Prologue

Once Upon a Time seems far to fanciful a way to begin my tale, and although one could certainly consider it a fairy story, the fairies of my acquaintance aren't those who admire any sort of frivolity.

I was raised with a healthy respect for the people dwelling under the hills. The daoine sith, or fairies as they are more often called, are as temperate as they are beautiful, and once incurred, their wrath knows no limit, their punishments no bounds. The elders in my village used to gossip that my father was the victim of such a fate- for the way the once handsome and respectable clerk fell from grace was nothing but unnatural. After all, my mother grew ill so suddenly during her pregnancy that it was clear to everyone but the most stringent non-believers that a spell had been put upon her.

And so I shall simply start my tale at the very beginning, for without understanding how my life began, how I managed to change it will mean very little.

My labour into the world was not an easy one, and it took my mother's life at the very same moment she'd brought me into it. However, the evidence that most assuredly spoke of my father's disfavor with the fairies was not her death, as one might have supposed, but me. The minute the midwife looked at my twisted foot she set about placing loops of rowan round my cradle, and iron horseshoes were tacked to all of the windows and doors to try and prevent any more foul magic from entering my father's house. Whatever love my father might have felt for me was quickly replaced by hatred- anger that I had killed his beloved wife, and frustration that I would not be a worthy heir for his name, crippled as I was.

He made it clear to me as I was growing up, that I was nothing but a burden. The only compassion to be found was in the loaves of bread and casks of mead left by villagers, though I suspect it was because they were wary enough of my house's curse that they tried to appease it through meager offerings.

Yet, I was grateful for the small blessings, since my father had long since buried himself in debt and desperation, and we were lucky to have food in our stomachs. Still, I always managed to leave a little something for the fairies with the vain hope that perhaps, if they saw my willingness to amend for whatever error my father had made, they might release me from the pain I felt in my foot and the ache I felt in my heart.

But destiny has a strange way of charging in when you least expect it, and the day the laird's men knocked on our door was the day my life was altered forever. At near eleven years old I had grown up far too fast, and understood we had nothing to give in tribute and taxes to the laird. My father rarely took on clients, and the more he drank the fewer asked for him to settle their accounts.

Nevertheless, I cracked open the wooden door, the sound of the hinges creaking seemed to sound out my doom, while the laird's taxman regarded my appearance with what I'd learned to recognize as pity.

I knew what he saw when he looked at me, for it was the same as everyone else. A skinny, red-headed waif- unwashed, malnourished and with a clubfoot that caused me to walk awkwardly despite the fact I leaned on an old walking stick for assistance.

"Good morrow, lass," the man said with a kindlier expression than any I'd ever before seen, and I couldn't help but regard him with suspicion. He was enormous in stature, and his brown eyes were soft and gentle. "I'm looking for your da. Is he at home?" he continued, very politely. I wasn't used to being spoken to so nicely, and so I couldn't help but flush a little at his attention. Standing as straight as I could, I tried to give the most accomplished answer I knew.

"He is, sir, but he's indisposed at the minute," I answered, filling my voice with a confidence I didn't feel.

"That's a mighty big word for one as little as you are," the big man said with a grin. I didn't say I'd only learned it because the others in the village used it to talk about my father often enough I'd managed to catch on.

"I learn fast, sir," I answered him, not exactly eager to let him in the house, since I knew my father would be livid if I did.

"I'm afraid I'll need to be coming in to speak with him," the man said, and I knew there was no refusing, so I opened the door wider to allow him to pass through. My gaze lingering on the floor, for I was embarrassed for a man as fine as he was to see the squalor I was used to living in. Nothing but a dirt floor with tattered blankets to sleep on and a fireplace so full of ashes there was barely room left for a flame. My father was laying close by, snoring away in yet another drunken stupor, and it was obvious he wasn't going to be roused any time soon.

"As you can well see, da's not up for talking. But I know you'll be wanting taxes for the laird, and I suppose it's up to me to tell you that we haven't the coin," I said, and the big man's jolly eyes widened.

"And how's a wee lass such as yourself so certain of that? We don't need to be taking just coin, you know," he said.

"We did keep geese, though da sold our last one a fortnight ago to pay a debt at the tavern. It was a big one too, worth at least 3 crowns. That was the one meant for your laird's table instead of mine, and now neither of us gets a taste." I said a little morosely. I had been looking forward to a decent meal.

"He's not just my laird, he's yours as well. You best be remembering that before flapping that glib tongue," the man laughed merrily, and although I was sure he didn't mean it, he made my hunger feel like a joke. As if to perpetuate my state, my stomach rumbled loudly enough that I was sure he could hear it.

"I've never met a laird, though I'm sure he sits in a castle far away, content in taking the last goose away from a starving family. But as you can see we've got nothing here to offer you, as much as I wish things were different," I explained as reasonably as I could, before making my way slowly over to the hearth where I might at least hide myself from the man's gaze for a time.

If I'd thought my words would dissuade the taxman, I was wrong, for a swift kick to my father's side was more successful at waking him than any strategy I'd tried before. I watched as he sputtered and spun awake; cursing like a mad dog his eyes were bloodshot and his fists went flailing, though the taxman had little trouble deflecting him.

