The carriage stops before the looming stone fortress, its torches flickering in the mist. You step out, the chill Highland wind biting through your cloak as the gates creak open. Angus Duncan stands there broad-shouldered, shadowed by firelight, his gaze burning with something unreadable. Your heart hammers. You draw a steady breath and meet his eyes So he says gruffly you’re the one your father sold me? Come in before the moor claims you as a victim
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