The handsome Highlander who seduced her...

...is the very man she must marry!

In this Warriors of the Night story, Lianna MacKinnon seeks to avoid her betrothal to a Norman lord by giving herself to an intriguing stranger. But afterward, she discovers her sensual lover is none other than Rhys de Laurent—her betrothed—in disguise! They’ve already had their wedding night... Now there’s no escaping their marriage vows!

RITA® Award finalist MICHELLE WILLINGHAM has written over twenty historical romances, novellas and short stories. Currently she lives in south-eastern Virginia, USA, with her husband and children. When she’s not writing Michelle enjoys reading, baking and avoiding exercise at all costs. Visit her website at: michellewillingham.com.

Also by Michelle Willingham

The MacKinloch Clan miniseries

Claimed by the Highland Warrior

Seduced by Her Highland Warrior

Craving the Highlander’s Touch

Tempted by the Highland Warrior

Rescued by the Highland Warrior

Forbidden Vikings miniseries

To Sin with a Viking

To Tempt a Viking

Warriors of Ireland miniseries

Warriors of Ice

Warriors of Fire

Warriors of the Night miniseries

Forbidden Night with the Warrior

Forbidden Night with the Highlander

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Forbidden Night with the Highlander

Michelle Willingham

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07341-7

FORBIDDEN NIGHT WITH THE HIGHLANDER

© 2018 Michelle Willingham

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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To Jamie Coldsnow,

a friend who has made me laugh over the years and who has always been there for me when life got crazy.

Thanks for all that you do for me and my family.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Extract

Chapter One

Scotland—1171

‘My daughter is...not like other women.’

Rhys de Laurent eyed the Scottish chief, Alastair MacKinnon, wondering what the man meant by that statement.

There was a pained look upon the MacKinnon’s face, but Rhys waited for the chief to continue. When there came nothing further, he prompted, ‘Is she shrewish or is her face marked by pox?’

Alastair shook his head. ‘Nay, she is fair of face. But you’ll ken what I mean when you marry her. She is different.’

Rhys was not eager to claim the Scottish bride promised to him since her birth. He had travelled north for nearly a fortnight to Eiloch, Scotland, and he had no desire to live in this godforsaken land, half a world away from his family.

But he had come here for the sake of duty and obligation. He was a man who honoured promises, though he was not certain he would go through with the marriage as of yet.

Truthfully, he was here for his younger brother’s sake. Warrick had no land of his own, due to an estrangement with their father. These lands in Scotland would give his brother a place to live in peace, and Warrick could help to defend the fortress when it was necessary. It might be that his brother could marry the bride, if he could coerce the young woman’s father into changing the agreement.

The MacKinnon lands held value, and in the midst of unrest between the Normans and the Scots, Rhys knew his responsibilities. His father had made an alliance that depended on this marriage.

But he was uneasy about wedding a woman he had never seen before.

‘I want to meet with my bride before I agree to the formal betrothal,’ he told the chief. ‘Both of us deserve that much.’

A tight expression crossed Alastair’s face. ‘That would no’ be wise. Lianna has said she willna marry a Norman.’

Rhys wasn’t surprised to hear it. ‘Which is why we should meet and get to know one another. She may change her mind, once we are acquainted.’ And he could discover if his brother might be a more suitable match.

But the chief was already shaking his head. ‘Nay, if she sees you as a Norman, she’ll do everything she can to avoid the marriage. Better if you should dress like a Highlander and let her ken who you are as a man. You would find her more appealing.’ The Scot eyed him carefully. ‘Unless you are too proud to wear our clothing.’

Rhys considered the matter. The chief was right that Lianna MacKinnon would judge him as an outsider, no matter what he said or did. Fear would govern her opinion, and that was no foundation for a marriage. But he was uneasy about the deception. ‘I don’t like the idea of lying to my bride.’

‘You need not give your name,’ Alastair said. ‘Trust me when I say that Lianna will soften at kindness. And then you may see her warm heart.’ The Scot studied him carefully. ‘I’ve heard a great deal about you, Rhys de Laurent. Most say you are a fair man, respected as a leader. I would never give my daughter into your hands, did I not believe it.’