"Taxes," the laird's man said simply, and the word was spoken severely enough that my da seemed to immediately sober, his usually handsome face turning a putrid shade of green.

"Was that today?" he stumbled.

"Aye, I'm collecting today. And your lass has informed me you've not a penny to give to your laird and protector."

"A few more days is all I'm asking, master," my father pleaded, throwing me a look that foretold some sort of punishment.

"And what proof have I that you will pay? The laird is not in the business of forgiving a debt owed."

"The laird is nothing but a bairn, barely old enough to be weaned off his mother's milk!" my da snapped back, and all at once I could tell it had been a poor decision. The big man seemed to grow even larger than he'd already seemed, and he reached out to snatch my father by his collar before holding him up against the wall in a clear demonstration of his superior strength.

"You'll be respecting the young master in my presence, fool," he said, his voice dangerously quiet, and despite the fact I wanted to appear strong in front of this stranger, I couldn't help but shrink at little at his tone.

"Put me in the stocks then, or in prison if you fancy!" my father spat, "But when my daughter goes hungry it will be no fault of mine!" He grinned, hoping that the tax man's compassion would let him get away without punishment- but whatever my father might have thought of the stranger's character, he was completely wrong. For whatever sympathies the man had for me, his loyalty to his master was far stronger.

"If circumstances were different, it would be off to a debtor's prison with you. But no more will your child suffer for your fool incompetence. To pay your debt sir, she will be indentured to his lordship's service, though I have a feeling she'll be far better off in his care than yours," he said, holding his and out for me to take- almost as if I had a choice in the matter.

While I'd be the first to admit my life was hardly perfect, it was the only life I'd ever known. I'd lived until now without the love of a father, but had been content with my lot in life. Still, part of me wished that my da would fight for me, or at least offer the slightest murmur of protest.

Yet despite all of my hopes, all my father did was laugh.

"I don't know what use you'd have for a cripple, but she won't be good for much hard work. I'm sure you'll be back in a fortnight complaining you never got your coin's worth."

In an instant, my father was on the floor, the big man looming over him with eyes as dark as the clouds were on a stormy day.

"Aye then, I'll be back in a fortnight to be collecting the rest. You'd best hope you have it, and that your child might find it in her heart to forgive a fool like you," he said, spitting on the dirt floor of our home in disgust.

The tax man's ultimatum didn't sit well with my father, and I could tell he was fuming with silent anger, as I'd seen it firsthand so many times. Yet. it was clear my self-proclaimed protector and jailer was hardly bothered as he began to gently lead me towards a cart being loaded up with the villagers' offerings, allowing me to set a pace comfortable enough to walk on my own.

"Where are we going?" I asked, sparing one last look at the only home I'd ever known. I knew I wouldn't miss it, I only wondered if my life would become better or worse.

"To Castle Droigheann, the Seat of Thorns, lass. A finer place you've never seen, of that I'm certain. But are you not angry with me, for forcing your hand?" he wondered as he lifted me up among all of the other goods he'd collected.

"I'd not have been welcomed much longer, sir," I replied, albeit a little sadly. "Still, while I'm not sure how much use I'll be, I promise I will try my best if only you won't throw me out, too."

The tax man held me firmly by the shoulders, making sure I looked at him squarely in his warm, brown eyes.

"You're not rubbish to be thrown away, lass, and there is always work to be done for a servant of Castle Droigheann, don't you worry. Besides, let it never be said that Douglas MacKenzie failed to protect a lass as lovely as yourself," he said, and I couldn't help but giggle at his words. I knew I wasn't lovely, though his kindness helped to ease my trepidation a little. I'd never been wanted before, and I desired to feel as if I belonged somewhere so badly that I was willing to at least give this Douglas and his mysterious laird a chance.

He held his big hand out to shake mine in a formal introduction, and I took it a little hesitantly.

"And who knows lass, perhaps your da will learn his lesson, and start missing you after all," he finished, although I knew how truly ridiculous that idea was. My father wouldn't miss me. He probably wouldn't be out of his drunken stupor long enough to notice I was gone.

"I doubt it, Master MacKenzie, but it means a lot you thought to say so."

"More fancy words from you. You're a clever little thing aren't you? What do they call you?" he asked with a great, big grin on his face.

"My name's Camryn Roy, sir, though they call me Cruikshank on account of my leg."

"Well I'll be calling you no such thing. It'll be nothing but Camryn at Castle Droigheann, lass, do you hear?"

"Yes, sir. I'll be a good servant to the laird, I promise," I said, and MacKenzie smiled warmly at my desire to feel useful for once in my life, before climbing into the wagon after me and setting us on our way to my new home.

If I knew what my fate had in store for me, I wonder if I still would have gone along with MacKenzie quietly. Perhaps I should have run as fast as my twisted leg could carry me, getting as far away from Castle Droigheann and it's terrible laird as I could- before it was too late. For how many times did I deserve to be cursed for someone else's folly?