
And they have been broken.
 Chapter Four

NEÒIL

OH SHIT .
This isn’t a dream or some drug-induced haze. Even though Ferelith appearing through a fog of
red smoke would be more of a dream thing than anything else here, the way my throat hurts from
Lachlan’s grip assures me that this is real.
Ferelith and Lachlan talk between one another. I can’t hear their words, but I also don’t strain to
listen to them. I am too focused on the gorgeous library, the pain in my throat, and the trembling in my
body that this is real.
When Ferelith turns around to face me, only then does my body jerk and my attention shifts to meet
hers. She gives me a soft smile. She is so beautiful. Her expression is so soft and sweet. I can hardly
believe that she is actually a real person. I almost reach out to touch her to see if she is solid, but I
don’t.
“All will be well, Neòil. The King understands a bit more now. This will be a good thing.”
“I’m glad he understands, but I do not,” I admit. “What is a good thing?” I ask.
She laughs softly. It sounds like fairy Tinkerbell noises. It almost comforts me, except I have far
too many questions to feel that way right now.
“The Cailleach will explain tomorrow,” Lachlan growls.
Ferelith takes a step to the side just as he moves toward me. He doesn’t lunge, but the quickness
in his steps causes me to back away from him, scrambling as quickly as I can. He pauses, but only for
a moment, then continues forward.
“Rí, what is this?” Ferelith asks, but her voice sounds a bit far away.
He reaches forward, his hand missing me as I flinch and fall backward onto the floor. Ferelith’s
voice cries out, but he does not pay her any mind. His eyes are on me, and they are filled with anger.
“You are the beast,” Ferelith cries out. “Leave her be.”
Lachlan is crouched in front of me. He pauses, looking over his shoulder, shouts a single word,
and she stops. Shifting my attention over his shoulder, I see her standing there with a look of sheer
horror on her face. She says nothing else.
Wordlessly, Lachlan extends his arm, his palm facing up and waiting for me. I’m not in a position
to tell him anything one way or the other. So, since the way Ferelith is looking between us, she
appears to be freaked out completely, I lift my hand and slip my fingers in his palm.
He helps me to standing, and his palm presses against my lower back as he begins to guide me
toward Ferelith, who is standing in the way of the locked door.
“Neòil,” Ferelith calls out. “Are you okay?”
“She is fine,” Lachlan answers for me.
“Her neck is red and swollen. It is bruising already,” she states.
Her shoulders are squared, her trembling body attempting to be bigger than it is. Stronger. Braver.
It’s a beautiful thing to see her this way, and I wish I had one-tenth of her bravado. But I don’t. And
I’m a stranger in this place that I still don’t understand. I’m not sure how it works or how I truly
ended up here.
“It is not your business, Cailleach.”
Ferelith jerks, taking a step backward, then another. She gives us some room to move toward the
door. Lachlan reaches for the locks and undoes them, but I can’t stop staring at Ferelith, who is
standing slightly behind me, her eyes wide and filled with fear.
That is horrifying.
The fact that Ferelith is scared makes me ten times more filled with distress. She is not the kind of
woman I would think would be scared of much. I expect her to be strong in all moments. I open my
mouth to say something, but she shakes her head and squares her shoulders.
Then Lachlan speaks. “Cailleach, find a room for the evening. You stay here at Dorchadas until
further notice.”
She doesn’t answer. Not that Lachlan gives her the opportunity. He gently applies pressure against
the small of my back, pushing me out of the room beside him. We walk together, wordlessly, toward
what I can only assume is the big dining room we ran through.
It was almost empty of people, holding tables, chairs, and food. I am right. That’s exactly where
we go. Except it is now full of people. Completely and totally full of people all dressed in black.
As soon as we’re noticed, people stop what they are doing and face us, and for the first time since
this whole thing started, I see smiles on strangers’ faces. Silence echoes through the room, then, as
soon as Lachlan and I make our way into the middle of the space that I assume is the dance floor, the
music begins.
Haunting music.
It is all strings, nothing else, and it is slow and melodic. Lachlan turns to me, his gaze finding
mine and holding it for a brief moment. Then he bows slightly, so I copy what I’ve seen in any
historical movie that I’ve ever watched. I give him a dip of a curtsy. He takes a step toward me,
holding out one hand while the other wraps around my waist.
We dance.
Not a single word is spoken as we move around the floor.
I’ve never done anything like this before, and I know, without a doubt, that I am horrible at it, but
at the same time, I do not care. I’m too busy taking in the entire room.
It’s amazing.
There is deep dark wood, ornately and delicately carved everywhere, so many different designs
that are so exquisite, I can’t even focus on one to take it in. It’s everywhere on the walls and ceiling.
Where there isn’t wood, it’s painted deep red.
Black and red.
The theme is a bit much for me, but if nothing else, this place is consistent. There are bright red
long-stemmed roses in overly large, thin black vases in the center of the tables. The plates are black
and set with gold silverware and red cloth napkins.
I don’t know why, but the sight of napkins and silverware strikes me as odd. I’m not sure what I
expect from this world, but with the horse-drawn carriage, the castle, along with his kilt and this
dress that is clearly not modern, I assumed this was going to be a bit more primitive.
When the song ends, Lachlan doesn’t release me. Shifting my attention to him, I tip my head
backward and look up into his eyes. I don’t say anything, pretty certain that he wouldn’t care overly
much if I did. It was clear to me that he didn’t care much about Ferelith’s opinion or questions, so I
stay quiet as I wait for whatever it is he’s going to say to me.
“We will eat, have cake, and then the people will greet us. You will not speak.”
“Okay,” I exhale.
He hums, his dark eyes searching mine. Then his gaze flicks down to my neck before he lifts it
back to meet mine. He clears his throat but doesn’t speak immediately, takes a step back and turns
from me to face the people. He reaches out, lacing his fingers with mine, then raises our joined hands
in the air.
“My Queen and I invite you to join us for a celebratory meal,” he announces.
The people, still all dressed in black, begin to clap, their faces still emotionless and blank.
Lowering our joined hands, Lachlan turns us, keeping his grip firm in mine, then guides me over to the
head table.
I let out a sigh of relief at the sight of the table. There are two empty places in the middle, but on
Lachlan’s side is a man who looks much like him but is maybe even a bit bigger, and on the other is
the pretty girl.
“Who is the girl who will be sitting beside me?” I ask on a whisper before we approach.
He looks down at me, his eyes almost smiling, but not quite. “That is my sister, Princess Kenna.
She is to be treated with the utmost respect, always.”
I don’t respond. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t realize that I have had dozens of foster siblings.
He doesn’t know that the only thing I have ever yearned for is a family. The last thing I would ever do
is hurt someone who could be, and is, my family.
My heart races as we approach the table. I don’t know why, but I’m more nervous about getting to
know Kenna than I was walking down the aisle toward Lachlan. This is my chance at having a sister.
A sister. She’s younger than me, but we could be friends.
Real friends.