He gave no reaction to the flattery, for he knew Alastair had no choice but to uphold the arrangement. If Rhys did not accept Lianna as his bride, then he had the right to take Eiloch back again and place Norman soldiers in command of the fortress. His own father, Edward de Laurent, could have done so a generation earlier, but out of respect for his mother, Margaret, he had not. Although she was Norman, she had loved her second husband, Fergus MacKinnon, and had spent many happy years in Scotland, as if it were her sanctuary.

Alastair motioned for one of his men to come forward, and murmured an order in Gaelic. Rhys understood every word, for he had learned the Scottish tongue at a young age. His grandmother had insisted upon it, for the MacKinnons would never accept him as their leader otherwise.

The servant disappeared to obey, and then Alastair turned back. ‘I think you will be pleased with my daughter as your bride, once you ken the sort of woman she is and understand her ways.’

Rhys met the man’s gaze. ‘I will judge her for myself.’

Alastair nodded. ‘She rides out to the coast every day for her noontide meal. You will meet her at the dolmen, but I caution you not to let her ken who you are. At least, not yet.’

His servant returned with a shirt and trews similar to those the chief wore. Alastair held out the garments and said, ‘Wear this. And I’ll bid you luck with Lianna.’

Rhys took the clothing and asked, ‘How do I know she will be there?’

Alastair sighed. ‘My daughter is a woman with ingrained habits. She has taken her meal by the dolmen every day for the past year. Believe me when I have no doubt you will see her.’

Rhys wasn’t certain what to make of that, but he inclined his head. ‘So be it.’

* * *

Lianna MacKinnon prided herself on order, keeping everything in its place. Her bedchamber had not a speck of dust upon the wooden floor, and every corner of the coverlet was tucked beneath the mattress. She ran a finger along the edge of a small table and found that it was spotless, just as it should be. The sight of the chamber filled her with satisfaction, and she felt a sense of contentment knowing that, at least within this place, she could control the life she lived.

A knock sounded at the door, and her maid Orna opened it without waiting to be invited inside. ‘I’ve news for you, Lady Lianna. The Norman and his men are meeting with your father this morn.’

A cold sweat broke out upon Lianna’s brow. Though the men had sent word of their impending arrival at Eiloch, she could not bear to think of it. The idea of marrying a stranger was a disruption she didn’t want to face. Though she had been promised to Rhys de Laurent since birth, she would do anything to avoid the marriage. And now, that moment was here.

Lianna’s gaze flickered to the dirt tracks the older woman had brought into the chamber. She moved towards the broom resting on the opposite wall, feeling the desperate urge to clean the floor.

‘He will not be my husband, Orna.’ Lianna began sweeping up the dirt her maid had tracked in, forming a small pile as she moved towards the door. The older woman likely hadn’t noticed it at all, given her failing eyesight. ‘I will find a way out of this betrothal.’

She refused to believe that anything else would happen. Over the years, she had saved every spare silver coin, planning to bribe Rhys de Laurent into abandoning this marriage. She had never bought gowns or ribbons, preferring to keep herself plain and save the coins for something far more valuable—her freedom.

Her maid frowned. ‘It may not be possible, my lady.’

Lianna found a rag and knelt down to wipe up the mud, cleaning the floor until it was spotless. ‘It will be.’ It had to be. For the idea of surrendering herself to a strange man was impossible. Rhys had been born and raised in England and knew nothing of their ways. He would not even be able to speak their language.

Her insides twisted up in knots at the thought of wedding a stranger—or worse, sharing his bed and bearing him children. Fear gripped her at the thought. Her father had accepted it as a necessary arrangement, but she would not give up so easily.

‘When Rhys de Laurent hears my proposal, he will gladly return to England without me. My father will remain the chief of Eiloch, and everything will return to the way it was.’ Lianna clung to that idea, for it was the only future she wanted to imagine. She wanted her life to remain steady, in an ordered pattern, without straying from its path.

