Highlander Untamed Read online

  She was a MacDonald, and no one could stop her.

  Certainly not her clan’s most reviled enemy, Rory MacLeod. Her soon-to-be handfast husband. Her tem

  porary handfast husband.

  Determined, Isabel turned and met Sleat’s fierce stare.

  “I’m ready, Uncle.”

  Alone in the mist-shrouded moonlight, Rory MacLeod strode vigorously back and forth across the deserted barmkin, his muscles taut with anticipation. His MacDonald bride approached somewhere in the darkness below. He paused long enough to peer over the battlements, searching for a glimpse of the birlinn in the murky black haze. But there was still no sign of the accursed MacDonalds and his unwanted handfast bride.

  It still seemed impossible. For every day of the past two years, Rory had kept his vow of vengeance to destroy Sleat for the dishonor he’d done to Rory’s sister Margaret and the MacLeods. But today the feuding would come to an end.

  Temporarily, at least.

  One year. That’s all he owed the king. And when the year was done, Rory would resume his plan. He wouldn’t rest until Sleat was destroyed and the MacLeods once again held the Trotternish peninsula, land seized by the MacDonalds that rightly belonged to the MacLeods.

  Rory drove blunt, battle-scarred fingers harshly through his shoulder-length hair. He’d been damn close to bringing down his enemy—until Sleat had run to the king, and James had decided to interfere.

  But if King James thought to end the feud with marriage, he was sorely mistaken. Not after what Sleat had done to Margaret. The hatred between the clans ran too deep.

  Rory’s eyes traveled up to the tower where Margaret slept. Could it be only three years ago that his beautiful, bright-eyed young sister had ridden away from Dunvegan, bound for Dunscaith Castle, the happy young handfast bride of the MacDonald of Sleat? It seemed impossible that so much could change in such a short time. Margaret had returned to Dunvegan a sad shell of the sweet, naïve, yet spirited little sister he remembered.

  Not long after Margaret’s return, the MacLeods had attacked the MacDonalds at Trotternish with fire and sword. And so it began, two long, bloody years of feuding. The MacDonalds called it Cogadh na Cailliche Caime, “the War of the One-Eyed Woman.” Even the ridiculous epithet riled his anger.

  Rory resumed his pacing. Although every fiber of his being rebelled against this alliance, he had no choice. The unrest in the Highlands made it look as if King James could not control his own kingdom. When the subject of marriage had first been broached by the king, Rory had refused to consider the proposition. The years of constant fighting had taken a toll on his clan, but he resisted being tied to a MacDonald—even to end the bloodshed. But James would not be gainsaid. So Rory had come up with a solution, one that would not see him tied forever to his enemies. He rejected marriage to the chit but negotiated a handfast. Unlike a wedding, the temporary bonds of a handfast were easily undone.

  Rory rubbed his stubbled chin. That the MacDonalds had not demanded marriage was strange, especially after the devastation brought about by his sister’s handfast. Perhaps Sleat was not as interested in ending the feud as he pretended. Did he, too, seek a way out of the alliance? If Sleat was up to something, it likely involved his new bride.

  Rory would be wary of this Trojan horse.

  A voice floated out of the darkness, interrupting his private rampage. “You have the look of a caged lion, Chief. I assume your bride has not yet arrived?”

  Rory stopped pacing and turned to see his younger brother Alex striding toward him across the barmkin from the old keep. Rory cursed the MacDonalds again, this time for what they had done to Alex. Rory noticed the same roguish grin, but the thin veneer of lightheartedness could not hide the dark shadows under Alex’s eyes and the hard lines around his mouth forged in a MacDonald dungeon.

  “No,” Rory said. “There is no sign of them yet, but I’m sure ’twill be soon enough.”

  Alex grunted. “MacDonalds at Dunvegan. It defies belief.”

  “Aye, but not for long,” Rory promised.

  Alex turned to meet his gaze. “Do you really think Sleat will dare show his face?”

  Rory’s mouth fell in a grim line. “Count on it. He’ll not miss the opportunity to taunt us with his presence by taking refuge in the protection of Highland hospitality. He knows we are honor bound to do him no harm while he is at Dunvegan.”

  Alex sighed and shook his head. “Poor Margaret.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve seen to Margaret. She’ll be kept far from Sleat.”

  “Damn King James for his interference,” Alex swore.

  Rory smiled dryly, having had the very same thought only moments ago. Even in the darkness, he could see the frustration etched on Alex’s face. Like him, Alex detested the untenable position James had put them in. “’Tis only for a year,” Rory offered, “and then we will resume our negotiations with Argyll for a more powerful alliance.”

  “Suggesting a handfast was a stroke of brilliance,” Alex agreed. “But repudiating the lass will not sit well with the king. I hear she is a great favorite of both James and Anne.”

  Rory understood Alex’s concern, but it could not be avoided. “’Tis a risk. But one that I’m willing to take. James demands an end to the feud, but the clan still thirsts for revenge against Sleat. And although I may be outlawed and our lands declared forfeit, the king has not sought to enforce his power against me. When the time comes, I will think of a way to mollify him.”

  “You always do,” Alex said ruefully. “For some odd reason, the king seems to show you favor—despite your being put to the horn.”

  Rory shrugged. “The lass will not be harmed. At worst, I will have to go to Edinburgh to explain.”

  “And if you are imprisoned?”

  “It won’t come to prison.” He caught Alex’s skeptical look. “This time. James is only flexing his muscles, and I’m fulfilling my duty. I agreed only to a handfast.”

  Alex thought for a moment. “I wonder why the king agreed?”

  Initially, Rory had wondered the same thing. “He seemed confident that a marriage would eventually take place. I did not dissuade him of his err.”

  “I don’t envy you your position,” Alex said. But his grave expression was broken by the grin that spread across his face. For a moment, Rory thought he was looking at the brother of his past. “Though perhaps I should,” Alex continued. “I hear she is a great beauty, charming, and witty. When our cousin Douglas was at court, he said that he had never seen her like. The courtiers even had a name for her, the Virgin Siren—luring men to death with her innocence and beauty. Our Scot improvement over England’s aging Virgin Queen. I for one am anxious to behold such a paragon of virtuous innocence and irresistible beauty. What will you do if you are attracted to her?”

  Rory quirked a brow. His brother should know better. “A beautiful face will not turn me from my duty.”

  “It would turn me.”

  Rory laughed. Alex had a well-known weakness for a pretty lass, but he knew his brother too well to believe that. Honor and duty were just as important to Alex as they were to him. “There is no requirement that I spend any time with her. I’m sure I’ll barely notice her,” he said dismissively. “Besides, no one could be as beautiful as the rumors suggest. Or as innocent. She’s spent the last year at court, after all. But it makes no difference to me what she looks like or how witty and charming she may be. When I marry, it will be for the clan.”

  As if on cue, a guardsman shouted, “A birlinn is approaching, Chief.”

  Striding purposefully with long, muscular legs toward the sea-gate entrance, Rory glanced back over his shoulder at Alex and brought an end to their discussion. “We shall see for ourselves if the rumors are true. My temporary bride has arrived.”

  Chapter 2

  First thou wilt reach the Sirens, who bewitch

  All human beings who approach their shore…

  —The Odyssey, 12:42

  The soft orange glow of