LACHLAN

AS SOON AS WE TAKE OUR SEATS , THE FIRST COURSE IS SERVED , AND KENNA BEGINS TO CHATTER TO
Neòil. It’s then that I hear Tavish’s growl beside me. Turning my head, I look at my oldest friend,
arching a brow in question.
“You have already had an argument with the bride?” he asks.
“The bride is not who she presented herself to be,” I point out.
Tavish leans forward, his gaze focused on Neòil, then he shifts his attention back to me. Sucking
in a breath, I clear my throat as I reach out for the cheese in front of me, place it on a slice of thick-
crusted bread, and take a bite.
“She appears to be a very pretty lass,” he says.
 “Indeed,” I mutter.
Something causes my chest to tighten when he says that she is pretty. Neòil is mine, not his. He
should not look at her in such a way. Tavish is a brother to me, and I know without a doubt that he
would never do anything to harm me. That includes thinking about, touching, or looking at my Queen
in any way that is anything but brotherly.
“You’re my King, but you’re also my friend. I know you are not a man who would abuse your
wife,” he states.
Though the way he says it, I can tell he knows I’ve hurt the woman. I have. It was not my proudest
moment, and I have scared her. She will live, and she will get through being my lover until she
conceives, and births, a boy. After that, she may live somewhere in the country in a life of solitude, no
worse for wear.
“I will explain tomorrow,” I murmur.
“There is a story?” he asks.
I laugh. “I’ve only scratched the surface of it, but indeed. There is a tale.”
He clears his throat, sitting back as another course is served and the conversation is dropped. He
knows that I will elaborate tomorrow in private. But I catch him throughout the dinner, even though
we are speaking about other things, watching her.
Tavish is trying to figure her out, trying to discover what the story that I have about her is. He is a
man who studies people, so it does not surprise me that by the time the last course is served, and we
are about to go and cut the wedding cake, he is wearing a frown.
The band plays as I stand and wave to the people who watch us. It is time for cake, then Kenna
will be taken back to her bedchambers and the party will begin. Holding out my hand, I turn to Neòil.
She faces me, tipping her head backward, her gaze finding mine.
“Cake, my bride?” I ask.
Her eyes widen, her lips slowly curve up into a smile, and she gives me a slight nod, lifting her
hand and slipping her fingers into mine. Slowly, she stands, her smile consuming her pretty face.
Tavish was wrong.
She is not pretty. She is breathtaking.
Together, we make our way over to the cake. I don’t know what wedding cakes look like in her
world, but the way she stares at it, I’m unsure she’s ever seen one before. “We cut the cake, then I
break it over your head before we feed one another a piece,” I explain.
She turns to me. “You break it over my head?” she asks.
My lips almost twitch into a smile, but I can’t quite smile. “If any crumbs fall, we will have
difficulty conceiving,” I explain.
“If they don’t?” she asks on a whisper, her eyes wide and far too sweet-looking.
I hate that. The fact that I think of her as pretty, sweet, and beautiful. I should be indifferent to her,
but no matter how hard I try, every time she looks at me, indifference fades far away.
“Then we will be fruitful,” I say. She lets out a low whistle but doesn’t speak.
Reaching for the knife, I hand it to her, then place my hand on top of hers, and together, we glide
the metal down the cake. We repeat the motion on the other side, then I take the knife from her and
slide it beneath the slice of cake. I take the piece out, raise both hands over her head, and break the
cake.
Not a single crumb falls onto her head.
Not one.
Leaning forward, I touch my mouth to the corner of hers. “How many crumbs are in my hair?” she
exhales.
Chuckling softly, I speak. “Not a single crumb, mo leannan.”
 Chapter Five

NEÒIL

I DON ’ T KNOW WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE. BEFORE DINNER, THIS MAN HATED ME. HE WANTED TO KILL
me. Literally, he tried. But now he’s kissing the corner of my mouth, feeding me cake, dancing with
me. I mean, he’s not warm and fuzzy, and he’s ignored me most of the evening aside from those
activities, but it’s odd.
I’m nervous about what tonight is going to bring. Is he going to kill me in my sleep? Is he going to
abuse me? Is he going to rape me? I start to sweat just thinking about what is to come. What is going
to happen when we are alone. I don’t think I want to be alone with him.
When I’d decided that this was me in some kind of dream or drugged state, I didn’t know what
was happening. Walking down the aisle in the cool black and red dress was kind of fun. Nothing
about where I am screams reality—it’s all black and red. There is nothing that is green and screams
normal thriving world.
Lachlan feeds me a piece of cake, just like the groom would at a normal wedding. The music
plays softly in the background, and there are people dancing, but a layer of darkness and sadness
consumes the entire room.
It doesn’t feel like a happy occasion at all. In fact, it feels much like it looks—a funeral.
After the cake, Lachlan guides me back to the head table, where Kenna has been ushered away,
meaning I’ll be sitting alone. Sinking down into my appointed chair, I look over at Lachlan and expect
him to sit down beside me, but he doesn’t.
Instead, the man he was sitting next to stands, and they both walk away, leaving me completely
alone. Lifting my gaze, I stare across the room, seeing nothing except a blur of black as people move
around the room.
My heart starts to slam against my chest in panic. This is real. This isn’t a dream. This isn’t a
drug-induced anything. I am married. My first kiss was with this man as he slammed his mouth against
mine, and now, I’m his wife.
Something causes my spine to straighten. I glance around, and my breath starts to come out in
pants. I can’t stay here. I can’t be here. Standing, I make my way toward the exit. At least I think it’s
the exit. I was being tossed around when I was dragged in here, so I’m not sure exactly where the exit
is, but I’m determined to find it.
 I refuse to stay here, wherever here is. I don’t know what the hell is really going on, or why, but
I’m not going to sit around and find out. I’m not going to be a lamb led to slaughter and just lie around
waiting for Lachlan to kill me.
No, thank you.
I’ve had good luck with foster parents in my time, but I’ve had some bad ones and worse siblings.
I know when it’s time for me to find a way out of a situation, and since this isn’t a dream, since some
crazy stuff is happening here, it’s clear it is indeed time for me to get out… fast.
Hugging the side of the dark walls, I decide to try and blend in with the shadows as much as
possible. It’s not hard to do, to move around the ballroom, as nobody seemingly cares about anything.
There is not a single person who stops me, talks to me, or even looks at me. They’re all minding
their business and apparently don’t pay attention to anything else. Once I’m out of the room, I inhale a
deep breath and let it out slowly, closing my eyes for a brief second before I start moving again.
I’m in a castle, and if I weren’t trying to get the hell out of said castle as quickly as possible, I
would stay and explore. Because I’ve never been outside of Texas before, and this is amazing and
breathtaking all at once.
It’s not very often that a girl like me ends up in a place as grandeur and gorgeous as this, even if
it’s in some parallel universe or dream state or wherever I am. Even though Ferelith is saying that this
is all real, and I truly felt the pain of Lachlan’s hand around my throat, I still can’t fully believe it.
It doesn’t feel real, and it surely doesn’t look real. I’m just having the hardest time grasping how
this could be anything other than a dream, drug-induced, whatever.
It doesn’t take me long. I try to follow the same path that Lachlan drug me through earlier, and it
works. Thankfully, my sense of direction isn’t completely lost. As soon as I step outside, I feel the hot
air blast me right in the face. It is as if there is a fire somewhere nearby and the wind is blowing
straight at me.
Shifting my gaze left, then right, then left again, I take off for the same direction I came in from.
That seems to lead to the gates that will get me out of here and toward the long road that brought me
up the steep hill to this castle.
This castle of horrors.
Gathering my skirt in my hand, I walk as quickly as I possibly can. I’m going to run when I’m out
of view of anyone watching, but I figure it would be weird to see a woman dressed in a red and black
lace gown running through the castle grounds… so I powerwalk.
When I arrive at the gates, I am forced to stop. Tipping my head back, I look up at the extremely
tall wooden entrance and let out a heavy sigh. There is no way I’m getting out of here. Glancing
around, I look for another doorway, entrance, something I can squeeze through or climb under.
Before I can go anywhere, find anything, I feel a hand on my shoulder. It is heavy, and the fingers
gripping my flesh are firm. He spins me around to face him. I let out a gasp, looking up at the man
who has his hand on my shoulder.
It is the huge man who sat with Lachlan all evening long. He has a thick red beard, his long red
hair is pulled into a low braid, and he is about a whole foot taller than me. His all-black attire fits
him well, and his piercing black eyes focus on me and only me. I freeze in sheer panic.
“Where is it you’re going, Queen?” he asks, his voice deep, but he doesn’t sound angry. He
sounds curious, but also intrigued.
Pressing my lips together, I think about ignoring him but decide against it, mainly because he looks
scary.
“Away,” I exhale. He shakes his head once, and if I’m not mistaken, I see sympathy or maybe pity
in his gaze. I use that to plead with him. “Please, I just want to go home. I just want to be free.”
“You cannot get home,” Lachlan’s voice calls out. A shiver of fear slides down my spine at his
words. “You are here now, in this world. There is no going anywhere.”

