Highlander Unchained Read online

  He stood as she neared. Their eyes met. The memory of that heated moment in her room flared full force between them. She was remembering it, too. The sudden pinkening of her cheeks gave her away. With a slight gesture of his hand, he indicated for her to take the seat beside him.

  Gilly, who was seated on his other side, spoke first.

  “You look beautiful, Flora.”

  The longing in his sister’s voice hit him hard, angering him. A resplendent Flora forced him to confront what he could not give his sisters.

  “Thank you, Gilly.” She gave him a sidelong glance, as if seeking his approval.

  He looked her over appraisingly. “We’ve been waiting.”

  Her cheeks flushed hotter, and he could swear he saw a flash of disappointment in her eyes. “I came as fast as I could. Morag is not experienced with this type of clothing, and I usually have two maidservants to help me dress.” Before he could respond, she added, “I’m not criticizing, simply pointing out that donning a gown like this is not a simple matter.”

  He eyed her carefully. “I can see that.”

  A delicate frown marred her lovely features. Tiny lines appeared between her brows. He felt a strange urge to rub them away with the pad of his thumb. But his finger would be too rough and unwieldy on such baby soft skin.

  “Perhaps I shouldn’t have worn it. The gown you provided for me upon my arrival is more appropriate.”

  She was self-conscious, he realized. Lachlan felt a stab of guilt. It wasn’t her fault he couldn’t provide such finery for his sisters.

  “You look fine,” he said gruffly.

  Her eyes danced with amusement. “Why, that sounded almost like a compliment,” she exclaimed with exaggerated surprise. “If you go on like this, that silver tongue of yours will make the bards weep with envy.”

  His mouth twisted in a wry smile. The lass had a dry wit. “I’ll remember that and try not to get carried away.” She returned his smile, and he was surprised by how much he enjoyed the shared moment of camaraderie.

  She glanced around, looking down the table. “Where’s Mary?”

  His smile fell. “She wasn’t feeling well. She asked to take her meal in her room.”

  Flora’s eyes lit with concern. She put her hands on the table as if she intended to stand up. “Is she ill? Perhaps I should check on her?”

  He covered her hand with his, immediately conscious of how small and soft it was under his. He’d acted unconsciously but realized it was a possessive gesture. And a strangely intimate one. The simple touch of his hand had forged a surprisingly strong connection.

  “She’s fine,” he assured her. “I’m sure she’ll be recovered by tomorrow.” At least he hoped she would be. He thought of the tearstained face that had stared at him as if he were the cruelest person on earth. As if he’d just stepped on the tail of her favorite puppy. He shook it off. Mary was young, she would recover.

  Flora stared at his hand, a strange expression on her face. Did she feel it? This odd connection between them?

  She gazed up at him. “That reminds me. Who’s John?”

  He tensed but recovered quickly, removing his hand. The connection was severed. “My younger brother.”

  She smiled. “I thought so. I overheard a few men on the staircase on the way to the hall, but when I asked, they refused to say. Strange, isn’t it?” She looked around. “Why have I not been introduced to him?”

  His heart thumped. “He’s not here right now.”

  “Oh. Will he return soon?”

  “Yes.” As soon as we are married.

  Brought harshly back to reality, he lifted his hand to signal the beginning of the feast and an end to their conversation. Platter after platter of food made its way through the crowded hall. Food he could ill afford, since Hector had stolen a great number of his cattle—and thus his ready source for silver. But foolishly, he’d wanted to impress her. But all it had taken was one look at that gown to realize how difficult that would be. Still, he’d take a Highland fèis over a masque at court any day.

  But would she?

  He watched her as they ate, talking animatedly with Allan on her other side and Gilly, who sat beside him. She seemed to be enjoying herself. But who could read the mind of a lass?

  “You’re glad you came tonight?”

  Flora’s gaze slid to the handsome man beside her. She’d been achingly aware of him all throughout the meal. The powerful physical effect he had on her was disconcerting. A simple brush of his wide shoulders or muscular arm against her as they ate and her heart went into palpitations. One look at that wide mouth, implacable jaw, and rugged, battle-scarred face and her stomach flipped. She’d seen many handsome men before, but none had ever affected her so…completely.

  He wasn’t classically handsome by most measures. His features were too hard, his jaw too square, his nose crooked from having been broken more than once; but the overall result was of roughly hewn masculine beauty. There was something decidedly threatening about that raw power. Her attraction stemmed from a place inside her that she’d never felt before. A deep, sensual place.

  She dropped her eyes from his penetrating gaze, afraid he would realize what she was thinking, and considered his question.

  Truth be told, she was enjoying herself. It was difficult not to. Although the feast had lasted for many hours, the room still buzzed with the festive sounds of celebration and easy laughter. There was something comforting and relaxed about it. Homey. She couldn’t help but compare it with the rigid formality of court.

  They’d been entertained by the magical sounds of the pipers and the fanciful tales of the seannachie. But watching the warriors—and Mary’s Odin in particular—perform the intricate sword dance had been the high point for Flora. The ill-prepared food was perhaps the only complaint, but the people seemed to be having too much fun to notice. And with the copious amounts of ale flowing through the hall, most were too soused to mind.

  Then there was the laird himself. At dinner he’d been attentive, but not obtrusively so. He’d kept the conversation light and deftly brought her in by asking her opinion on the music, or the bard, or the dancing—she was relieved he hadn’t asked her about the food. He hadn’t set out to charm with false flattery like most men, but had really talked to her. And listened. She’d never noticed before how rare that was. He was interesting and smart and appallingly adept at getting her to talk without revealing much about himself.

  Thankfully, he’d appeared to have forgotten about her trick with the fulmar oil.

  But watching him interact with his clan was perhaps the most illuminating. At one point or another throughout the long meal, it seemed as if most of the castle had approached the table to exchange words with their laird. Seeking his advice on such far-reaching subjects as a dispute between two men over a small plot of land, the weather, or the price of cattle. They treated him with deference and respect, but also with something else: love. He had the utter command of a chief, but he’d clearly earned it with respect and not fear.

  One man in particular stood out. A young warrior she’d never seen before, probably not much older than her four and twenty years. With tears in his eyes, he thanked the laird for the news of his babe. A son born by his wife, who was being held at Breacachadh. Flora imagined it was no small matter to get word of the child. If it surprised her that the laird would concern himself with the lives of his men, it did no one else. And that, she supposed, spoke volumes.

  She’d noticed quite a few of the women staring at him with interest. One raven-haired woman in particular didn’t bother to hide her inviting glances. Actually, the look she cast him was more than an invitation, it was possessive. And it bothered Flora more than it should have.

  Unexpectedly, she found herself drawn to this gruff chief who watched her with a disarming intensity. Who looked at her like a woman and not a prize.

  The Laird of Coll was undoubtedly a hard man. He didn’t smile often, but when he did, it was as if the sun broke