Then she squared her shoulders and informed Orna, ‘It is time for my daily ride.’

Today, more than ever, she needed to travel along the coast. The speed of the horse and the wind upon her face would help her to forget about the future pressing her into a corner.

‘And what if the chief summons you to meet your husband?’ Orna asked. ‘You must be here if he does.’

Lianna shuddered at the thought of being displayed before the Norman like a prized sheep. ‘I am not married yet.’ She reached for her shoes that lay against the far wall, walking barefoot across her clean floor. ‘I must go.’

‘Please, don’t be making trouble for your father, Lianna. You must marry Rhys de Laurent and bear a son. Only then can we stay here, God willing.’ Her maid risked a glance at the door. ‘If you make him angry, the Norman lord will send us away, and we’ll have nowhere to live.’

Lianna opened the door and paused. ‘Don’t be afraid, Orna. I will find a way to avoid this marriage and keep Eiloch in my father’s hands. No one will take over our lands, I promise you.’ Even if it took every last coin she possessed, she would bribe the man.

Her maid eyed Lianna as if she were uncertain. ‘Should you not try to be the wife he wants?’

No. She would not even consider such a thing. With a half-smile, she admitted, ‘Orna, I ken what I am. No man finds me appealing, and if my own kinsmen do not care for me, why should this one be any different?’

She adjusted her woollen brat to cover her fiery red hair. It was difficult to tame, but she combed it seventy-seven times every morn. And she would do the same when she returned from her ride. ‘I will be back by this afternoon.’

Her maid’s expression held doubt, but she said nothing. Lianna strode past the woman, carrying her shoes. She walked barefoot through the large gathering space, past her older brother and his men. Sían’s face curved in a knowing smile, and he lifted his hand in greeting. She nodded to her brother, feeling her cheeks redden as she overheard one of the men mutter, Thanks be, none of us has to wed her now.

She didn’t know which of them had spoken but pretended that she hadn’t heard the barb. Holding her shoulders back, she glanced up at her brother, only to see him cuff Eachann MacKinnon. Though she appreciated his defence, Lianna was well aware that the men were laughing at her. She ignored them and put on her shoes before she walked down the stairs outside and stepped into the mud.

They thought it strange that she kept to her habits, leaving every day at the same hour to go riding. Each day, always the same. But she liked having the same pattern. It was comforting to know what she would do every day.

Sían lived his life from one hour to the next, never thinking beyond what happened today. His confident manner sometimes bordered on arrogance, but Lianna found that it was easier to quietly clean up the disorder her brother left behind than to defy him.

Her father’s house was larger than the others, a tower fortification built of wood and stone. The dwelling could hold twenty men, with three smaller chambers on the second floor. Beyond that, several crofters lived in thatched homes set in a semicircle.

Lianna spied her horse already waiting for her near the stables, and a kitchen boy hurried out to meet her. He held out the wrapped bundle of food, and she took it, knowing what was inside. One piece of bread, one hunk of cheese, and a small jug of ale—just as always. She thanked him and secured the bundle beside her saddle before mounting her mare.

As she rode past the crofters’ homes, she studied each one carefully for signs of neglect. Though Sían did not want her to interfere in the people’s lives, it was a necessary means of occupying her time. She knew which families had enough food stored for the winter and which crofters would face hardship. She prided herself in knowing the women who would give birth to new babies, and the names of the elderly folk who had died. Then she told Sían, and her brother made arrangements for the families. It gave her a sense of pride to know that she could take care of the others—even if they believed Sían was responsible for their welfare. She needed no accolades for her work, so it mattered not what others thought.

Once she reached the open valley, Lianna urged her horse to go faster. The wind tore through her red hair, and she lifted her face high, revelling in the sensation. She gloried in the freedom, feeling the joy in having this moment alone.

As they drew closer to the coast, she slowed the pace of her mare, turning in the direction of the dolmen. The stone altar had been there for hundreds of years—perhaps even a thousand—and she often wondered about the Druids who had placed it there.

Each day, she took her noon meal at the dolmen, so she would not have to dine with the others and hear their talk. She preferred the solitude and welcomed it.