LACHLAN

S TANDING JUST OUTSIDE OF THE BALLROOM IN THE HALL, I LET OUT A HEAVY SIGH AS I LOOK AT
Tavish. I’ve told him as much as I can, but the way he’s been watching me all evening, I know that he
doesn’t quite believe me.
It’s not that he doesn’t believe in magic, but he’s already noticed the marks on Neòil’s neck and
knows that there is more to the story. He also shouldn’t have to wait until the morning, and to be
honest, I am not sure that I wish him to think of me as an abusive husband for that long.
“She is not Aurla. Her name is Neòil,” I announce.
His eyes widen. “Aurla paid a witch to spirit her to another world, and Neòil is who replaced
her.”
“Your bride is from another world,” Tavish announces.
He’s not really asking me. He’s just speaking his thoughts aloud. I watch as he rubs his chin with
his palm, his head moving from side to side, his eyes wide and his breathing coming out a bit
labored.
“She is. She is, in fact, the exact match to Aurla. But in body, she is not. It is why she is so thin.
Perhaps she is not well-fed and has issues. I am concerned she will not be able to bear my children.”
Before Tavish can say another word, something catches the corner of my eye. It is the
queen, my Queen. She looks around the hall, then hurries toward the front of the castle and
disappears. She runs outside, and I watch her go.
“Are you going to follow her?” Tavish asks.
My lips twitch into a smile. Shaking my head once, I clear my throat. “We’ll give her a moment.
Then we’ll bring her back.”
“I still cannot quite believe that she is from a whole other world.”
His words are murmured, almost as if he’s just speaking to himself, but I know that he wishes me
to respond to him.
“Ferelith, the witch, has explained it all to me as best she could in the short time I was able to
converse with her. I did not know such a thing was possible, moving between worlds, that is.”
“I heard rumors that it happened recently,” he mutters.
“Rumors?” I ask.
He rocks back on his heels, his eyes finding mine. “I didn’t think that they could be true, but in
Katrauina, their queen is said to have been from another world. Their curse was awakened, but they
were able to fight it off, to succeed, and the gods guided them to victory.”
“When you get a chance, I want a messenger sent to Katrauina. I need a meeting with the king
there.”
Tavish dips his chin, and I motion to move forward. Together, we make our way out of the castle
and toward the entrance. There she is, standing in the glow of the bloodred moon. Her head is tipped
backward, and she’s staring at the tall gates that would lead her to the outside world.
The extremely unsafe outside world.
 Tavish stands directly behind her, and I hang back a few paces, watching. He reaches out, and I
watch as he grips her shoulder firmly, as he spins her around. She is focused on him and looks
completely terrified.
“Where is it you’re going, Queen?” Tavish asks.
She presses her lips together, looking up at him. She’s beautiful. Even though she is thin, it does
not mean that I do not find her attractive, because I do. Very much so. In fact, I am so attracted to her
that I find the whole sensation unnerving.
“Away,” she exhales, so low that I almost do not hear her. “Please, I just want to go home. I just
want to be free.”
Free. A concept that I do not understand. Nothing and nobody in this world is free, not even me,
the King. I answer to the gods and am beholden by their wants and desires. It is nothing but a dream, a
dream that can never come to fruition.
“You cannot get home,” I call out, deciding not to be an observer any longer. “You are here now,
in this world. There is no going anywhere.”
“I don’t want to be here,” she says with whispers, those big blue eyes of hers wide. She looks
terrified. Though, I cannot say that I blame her. I did almost kill her this evening. She was almost dead
before we consummated the ceremony.
Clearing my throat, I jerk my chin toward Tavish. He takes my silent command and releases
Neòil. We all stand perfectly still, my gaze on Neòil and hers on mine.
“It doesn’t matter what you want. You are the queen of a country. You have a duty.”
“It is not my country. It is not my duty,” she grinds out.
Silence surrounds us as we stare down at one another. Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I
wonder if I should say anything to her at all, or if I should just drag her back into the castle, throw her
in her bedchambers, and lock the door.
“It may not have been your duty, but it is now. As my wife, this is now your country and your
people.”
She takes one step toward me, then another, and stops when she is just a few strides away from
me. Dipping my chin slightly, I look into her eyes knowing that she has something to say to me in
return. It seems that this woman, unlike any other woman I’ve been around, has something quick to say
in almost every conversation we’ve had.
Bending slightly, I shove my shoulder into her stomach before I stand. Neòil is draped over my
shoulder, her hands gripping my belt as I walk back toward the castle.
The wedding is over for us.
Time to begin our marriage.
 Chapter Six

NEÒIL

EMBARRASSINGLY, LACHLAN CARRIES ME THROUGH THE CASTLE. HOWEVER, THANKFULLY, IT IS AN

empty castle. The party still seems to be in full swing, although I don’t understand why, because
everyone seems to be emotionless and bored as hell.
Once we’re through the castle and up a staircase, he walks us down another hallway, then I hear a
door close before I’m sliding down the front of his body. When my feet touch the hard stone floor, I
look up at him, our bodies pressed together and our gazes connected to one another.
“Lachlan,” I whisper.
I don’t know why I say it at all, but his name tumbles from my lips. I don’t know what I expect,
but he doesn’t smile. He doesn’t have any kind of expression at all. He is blank. His dark eyes full
of… nothing.
He’s terrifying and beautiful all at once. I don’t understand how it’s possible, but I’m not only
scared of him but attracted to him at the same time. I don’t understand it at all. I’ve never really been
attracted to anyone before. I was never in a position for anything like that in my life. I am at a loss of
what to do and how I feel right now.
“This isn’t quite what I thought it would be. But we have a duty,” he murmurs.
Pressing my lips together, I roll them a few times, unsure of what to say exactly. And terrified of
what to do. Taking a step backward, I turn my back to him and stare at the crackling fire. I feel him
move behind me, his fingers gently curling around my shoulders.
He doesn’t speak immediately, and neither do I. In all honesty, my tongue feels thick and heavy,
and I’m unsure that I could talk even if I wanted to. The fire dances in front of my gaze, and I take the
moment to stare at it as it moves, taking it all in as the flames flicker one by one.
“I am not a soft man,” Lachlan whispers. “I cannot make you any promises.”
I stay where I am, staring at the flames, watching them dancing and wondering how it would feel
to just jump into them. I’ve never been so mesmerized by fire before. I mean, it’s pretty, but I’ve never
wanted to jump into the middle of it before. That’s crazy talk, but here I am, thinking just that.
“But I should not have touched you the way that I did this eve.”
Turning around in his arms, I lift my gaze to meet his. Those dark eyes almost show a hint of
emotion dancing in them, but then it disappears. Sucking in a breath, I let it out slowly as I stare into
those eyes, hoping for something more. It’s back there, but he’s keeping it locked away.
I want to know why.
If I’m going to be stuck here, if I’m going to be his wife, then I am going to find out why he hides
himself deep inside. I’m going to make him smile. I’m going to make his eyes sparkle. It’s probably
immature of me. He is scary and definitely not someone I should even be considering as a partner, but
I married him.
He’s mine.
I’m his.
“I don’t understand everything that is happening,” I admit on an exhale.
His lips twitch into a small smile, and he dips his chin in a short nod. “Ferelith will explain
tomorrow,” he murmurs, shifting his face closer. His lips are almost touching mine, but they don’t
immediately.
“Lachlan,” I exhale.
Without him responding to me, I feel his hands reach around my back and slowly unbutton the
dress I am wearing. When he reaches my waist, he moves his hands back and slides my sleeves down
my arms and exposes my chest.
“Do not be scared. I will not hurt you… intentionally.”
I don’t say anything. I can’t. He wraps his fingers around my waist and picks me up. My dress
drops to the floor as he does, and I’m left completely nude. And trembling. I’ve never been naked in
front of a man before, and here I am, nude and being carried through a room.
When we reach the bed, he sets me down. The mattress is so soft. I’ve never felt anything like it.
And the bedding itself is like silk. I’ve never in my life touched anything so luxurious before in my
life. This must be a dream. No way can any of this be real.
Lachlan straightens, dropping his hands from my waist. He lifts one of his arms, and his fingers
wrap around the side of my neck. I flinch backward at the move. He shakes his head, his hand
unmoving as he holds me.
“I will not hurt you. Not without cause or provocation.”
This should feel comforting, but it doesn’t. What is one person’s cause is not necessarily
another’s.
“You should have stopped with ‘I will not hurt you,’” I grind out.
He shakes his head. “This is what I can offer you, wife. Our marriage does not have to involve
love. Mutual respect is enough for me. However, if there is cause…”
“How very abuser of you,” I mutter.
There is a moment of silence as we stare at one another, then he clears his throat as his hand shifts
from my neck before it slowly moves down my throat, and my chest, until he stops between my
breasts.
“Your heart beats so quickly that I fear you could pass out. Are you scared, Neòil?” he asks.
Terrified.
But I do not say that.
Instead, I continue to watch him. I stare into his eyes. Then I realize that he asked me this question
and expects an answer.
“No,” I lie.
His lips press together briefly before he clears his throat. “You are.”
But before I can attempt to deny his words, his hand falls from my chest and he straightens, taking
a step backward, then I watch as he undresses. I feel as if this is something far too intimate for me to
witness, but I can’t look away.
He slowly shrugs off his jacket, tossing it to the floor before he pulls his shirt out of his waist,
untying the neck before he tugs it over his head and tosses it somewhere near the jacket. He stands in
front of me in nothing but his kilt.
A man shirtless in a kilt.
I don’t think there is anything sexier.
This man is muscular. He looks like he could be a model. He is cut with long lean muscles that
are packed and stacked on one another. I am speechless, breathless, and my mouth is dry at the sight
of him.
Then, without any fanfare or a single word, his kilt is gone.
I gasp, my eyes unable to look anywhere but at his length. I’ve never seen one in person before.
He is definitely erect. Long and hard, it stares back and me, and I can’t do anything. Not that I would
even know what to do if I could move.
He wraps his fingers around his length and begins to stroke. My lips part as I stare at him. I don’t
know what to do, what to say. I stare straight ahead as he slides his thumb across the head before he
releases his grasp and closes the distance between us.
“It is time to consummate our union, wife.”

