EXCERPT MacPherson Castle—Loch Eireachd, Scotland, 1452 Fistfuls of hair fell to the bed like streams of molten iron. The growing pile, more orange than gold, resembled a dragon’s nest, and gleamed seductively in the firelight. Amber sighed at the sight. If only it were a real dragon’s nest and a beast could rise and smite all her enemies. One very much in particular. She almost smiled at the fanciful thought as she chopped off her hair. Almost. In truth, her plan was an act of desperation with little chance of success. By all that was holy, she’d need a miracle to get away this time. Grabbing another handful, she raised the knife and sawed off an even bigger chunk. The remaining strands sprang up to curl around her neck and ears, a light, airy feeling at odds with the heaviness in her heart. Laird Machar Murray would come after her, of that she had no doubt. If he found her, no amount of false hexes or curses or threats from the devil would deter him from destroying her this time. Her lost hair would grow back. Her lost spirit and soul could not. The heavy wooden door rattled as a…