Highlander Unchained Read online

  Her cheeks flushed an angry red. “How dare you! You have no right—”

  “I have every right,” he growled. He heard the fury in his voice, but damn it, she pushed him, prodding parts of him that had never before been exposed. “The moment you gave yourself to me, I earned that right. What does it matter other than I care for you and you care for me? Does it matter how it came to be? Or why I want you, other than the fact that I do?” He knew he was trying to convince himself, almost as much as he was trying to convince her, skating precariously close to the truth.

  “It matters to me,” she said softly, her eyes bright.

  She looked so proud and vulnerable at that moment, he wished he could take her in his arms and wipe away her fears with his mouth. “It shouldn’t. I would never hurt you, lass. Not intentionally. I want to protect you. Cherish you. Take care of you. Surely you know that?” It was the truth. He’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted her—completely. Body and heart.

  “I don’t know what to think.”

  He buried his face in the warmth of her silky hair, nuzzling the baby soft skin of her neck, aroused to the breaking point by the erotic sensation of her responsive body pressed against his. “Maybe you are thinking too much.”

  He felt her softening, melting against him…wanting him.

  Blood surged through his veins. “I should go,” he said, pulling back forcibly. “Unless there is a reason for me to stay?”

  Eyes wide, she shook her head. “Y-you never said where you are going.”

  He stiffened at the reminder. He thought about telling her exactly where he was going and the reports of abuse against his people by her brother Hector on Coll, but without proof he wasn’t sure she would believe him. He didn’t need any more barriers between them. “To attend to some of my lands. I will return later tonight. I should be going.” He started to pull away, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “Lachlan.”

  He looked down at her, surprised—and pleased—to hear the intimacy of his given name on her tongue. For a moment, he actually thought she might have changed her mind.

  “You never answered my question.”

  No, he hadn’t. Nor would he. He cupped her chin in his fingers and lowered his face, keeping his gaze locked on hers, wanting nothing more than to cover her mouth and taste her. To feel her tongue slide in his mouth, entwining with his. “I said all that was important. Now it’s for you to decide. Take a chance or live in the past, it’s up to you.” Unable to resist, he dropped a soft kiss on her lips, lingering as his mouth moved over hers in a possessive caress. The urge to deepen the kiss was primal, but he couldn’t. Not yet. He lifted his head, seeing desire mirrored on her face. “Let me know what you decide.”

  And without another word, he left her to ponder their future.

  Hector stormed through the gates of Breacachadh on his destrier, more furious than he’d been in some time—since the last time the Laird of Coll had gotten the best of him.

  He dismounted and tossed his reins to the waiting stable lad. Sweat poured off his forehead from behind the metal helmet, and his body shook with rage.

  Lachlan Maclean had been right under his nose and had escaped. And not alone. He’d absconded with half a dozen men and a few market-ready head of cattle as well.

  Men and cattle that belonged to Hector.

  When word had come of Coll’s presence on the isle, Hector couldn’t believe his luck. He’d raced to reach him, but by the time he’d arrived, the skirmish was over.

  A score of his warriors had been bested by a mere handful of Coll’s. His fists clenched with the urge to thrash someone.

  Damn Coll! He would pay. Not only for the loss of men and source of silver—both of which he needed in his war with MacDonald—but for daring to abduct his valuable sister.

  He pushed through the entrance into the great hall, paying no mind to the mud and muck he tracked across the rugs strewn over the wooden floors.

  Where was that bloody woman? “Mairi!” he bellowed, in no mood for recalcitrant servants. The dour old maidservant finally appeared in the doorway, moving with the speed of an aged tortoise.

  “Get me my claret and be quick about it.”

  “Yes, my laird.”

  There was nothing outwardly mocking about the response, but Hector heard it nonetheless. Blood pounded in his ears. He was fed up with morose and belligerent servants. These people would learn respect. They would learn who was laird.

  He tossed his claymore to the squire who’d followed him in. “Clean this. And if it’s not sharp this time, I’ll cut off your incompetent hand.”

  The fear he saw on the lad’s face was a soothing balm to his anger. That was better. If they didn’t listen to reason, they would listen to his iron fist. But they would listen.

  Mairi returned with his drink. God, he was thirsty. His mouth was as dry and parched as a desert. He took a long drink and nearly choked, spewing the dark liquid across the floor. His eyes narrowed at the stubborn old biddy. “How dare you serve me this swill. Bring me another flagon.” He met the woman’s defiant glare. His fingers tightened around the goblet. “And while you’re at it, find your daughter.” The woman’s eyes widened with horror. He smiled. “What was her name? Janet? I’d like to…talk to her.”

  He’d finally gotten her attention. The woman’s hands fluttered anxiously like the wings of a bird. “I’m afraid my daughter is gone, my laird.”

  “You’ll find her and bring her to me,” he said with deadly calm. “Or if you’d rather, you can bring me your other daughter.”

  The defiance sagged right out of her, but the broken expression on her face failed to move him one inch.

  “But my laird, she’s just three and ten.”

  He shrugged. “It makes no difference to me.” He gave her a hard look. “You choose. But I’ll have one of them. If you defy me, I’ll have them both.”

  The old woman’s eyes took on an unnatural brightness. “It was the devil that brought you here. A curse you are. But our laird will return—”

  “Hold your tongue, woman, or I’ll cut it out.” She shot him an evil glance before she moved to do his bidding. Fools. He didn’t want to hear any more about damn curses. He was tired of the crazed superstitions of these people. He knew they blamed him for the failure of the crops this year, which was ridiculous considering the wind and rain that had pummeled the small isle.

  The wrath of the lady, they claimed. Hector had forgotten about the curse until the old witch Beathag, Coll’s healer, had mentioned it. And with his mother dead, he realized who now wore the amulet—Flora.

  Why hadn’t he thought of that before?

  Rumors of Coll’s courtship of his sister worried him more than he wanted to admit. His sister wouldn’t betray him by marrying his enemy. But how well did he know her?

  If Coll married Flora, Hector knew that the “end” of the curse would be a powerful symbol against him, silly superstition or not. But it was the alliance with Argyll that worried him. Under no circumstances could a marriage between them be allowed to happen.

  Just one more reason to want Coll dead. He sat in a chair set before the fire and began to plan. His enemy’s daring foray had given him an idea.

  Chapter 15

  The party that traveled to the Faerie Pool was larger than Lachlan had intended and included himself, Flora, his sisters, and a handful of his guardsmen. They arrived before noontide and spent the better part of the day eating, drinking, and frolicking in the water. Perhaps it wasn’t the sort of frolicking he’d originally planned, but he admitted it had been an enjoyable day—particularly coming on the heels of his victory yesterday against Hector.

  Though he was happy to have some of his men back, he could not forget the suffering he’d seen and those he’d left behind. Rain had destroyed the crops, and the fields were bare; the people were forced to give Duart what little they had left. And the stories of Duart’s abuse—especially the womenfolk—filled him