LACHLAN

HER BODY IS RIGID . S HE IS , WITHOUT A DOUBT , NERVOUS ABOUT THIS UNION . I BLAME HER NOT , AS A
woman, I don’t think that she knows much of what happens in a marriage bed. At least, her father
assured me of such… then again, she is not the woman who I brokered a deal for.
“Tell me,” I begin. “Tell me if a man has ever touched you.”
I climb onto the bed, my knees sinking into the mattress between her thighs. I don’t look anywhere
except into her eyes, waiting for her answer. I’ve already taken in her small-framed body, and while I
did not think that I would like what I saw, I am not disappointed in this woman.
She is not just breathtakingly gorgeous in the face, but also all over. She’s stunning, this woman
who is now my wife.
“No,” she whispers with a tremble in her voice.
I hum, pleased with the answer she’s given me. I place my fingers at the center of her chest again,
my gaze never wavering from hers. I don’t tell her that I’m glad she’s untouched, but indeed, I am.
Sliding my hand from the center of her chest, I palm her breast as I lower my head and touch my
mouth to hers. Though, I don’t deepen the kiss. That is something I am not inclined to do with her.
Kissing the corner of her lip, I move my mouth over to just below her ear. She whimpers, her
body beginning to loosen against my touch. Plucking her nipple with my fingers, I continue to play
both her breast and her throat.
I align the head of my cock with her center but pause, knowing that she is not ready for me. I move
down her body, kissing and licking her flesh. Wrapping my lips around her breast, I take as much of
her flesh into my mouth as possible. With my other hand, I continue to pluck and pinch the nipple of
her other breast.
Her back arches, her whimpers fill the room, and she finally begins to relax. Her body turns more
pliant, and instead of pushing myself inside of her to take her, to fill her with my seed, I decide that
she should feel pleasure before pain, at least for a moment this first time.
I’m not versed in women overly much, but sex I do know a bit about. Releasing my mouth from
her breast, I kiss down her body farther until I reach her lower belly. Her hands immediately and
quickly rise, her fingers gripping my shoulders.
Lifting my head, I look up at her as she dips her chin to look down at me. Her eyes are wide and
full of what I can only describe as terror. “Neòil?”
“What are you doing?” she demands.
My lips twitch into a smirk. “You’ll like it.”
She inhales a breath, holding it for a moment, then lets it out. “I don’t think I will,” she exhales.
I hum. “How about you let me try? If you don’t like it, I won’t do it again,” I say, fully well
knowing that she will, without a doubt, enjoy it and also beg for more.
Gripping her thighs with my hands, I widen them and also pin them down as I feel her resistance.
She releases my shoulders. I flatten my tongue and taste her. All of her. Swirling my tongue around her
clit. She lets out a gasp as she lifts her hips for more.
That is my signal that she, indeed, does enjoy this. I do not stop. Not until she is crying out, her
hips jerking out of control. When I know that she is close to finding her pleasure, only then do I focus
on her clit, my finger slipping inside of her and curling.
Her hands find purchase on my shoulders again, but this time, her nails dig into my flesh as she
continues to moan, move, and whimper over and over again until her body stiffens, and I taste the
evidence of her pleasure.
Slowly, I remove my finger from inside of her and my mouth from her sweet center before I move
up her body, aligning my tadger with her warm, wet center. With my palms on either side on the bed
next to her head, my arms straight, I look down into her eyes. She’s sated. She wears a small smile on
her lips and her eyelids are hooded.
Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I sink inside of her, pushing past her natural barrier. She lets
out a cry, her muscles tightening all over again as she wraps her arms around my back. I continue
pushing farther inside of her until I’m buried to the hilt.
Pausing, I allow her to attempt to become used to the invasion of my body inside of hers. “You
must relax,” I say through gritted teeth.
She feels better than anything I’ve ever felt before. I want to move, yearn and crave to move, but I
am forcing myself to stay completely still as I wait for her to become a bit more comfortable.
Slowly, I lower my head and touch my lips to the spot just below her ear. Sucking and kissing on
the flesh just behind her earlobe. Her body begins to relax, and so I take the moment to move inside of
her.
This will not take long. She feels too good for it to last only but a moment. Moving in and out, I
tip my chin, looking into her eyes. Shifting all of my weight onto one hand, I use the other to slide
down her thigh, wrapping my fingers around the back of her knee as I move her leg around my hip.
Falling deeper inside of her, I let out a groan as I begin pumping harder and harder. Then I freeze,
my lower back tingling, my baws drawing up, and tadger twitching inside of her as I fill her with my
seed.
I stay buried inside of her, waiting for a moment until I’ve completely emptied myself into her
body, and only then do I roll onto my back. My breathing comes out in heavy pants as I stare at the
ceiling wondering just what that witch did to her to make her feel so incredible.
Forcing myself up into a seated position, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and stand. I look
over my shoulder at her, trying not to make eye contact, though it is difficult because I so do enjoy the
color of her gaze.
“We will break our fast together. A servant will be sent for you when it is time to dress for the
occasion,” I announce as I gather my clothes.
As I walk toward the door, I do not look back. I walk out of the bedchamber and wish with every
fiber of my soul that I could stay beside her… which is precisely why I leave. Whatever this is with
her, this feeling, I cannot feed it.
 Chapter Seven

NEÒIL

I LIE ON THE BED , COMPLETELY NAKED , COVERED WITH JUST A THIN , SOFT SHEET , WONDERING WHAT
the hell just happened. I mean, I know that we had sex, I’m not stupid, but then he just left. I don’t
understand anything, and my heart races in my chest. It pounds so hard that I can imagine my ribs
breaking with eat thump.
Pinching my eyes closed, I try to will myself home. That will work, right? It doesn’t. But I wish it
could. Even though going home doesn’t mean that I have an actual home to go to at this point, it has to
be better than this, doesn’t it?
Rolling onto my side, I stare at the closed wooden door and wonder where this man went. Then I
clear my throat and wipe the tears that started falling from my eyes without permission. Straightening
my arms, I push myself to sitting.
I look around the room, watching as the fire embers begin to die down. I don’t know how to do
anything with a fire, but I have a feeling that this stone floor will become very cold with no fire
burning, so I throw my legs over the side of the bed and walk over to said fire… naked.
Bending down next to a pile of wood, I take a piece and gently place it on the fire, hoping it
doesn’t burn me. The embers shoot out as soon as the wood touches the fire, but thankfully, nothing
crazy happens.
Standing, I start to walk back to the bed when my eyes catch the blood in the center of the bed.
My hymen.
My cheeks heat at the sight of it on the stark white sheets. I touch my cheeks, knowing that they are
probably red, and I’m thankful nobody else can see me and this mess.
I walk back toward the bed and quickly strip the sheets of the evidence. Though I know that
someone will see it, someone will have to wash it. Judging by the fact that there is no electricity in
this place, I highly doubt they have a washing machine.
Looking around, I realize that there isn’t much to see in this room. There is a trunk at the foot of
the bed, a large wardrobe, and a vanity with a piece of metal hung up as a mirror. Then there is a door
and several velvety thick drapes hanging from the ceiling that touch the floor.
Bending down in front of the trunk, I pull the top open and am surprised by how heavy the wood
is. It opens with a loud creak that has me pausing and turning toward the door. Shifting my attention
back to the trunk, I run my fingers over the warm wood and cool metal of the top edging.
I tilt my chin down to look into the box at the contents. I half expected some bedding, but that is
not what I find. It’s clothes. Nothing fancy—some thick wool fabrics, but at the bottom, I spot a black
and red plaid fabric.
I take the plaid out and hold it up. It’s much longer than the kilt Lachlan was wearing, and it’s then
that I realize this is a woman’s skirt. I really take in the other pieces of fabric. It is confirmed. This is
a woman’s trunk.
Putting everything neatly back inside, I close the heavy lid, then stand from my knees and turn my
head toward the vanity. I shift around to face it, then walk to the wooden table and sink down on the
small bench with a hiss.
I am sore, raw, tender and wish I had some clothes on my body as a barrier between me and the
seat, but I don’t. With trembling fingers, I reach for the side drawer of the vanity, gently tugging it
open.
It’s full of women’s things. There is a hairbrush with a silver handle and soft bristles, maybe
horsehair. There are a few little bottles, none of which I recognize, and even little round containers
with lids.
I don’t open any of them.
All these things belong to another woman. A stabbing pain slices my heart at that idea. At the
concept that this is another woman’s room. Someone else slept here before me, and her things are
here, too. It’s as if she just vanished and nobody bothered to clear out her things.
On shaky legs, I stand and make my way to the wardrobe. Standing in front of the tall wooden
closet, I tilt my head back and slide my gaze up to the top. It’s beautiful. Everything here is that way. I
could stay here just for this, for the straight gorgeousness of this place.
Ornate carvings cover the wood. Designs that I can’t quite make out, but that doesn’t matter
because it’s beautiful, just like everything else in this castle.
I reach out for the small metal handles, wrap my fingers around them, and pull the doors open.
They are heavy, and again, I let out a loud squeak. And again, I shift my attention to the door and stare
for a moment, waiting for it to open.
It doesn’t.
Shifting my attention back to the wardrobe, I take in the contents.
Dresses.
Women’s dresses.
A dozen of them.
At the bottom, there are shoes.
When I look at the inside of the door, I find what looks like long nightgowns.
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. I wonder if I should just put one of them on, but I decide against
it. If these are his mistress’ things, I don’t want any part of it. I honestly don’t know who they belong
to, but it isn’t me, and that hurts.
It shouldn’t hurt. I shouldn’t feel anything. I don’t even know him. But my heart aches for him.
The beast.
I’m pretty sure the interpretation is correct when it comes to Lachlan McQuarrie.
Taking my naked self over to the bed, I lie down and close my eyes. I’m chilly and tired. My body
aches and is exhausted. I just want to sleep, maybe for a whole week. Maybe for a year. Maybe until I
wake up again back at home.
Maybe forever.
Another random document with
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calling out, “Abdullah, eat; for you are a hungry Kafir.” I found that,
during my absence, only one kafila had arrived from Bornou,—the
same which had brought me the letters, along with three bottles of
port wine, and some gunpowder, from Major Denham. Hat Salah,
among other news, mentioned that old Jacob, my servant, had been
in great distress for my safety during my absence; and that a female
slave of El Wordee’s, who was much attached to him, had lost her
reason on hearing we were gone to Youri, and in this unhappy state,
having thrown herself into a well, she had broken one of her arms.
May 23.—Cool and cloudy. I was visited by all the principal Arabs
who were in Kano; amongst the rest old Hadje Boo Zaied, who has
ever been our stanch friend, and was a very worthy man. He
begged, with great earnestness, that I would not acquaint the sheikh
of Bornou or the bashaw of Tripoli of Bello’s behaviour to Hadje Ali at
Sackatoo. For Boo Zaied’s sake, I promised to screen him, unless
questions were expressly put to me concerning his conduct, when I
must speak the truth; for he had behaved to me both like a fool and a
knave.
May 25.—To-day I paid up my servants’ wages, at the rate of four
dollars a month, but reduced them in future one half; notwithstanding
which, they were all glad to remain in my service.
May 26.—I waited on the governor, who received me with marked
kindness, and inquired particularly after the health of the sultan and
of the gadado, and how I had fared in crossing the Gondamee, the
river between Futche and Sackatoo.
May 30.—Clear and sultry. I was earnestly solicited by the people
to refer to my books, and to ascertain if the new moon would be
seen to-day; which much longed-for event, I assured them, would
take place after sunset, if the evening was clear. This anxiety was
occasioned by the fast of the Rhamadan, then terminating, and the
Aid, or great feast, immediately commencing. The evening turning
out cloudy, all were in low spirits; but at midnight a horseman arrived
express to acquaint the governor that the new moon had been
visible.
 May 31.—After the arrival of the horseman, nothing was heard but
the firing of musketry and shouts of rejoicing.—Paying and receiving
visits now became a serious occupation. In the morning,
accompanied by Hat Salah, I went on horseback to pay my respects
to the governor. I accepted his invitation to ride out with him,
according to their annual custom; and we proceeded to an open
space within the city walls, amid skirmishing and firing of muskets,
attended by his people on horseback, and the Arabs and principal
townsfolk dressed in their gayest raiments,—all who could possibly
muster a horse for the occasion being mounted. The most
conspicuous person in the whole procession was a man on
horseback in quilted armour, who rode before the governor bearing a
two-handed sword. On reaching the plain, the governor made a
speech to the people, declaring his intention to attack Duntungua,
when he expected every man to exert his utmost prowess. Their
sons too should not, as in times past, be left behind, but would
accompany them to the war, and learn to fight the battles of their
country under the eyes of their parents. Afterwards we rode home in
the same order. All work was laid aside for three days. Men, women,
and children, in their finest clothes, paraded through the town; a
number of slaves were also set free, according to the custom of
Mahometans at this holy season. The owner of my house freed
fifteen.
June 1.—I visited the governor, to take leave. He was very kind,
and after inquiring if I should ever return, begged me to remember
him to his friend the sheikh El Kanemy, and expressed his hope I
would give a favourable account of the people I had visited. I
assured him, as to the last particular, I could not do otherwise, as I
had every where experienced the greatest civility. He then repeated
the Fatha, and I bade him farewell.
June 3.—At ten in the morning I left Kano, and was accompanied
some miles by Hadje Hat Salah and all my friends on horseback.
Before Hat Salah left me, he called all my servants before him, and
told them he trusted they would behave well and faithfully; for, as
they had seen, I was the servant of a great king, the friend of the
bashaw of Tripoli, and had been passed from one sultan to another;
consequently any misbehaviour of theirs, on a complaint from me,
would be severely punished. We only travelled a short way before
halting, for the heat of the day, under a shady tree. In the afternoon
we again set forward, and at sunset encamped outside the town of
Duakee.
June 4.—This morning we passed through the walled town of
Sockwa, which is now reduced to a few huts inhabited by slaves;
and halting for the heat of the day under a tamarind tree, we pitched
our tents at sunset under the walls of Girkwa, not far from the banks
of the river. The people were dancing in honour of the Aid. The
dance was performed by men armed with sticks, who springing
alternately from one foot to the other, while dancing round in a ring,
frequently flourished their sticks in the air, or clashed them together
with a loud noise. Sometimes a dancer jumped out of the circle, and
spinning round on his heel for several minutes, made his stick whirl
above his head at the same time with equal rapidity; he would then
rejoin the dance. In the centre of the ring there were two drummers,
the drums standing on the ground. They were made of a hollow
block of wood about three feet high, with a skin drawn tensely over
the top by means of braces. A great concourse of natives were
assembled to witness the exhibition.
June 5.—Morning cloudy. At six in the morning we left Girkwa,
and reposing ourselves during the heat of the day under some
tamarind trees among the villages of Nansarina, we encamped at
sunset in the woods. The inhabitants were now very busy in the
fields planting grain. Their mode of planting it is very simple. A man
with a hoe scrapes up a little mould at regular intervals, and is
followed by a woman carrying the seed, of which she throws a few
grains into each hole, and treads down the mould over them with her
feet.
June 6.—At noon we halted in the town of Sangeia, the governor
of which was at Kano; so I fortunately escaped the pain of hearing
his squeaking voice. We encamped for the night in the woods.
June 7.—At one in the afternoon we halted outside the town of
Katungwa. At sunset two horsemen arrived at full gallop, with the
news of the governor of Kano having taken a town, at a very short
distance to the north, from the rebel Duntungua.
June 8.—Every where the inhabitants were busily employed
clearing the ground, and burning the weeds and stubble, preparatory
to sowing grain. We sheltered ourselves from the mid-day heat
under the shade of a tamarind tree, in the province of Sherra, and
halted for the night outside the town of Boosuea. A son of the
governor of Sherra was here, attended by a number of horsemen,
and a band of music. He drank coffee with me, and I was in turn
regaled with music the greater part of the night. The instruments
were chiefly flutes and long wooden pipes, called by the natives
frum-frum.
June 9.—At sunset we arrived at the town of Dugwa.
June 10.—At daybreak we left Dugwa, and travelled through a
thickly wooded country. It rained all day, and we also had some
thunder and lightning. At seven in the evening we arrived at Murmur.
I heard, at Kano, that a kafila of Arabs, belonging to Augela, had
destroyed the clay wall around Dr. Oudney’s grave, and made a fire
over it, telling the inhabitants he was a Kafir. This report, to my great
regret, I found to be true.
June 11.—At sunrise I sent for the governor, to inquire who had
committed the outrage, when he protested it was the Arabs, and not
the people of the town. I felt so indignant at this wanton act of
barbarity, I could not refrain from applying my horsewhip across the
governor’s shoulders, and threatened to report him to his superior,
the governor of Katagum, and also to despatch a letter on the
subject to the sultan, unless the wall was immediately rebuilt: which,
with slavish submission, he promised faithfully to see done without
delay. During my halt at noon, near Katagum, I sent Dumbojee
forward to inform Duncawa, the governor, of my return. In the
afternoon I heard that he was on his way to meet me; and I had
scarcely left my resting-place before he made his appearance,
attended by about thirty horsemen, who, when they saw me, came
up at full gallop, brandishing their spears. I presented the governor
with a hundred Goora nuts, every one of which he distributed
amongst his people. He gave me many very hearty welcomes, and
made numerous inquiries about Bello, and his behaviour to me. He
and his people now galloped into the town, yelling and skirmishing;
and although the governor had been sick for some time past, he
appeared as lively and cheerful as any of them. On entering
Katagum I was lodged in my old quarters, and was immediately
visited by my old friend Hameda, the Tripoline merchant, who was
still here. I invited him to accompany me to Tripoli, as the late Dr.
Oudney had advised him; but he excused himself, on the plea of
being unable to collect his outstanding debts from his numerous
creditors, who were scattered all over the country.
June 12.—Warm and sultry. Duncawa remained with me all day,
and informed me, that he had the sultan’s orders to conduct me to
Kouka, in Bornou. This mark of respect I positively declined, both on
account of his recent illness, and also lest his presence might give
umbrage to the sheikh; but agreed to accept from him an escort
through the Bede territory. I assured him, when once in Bornou, that
I felt myself as safe as in his house. If he insisted, however, on
somebody accompanying me, he might, if he pleased, send one of
his principal people. I made a formal complaint of the insult
committed to Dr. Oudney’s grave,—enforcing, in the strongest terms,
the disgrace of disturbing the ashes of the dead, whose immortal
part was now beyond the power of malignant man. He frankly
acknowledged the enormity of the act, and faithfully promised to
have the wall rebuilt,—even offering to send for the governor of
Murmur, and have him punished; but, at the same time, begging me
not to acquaint the sultan of the occurrence. I expressed my reliance
on his assurances, but apprised him I must inform the gadado of the
affair. I afterwards spent the evening with Hameda.
June 13.—There was a fresh breeze in the morning; but it
afterwards began to rain. Duncawa being laid up from lameness, I
had a day’s rest, and again spent the evening with Hameda. The
conversation turning on the trustworthiness of slaves, he mentioned
to me, that his servants never knew in what apartment of his house
he slept; and that he even lay with a dagger, and loaded pistols,
under his pillow, lest he should be murdered by his female slaves.
He also acquainted me, that almost all the Arabs did the same; for it
was chiefly females whom they had reason to fear, the master being
often strangled at night by the women of his household.
June 14.—Duncawa visited me again, and made me a present of
two tobes, two sheep, and a large quantity of Guinea corn, and gave
a tobe to each of my servants. I presented him with six hundred
Goora nuts, having brought a large supply of them from Kano.
June 15.—I had every thing prepared for continuing my journey,
but Duncawa pressed me to spend another day with him, and I
availed myself of the delay to write to Bello and the gadado. I
returned my humble thanks to the former for his protection and
favour while I sojourned in his territories; and, in acknowledging the
uniform kindness of the latter, I did not fail to acquaint him of the
outrage committed on Dr. Oudney’s grave. I delivered these letters to
the charge of Dumbojee, who, having fulfilled his orders, took leave
of me here, having first made him a present of a couple of tobes and
forty dollars. My guide, Mahomed Dumbojee, had now become rich
and gay, having a numerous train of attendants; for at every town
where we halted, the governor was bound in courtesy to make him a
present, in token of respect for the sultan.
Having sent my camels forward, I went to bid farewell to
Duncawa, who was still confined to his house by illness. He made
me breakfast with him. Our breakfast consisted of a sheep’s head,
singed in the same manner as is practised in Scotland—a sheep’s
fry—and bread and milk. I was accompanied across the Yeou by my
friend Hameda, and Duncawa’s horsemen, who all wished to be
allowed to attend me to Sansan; but I excused myself from this
guard of honour, at once troublesome and expensive, by pretending
it was unlucky to go beyond the banks of a river with a friend.
Attended only by one of Duncawa’s principal men, I passed the thick
woods on the bank of the river, and, halting under a tamarind tree
during the heat of the day, I encamped towards evening at a village
called Mica. The inhabitants were all very busy in the fields sowing
gussub. They brought me, however, an abundant supply of milk, and
repeated inquiries were made after Bello’s health; for although they
recently belonged to Bornou, of which country they are natives, they
entertain, nevertheless, a great respect for their new sultan.
June 17.—I started at daylight, and, as the weather was cloudy
and rather windy, I did not halt before reaching Sansan. I was here
provided with very indifferent accommodation; but, on threatening I
would encamp outside the town, the governor received me into his
own house, according to Duncawa’s orders, and also made me a
present of a sheep. At night there was a violent storm, with thunder
and lightning. The poor lad Joseph, who had been hired at Kouka by
the late Dr. Oudney to tend the camels, was out all night with them.
Being a native of Fezzan, and half an idiot, he was here considered
a holy man, and I still retained him in my service out of charity. It was
he who gave me an account of the people of Bede, as he had been
a slave among them; and related his story with such artless
simplicity, that I implicitly rely on its correctness.
June 18.—Cool and cloudy. I heard to-day of a courier being
delayed on his route, by his camel’s being knocked up; and as
Duncawa was also preparing a present for the sheikh El Kanemy, I
postponed my departure yet another day.
June 19.—At eleven in the forenoon the courier arrived, bringing a
sabre as a present for the sultan Bello, and letters from Major
Denham, the consul at Tripoli, and the secretary of state. Accordingly
at mid-day I set off on my return to Katagum, in order to have the
sword forwarded to Bello by Duncawa.
At ten in the morning I entered Katagum, and immediately waited
on Duncawa to acquaint him with the cause of my return. I showed
him the sword, and explaining to him the manner of attaching the
belt, he expressed himself in terms of the highest admiration of both
sheath and sabre; and looking again and again at the ornaments, he
frequently asked, “Is not this all gold?” He sent instantly for the cadi,
who wrote a letter in my name to Bello, and a courier was
despatched with it and the sword. In the evening, another thunder-
storm, with much rain.
June 21.—At one in the afternoon I arrived again at Sansan.
 June 22.—Clear and sultry. I was further detained on account of
the present for the sheikh not being ready.
June 23.—Morning cloudy. At seven in the morning I left Sansan,
attended by part of the escort which was to conduct me through the
Bede territory, and was obliged to stop about noon at the village of
Girkwa, by a violent attack of ague and bilious vomiting. Previous to
starting, I was joined by two merchants of Tripoli, who had been at
Kano, and begged to be allowed to place themselves under my
protection during this perilous part of the journey. In the afternoon
Hadje Fudor, the governor of Sansan, arrived with the remainder of
the escort, and also brought me a sheep, more in the expectation, I
think, of receiving some Goora nuts in return, than from any regard
for me. At midnight more rain, thunder, and lightning.
June 24.—Cool and cloudy. At ten in the morning halted at the
village of Boorum, to fill our water-skins, and afterwards travelled
through a thick wood, where we saw a number of karigums and
elephants: the karigum is a species of antelope, of the largest size,
as high as a full grown mule. At sunset we pitched our tents in the
woods. The night was extremely boisterous, with rain, thunder and
lightning, and violent squalls of wind; and my tent being blown down,
the baggage was drenched with water.
June 25.—Next morning we continued our route through a thick
wood, and halted at Joba during the heat of the day, when I had my
baggage dried in the sun. We still travelled through a thick wood,
and at seven in the evening encamped at a village called Gorbua.
Rain, thunder, and lightning, all night.
June 26.—Cloudy, with rain. At ten in the morning I left Gorbua, or
“the strong town,” as it is ironically called in the Bornouese language,
from being enclosed with matting. Our road, still winding and woody,
led through the Bede territory; and at sunset we reached Guba, a
small town on the south bank of the Yeou, within the dominions of
Bornou.
June 27.—The forenoon was rainy, which obliged us to remain at
Guba till one in the afternoon; when the weather clearing up, we
loaded the camels, and crossing to the north bank of the channel of
the river, which was now dry, we travelled east by south to the town
of Muznee, where we halted for the night.
June 28.—Cloudy, with rain. We travelled eastward along a
crooked path, full of holes, and overgrown with brushwood, and took
up our abode for the night at the town of Redwa. An officer of the
sultan of Bornou was here, collecting his master’s dues, and sent me
milk, onions, and six fowls; and I presented him, in return, with fifteen
Goora nuts.
June 29.—After travelling east by north, we halted at noon at
Kukabonee, or “wood and fish,” a large town on the south bank of
the Yeou. We next passed Magawin, and a number of other villages
and towns on the banks of the river, which we had not visited before,
when we accompanied the sheikh last year.
June 30.—Cool and cloudy. We halted at ten in the morning at
Dungamee, in consequence of heavy rain with thunder and lightning,
which continued without intermission all day.
July 1.—Clear. The weather was hot and sultry. At sunset we
arrived at Mugabee. I shot at a hippopotamus which was swimming
in a lake, of which there are many in this part of the country; I
seemed to hit it, but it quickly disappeared.
July 2.—Stopped for the day to allow the camels to have food and
rest.
July 3.—Between Gateramaran and Mugabee we met Malam
Fanamee, the governor of Munga, who had been to Kouka on a visit
to the sheikh. He was a dirty looking old man, preceded by a
drummer beating a drum, and attended by a parcel of ragged
followers, armed with bows and spears. We encamped at night in a
wood.
July 4.—At mid-day we halted on the banks of the Yeou: in the
afternoon there was thunder, lightning, and rain. A dealer in fish, who
had joined our party, solicited me in vain to pursue a route through a
town named Sucko, where he was going, promising me a sheep,
with plenty of milk, as an inducement. We passed another night in
the woods.
 July 5.—Clear and cool. At ten in the morning we halted and filled
our water-skins, and I here shot a hare and two Guinea-fowls. About
an hour after starting we had heavy squalls of wind, with thunder and
rain: the storm was so violent that the camels lay down with their
burdens, and my horse would neither move forward, nor face the
storm in spite of all I could do. It was an hour before we were able to
resume our journey, and at eight in the evening we encamped in the
woods. The dangers of the road being past, my two fellow travellers,
the merchants before mentioned, left me at midnight on account of
the want of water.
July 6.—To-day I shot a fine male mohur, or beautiful red and
white antelope; a female only of which species I had once shot at
Woodie. At noon we took shelter under the walls of Borgee from
heavy squalls of wind and sand, but without rain. At sunset we
encamped near a well where there had been a great fall of rain, and
all the hollows were filled with water. To roast our mohur a large fire
was kindled in a hole made in the sand, on which it was placed, and
then covered over with hot embers; but, in the morning, to our great
disappointment, nothing remained of our prize but the naked
skeleton.
July 7.—At noon we halted at the wells of Barta, and encamped at
night at the wells and town of Calawawa.
July 8.—At eight in the morning I returned to Kouka: Major
Denham was absent on a journey round the east side of the Tchad.
Hillman, the naval carpenter, was busily employed in finishing a
covered cart, to be used as a carriage or conveyance for the
sheikh’s wives: the workmanship, considering his materials, reflected
the greatest credit on his ingenuity; the wheels were hooped with
iron, and it was extremely strong, though neither light nor handsome.
July 9.—In the afternoon I waited on the sheikh, who was very
kind in his inquiries after my health, and expressed much regret at
Dr. Oudney’s death.
July 10.—To-day the sheikh sent me three pairs of slippers, two
loaves of sugar, and a supply of coffee; and two days afterwards a
sheep, two bags of wheat, and a jar of honey.
 APPENDIX.
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE ARABIC, OF VARIOUS LETTERS AND
DOCUMENTS, BROUGHT FROM BORNOU AND SOUDAN BY
MAJOR DENHAM AND CAPTAIN CLAPPERTON.

BY A. SALAME, ESQUIRE.

No. I.

Translation of a Letter from the Sheikh Mohammed El Kanemy,

Chieftain of Bornou, in the Interior of Africa, to his Most Excellent
Majesty King George the Fourth. Brought by Major Denham.

“Praise be to God, and blessings and peace be unto the Apostle

of God (Mohammed). From the servant of the High God, Mohammed
El Ameen ben Mohammed El Kanemy,
“To the pre-eminent above his equals, and the respected among
his inferiors, the great King of the English, salutation be to him from
us:
“Whereas your messengers, the travellers through the earth, for
the purpose, as they state, of seeing and knowing its marvellous
things, have come to us, we welcomed them, and paid attention to
their arrival, in consequence of what we heard of your intercourse
with the Mùslemeen, and the establishment of your friendly relations
between you and their kings, since the time of your and their fathers
and grandfathers (ancestors).
“We have thus regarded that friendship, and behaved to them
according to its merits, as much as God the Omnipotent enabled us.
They communicated your compliments to us, and that which you
stated in your letter, that you would not object, if we should be in
want of any thing from your country, was made known to us; and we
felt thankful to you for this (offer) on your part.
 “They are now returning to you, after having accomplished their
wishes; but one of them, whose period of life was ended, died. This
was the physician; and an excellent and wise man he was.
“The Rayes Khaleel (travelling name of Major Denham) desired of
us permission, that merchants seeking for elephant-teeth, ostrich
feathers, and other such things, that are not to be found in the
country of the English, might come among us. We told him that our
country, as he himself has known and seen its state, does not suit
any heavy (rich) traveller, who may possess great wealth. But if a
few light persons (small capitalists), as four or five only, with little
merchandize, would come, there will be no harm. This is the utmost
that we can give him permission for; and more than this number
must not come. If you should wish to send any one from your part to
this country again, it would be best to send Rayes Khaleel; for he
knows the people and the country, and became as one of the
inhabitants.
“The few things that we are in want of are noted down in a
separate paper, which we forward to you.
“Write to the consul at Tripoli, and to that at Cairo, desiring them,
if any of our servants or people should go to them for any affair,
either on land or at sea, to assist them, and do for them according to
their desire. And peace be with you.
“Dated on the evening of Saturday, the middle of the month
Fledja, 1239 of Hejra (corresponding to August 1824).
“Sealed. The will of God be done, and in God hath his faith, his
slave Mohammed El Ameen ben Mohammed El Kanemy.”
 No. II.

Translation of a Letter from an African Chieftain (Bello) of Soudan, to

his Majesty King George the Fourth. Brought by Mr. Clapperton.

“In the name of God, the merciful and the clement. May God bless
our favourite Prophet Mohammed, and those who follow his sound
doctrine.
“To the head of the Christian nation, the honoured and the
beloved among the English people, George the Fourth, King of Great
Britain;
“Praise be to God, who inspires, and peace be unto those who
follow, the right path:
“Your Majesty’s servant, Ra-yes-Abd-Allah, (Mr. Clapperton’s
travelling name,) came to us, and we found him a very intelligent and
wise man; representing in every respect your greatness, wisdom,
dignity, clemency, and penetration.
“When the time of his departure came, he requested us to form a
friendly relation, and correspond with you, and to prohibit the
exportation of slaves by our merchants to Ata-gher, Dahomi, and
Ashantee. We agreed with him upon this, on account of the good
which will result from it, both to you and to us; and that a vessel of
yours is to come to the harbour of Racka with two cannons, and the
quantities of powder, shot, &c. which they require; as also, a number
of muskets. We will then send our officer to arrange and settle every
thing with your consul, and fix a certain period for the arrival of your
merchant ships; and when they come, they may traffic and deal with
our merchants.
“Then after their return, the consul may reside in that harbour (viz.
Racka), as protector, in company with our agent there, if God be
pleased.”
 “Dated 1st of Rhamadan, 1239 of Hejra.” 18th April, 1824.

No. III.

A Letter from Yousuf, Pasha of Tripoli, to the Sheikh of Bornou.

“Praise be to God, and prayers be unto him who was the last of
the Prophets (Mohammed).
“To the learned and accomplished, the virtuous Iman, the jealous
and zealous defender of the Mohammedan faith, our true friend the
Sheikh Mohammed El Kanemy, Lord of the country of Barnooh[66],
and its dependencies, whom may God protect and dignify, and
prolong his life long in happiness and felicity. Peace be unto you,
and the mercy and blessings of God be upon you, as long as the
inhabitants of the world shall exist.
“It follows, my Lord, subsequent to the due inquiry we make after
your health, which may God preserve, that your esteemed letter has
reached us, and we became acquainted with its contents. You
informed us that our beloved son, Aba Bak’r Ben Khalloom, arrived
in your presence, in company with some persons of the English
nation, our friends; and that you received them with extreme
kindness, and showed them all the marvellous things that your
country contains, and made them see all the extraordinary rivers and
lakes that surround it; and that you behaved to them as becoming
your high station, and indicating your esteem and regard towards us.
May God reward you for all this kindness, and protect you from all
evils. This kind treatment was our sanguine expectation, and indeed
we were already sure of it, from what we knew of the true friendship
and amity established between us.
“What we have now to acquaint you with, is to request that you
will continue your protection and assistance to the said English
travellers (though we doubt not you do not need this additional
recommendation), and cause them to proceed to the country of
Soudan, to behold its marvellous things, and traverse the seas
(lakes or rivers), and deserts therein. This being the proper desire of
the great King of the English himself, we beg of you to use your
utmost endeavours, as far as lies in your power, in their safe arrival
at the country of Soudan, accompanied either by letters of
recommendation, or by troops and guards, in order that they may
obtain the accomplishment of their wishes, and return to us safe and
unhurt; and whatever kindness you may do to them, it is done to us.
Resolve therefore, and exert yourself, as we are confident of your
goodness, and let them see all the places which they wish to visit.
“At the end there will be a splendid present, befitting your high
rank, sent to you through us, consisting of various rare and elegant
articles of value; for the delivery of which, unto your hands, we
pledge ourselves.
“This is all that we have to say at present, and if any affair should
occur to you in this country, let us know. And peace be unto you.
“Your friend,
(Signed) “YOUSUF PASHA .”
(Dated) “28th of Sha-wal, 1238 of Hejra;”
corresponding to August, 1823.

FOOTNOTES:

[66]Note. This is the proper name of Bornou. A. S.

 No. IV.

A Letter from the before named Pasha of Tripoli to Aba Bak’r ben
Khalloom, at Bornou.

“We received your letter, and comprehended all that you stated to
us. We were glad to hear that you, and our friends, the English
travellers, with whom we sent you as guide and conductor, had
arrived at Barnooh in safety; and that you were kindly received by
our friend, my Lord, the Sheikh Mohammed El Kanemy, who
immediately allowed the travellers to inspect all the deserts, and
seas, lakes and rivers, that are in his country. May God reward him
for this act of kindness. We have written to thank him for his laudable
behaviour; and we pray to God to enable us to show him equal
kindness in return.
“With regard to the persons of the different tribes, who were
obstinate and disobedient to you on the road, they have been
apprehended, and taken and punished one by one.
“As long as the English travellers remain at Barnooh, you have to
attend, and be with them wherever they go, till they shall have
obtained their wishes, and accomplished their object; and when they
desire to return, you may accompany and come with them as you
went. If this letter should reach you before you leave Barnooh, you
must stay with them, as above stated; if it reach you while you are on
the road homewards, you must return to Barnooh immediately, and
only send us the slave you have with you; and if you should arrive at
Fezzan before this letter reaches you, you may then send your
brother to Barnooh, to stay with them instead of you; for we only sent
you on their account, for the purpose of facilitating their proceeding,
and all their affairs. It is, therefore, impossible that you should leave
or part with them, but in this manner; and we are sure that, to a
person like you, there is no need to add any stronger words,
especially as you know that they are in our honour, and under our
protection, both in their going and returning in safety; which is the
accomplishment of our wishes. And may you live in happiness and
peace.
(Signed) “YOUSUF PASHA .”
(Dated) “2d of Ze-el-ka’da, 1238;”
corresponding to August, 1823.
 No. V.

A Letter from the Sheikh of Bornou to the Sultan of Kanou.

“Praise be to God, and prayers and peace be unto the Apostle of

God (Mohammed).
“From the slave of the high God, Mohammed El-ameen ben
Mohammed El-kanemy, to the head of his land and the leader of his
people, the learned Mohammed Daboo, lord and master of Kanou:
Perfect peace, and the mercy and blessings of God, be unto you.
“Hence, the bearer, who is going to you, is our friend Mohammed
El-wardy, in whose company he has some Englishmen; who came to
the land of Soodan for the purpose of seeing and delighting
themselves with the wonders it contains, and to examine and see the
lakes and rivers, and forests, and deserts therein. They have been
sent by their king for this purpose.
“Between their nation and the Mooslemeen, there have existed,
since the times of their fathers and great grandfathers (ancestors),
treaties of religious amity and friendship, special to themselves out of
all the other nations that have erred, and are at variance with the
doctrine of Aboo Hanifa[67]. There never was between them and the
Mooslemeen any dispute; and whenever war is declared by the other
Christians against the Mooslemeen, they are always ready to help
us, as it has happened in the great assistance they gave to our
nation when they delivered Egypt from the hands of the French.
They have, therefore, continually penetrated into the countries of the
Mooslemeen, and travelled where-ever they pleased with confidence
and trust, and without being either molested or hurt. They are, as it is
stated, descendants of the ancient Greek emperor Heraclius, who
received and esteemed the letter sent to him from the Apostle of
God (Mohammed), whom may God bless, by Dahi-yah El-kalbee,
containing his exhortation to him to embrace the Moosleman faith;
and who, on receiving that sacred epistle, preserved it in a gold
case,—though it is stated, in the books of history, that he did not
become a Mooslem.
“Thus, if God permit them to reach you in safety, be attentive to
them, and send guards to conduct them to the country of Kashna,
safe and unhurt; for they are at the mercy of God, and at the honour
of his Apostle; and you are well aware of the Alcoraanic sayings
upon the subject of the observance of honour. And peace be with
you.”
Dated “Wednesday, the 6th day of Rabee-ul-thani, 1239,”
(Corresponding to January, 1824.)

FOOTNOTES:

[67]Aboo Hanifa, or Imam Kanafee, was one of the four great

imams or high priests, founders of the four orthodox rites of
Mohammedanism; and whose doctrine, it seems, is followed by
these people. A. S.

No. VI.

A Letter from the Sheikh of Bornou to Mohammed Bello, Sultan of

Hoossa.

“Praise be to God, and prayers and peace be unto the Apostle of

God, (Mohammed).
“To the honoured and accomplished, the virtuous and munificent,
the pattern of goodness and the standard of benevolence, head of
the Soodanic kingdom, and ruler of the country of Hoossa, our
friend, the learned Mohammed Bello, son of the intelligent sheikh
Ossman, whose soul may God shelter with the clouds of mercy and
peace.
 “Our kind salutation, accompanied with affection as strong as the
odour of musk, and as perpetual as the movement of the globe, and
with the mercy and blessings of God, be unto you.
“Hence, the cause of writing this letter and the purpose of its lines,
is to acquaint you that the bearers are English travellers; whose
nation, out of all the other Christians, has maintained with the
Mooslemeen uninterrupted treaties of religious amity and friendship,
established since ancient periods, which they inherited from their
forefathers and ancestors; and, on this account, they penetrate into
the Mooslemeen countries whenever they please, and traverse all
provinces and lands, in confidence and trust, without fear. They
came to our country, sent to us by our virtuous and accomplished
friend, the Lord Yousuf Pashá, master of Tripoli, to see and delight
themselves with the wonders of the land of Soodan, and to become
acquainted with its rarities, as lakes, rivers, and forests (or gardens);
equal to which are seldom seen in any other countries.
“After having accomplished their wishes, in seeing all the things
that the land of Barnooh and its environs contained, they felt anxious
to visit your country from what they heard of the innumerable
wonders therein. I have, therefore, permitted them to proceed on
their journey, accompanying them with letters which explain their
object.
“You are well aware of what is stated in the Alcoraanic sayings
upon the subject of the observance of honour, dictated by our Lord,
the Apostle of God; and that the true Mooslemeen have always
avoided shedding the blood of Christians, and assisted and
protected them with their own honour. Be then attentive to these
travellers, and cast them not into the corners of neglect; let no one
hurt them, either by words or deeds, nor interrupt them with any
injurious behaviour: but let them return to us, safe, content, and
satisfied, as they went from us to you; and may the high God bestow
upon you the best reward for your treatment to them, and insure to
us and to you the path of the righteous for our conduct in this life.
“Our salutation may be given to all who are about you, and to
those who are related to you in general. And peace be unto you.