But this morning, she saw a man standing beside the stone. Her smile faded, and a sense of unrest thrummed within her veins, for he was not supposed to be here. Who was he? For a moment, she wondered if he was Norman, but then dismissed the idea, given his attire.

Although she knew every member of her own clan and of the MacKinloch clan who dwelled nearby, she had never seen this man before. And yet...it almost seemed that he had been waiting for her.

She slowed her horse to a walk, wondering what to do. The man’s brown hair was cut short, and his beard held stubble, as if he had shaved it a sennight ago. But it was his eyes that drew her in. They were the dark blue of the sea, with an almost savage beauty in them.

She nodded to him and was startled when he raised a hand in greeting. Every instinct warned her to leave, to abandon the dolmen and go back home. But instead, she drew her horse to a halt and stared at the man.

Keep riding, her instincts warned. He is a stranger.

‘A good afternoon to you, lass. It’s a beautiful place here.’ Though he spoke Gaelic, his voice held an unfamiliar accent. Was he from Aberdeen or even Oban? It was difficult to tell. She frowned, wondering who he was. It bothered her so deeply, she drew her horse closer, to see if she could determine his identity from his features.

Her heartbeat quickened at the sight of him, and her mouth grew dry. His face captivated her attention, drawing her closer. There was a faint scar upon his throat, and his expression was hardened, like a man accustomed to battle. Everything about the man spoke of a leader, for he carried his confidence like a weapon.

He wore a saffron léine, trews, and a brat woven in the MacKinloch colours of blue and green. And yet, she knew he was not of that neighbouring clan. Curiosity roiled up within her, and she was torn about whether to return to her father’s house. That would be the sensible thing to do.

But she didn’t dare move. The long shirt was ill-fitting, straining against his muscular chest. Beneath it, she spied powerful thighs clad in the trews.

She couldn’t think of one single word to say. Her brain could have been filled up with straw, so empty it was.

‘You needn’t be afraid of me,’ he said. ‘I came at your father’s invitation.’

Only then did she realise that she was gripping the hilt of her dagger. She eyed the Highlander, wondering if he was any threat to her. Her brother had taught her to defend herself, and she would not hesitate, if it were necessary. Yet somehow, she believed this man when he’d said she shouldn’t be afraid. He hadn’t moved at all, treating her like a wild horse, ready to bolt.

She shook away her idle thoughts. ‘Are you a visitor, then?’

He inclined his head. ‘I’ve come for the wedding.’

With effort, she concealed her dismay. He was one of the MacKinloch guests, then. Perhaps distant kin to her mother. Lianna studied him a moment, feeling as if she ought to know who he was. But he looked like none of the clansmen.

She could almost imagine what her brother would say to her. Ride back to our home at once. You cannot speak to a stranger alone. If he were here, Sían would seize the reins of her horse and force her to go back.

Was it wrong to steal just another look at the man before she left? She hesitated, but before she could turn back, he smiled at her. Without understanding why, the very breath in her lungs seemed to catch.

Men didn’t smile at her. Not ever. More often they rolled their eyes at her or let out an exasperated sigh while her brother made excuses.

Lianna glanced behind her, in case there was someone else approaching. But no, she was alone.

He was easily the most handsome man she’d ever seen. And he was smiling at her, wasn’t he? That was something indeed. But only because he did not realise that she was the bride.

Lianna knew she should leave, but it bothered her to abandon her plans. Every day at this time, she took her meal at the dolmen. It gave her an hour to sit by the sea and dream. Her life formed a pattern with each day ordered into precise pieces. She knew when she would awaken, when she would work, when she would eat, and when she would sleep.

But it felt as if someone had shaken her life into pieces just now, shattering it with the impending presence of the Norman she was meant to wed. And now with this man.

His very presence had interrupted her noon meal. This was her place, not his. He ought to be the one to leave. And perhaps if she could convince him to go, she could return to her moments of peace.

‘If you have come in search of the MacKinnon chief, he is back at Eiloch.’ She pointed towards the road by which she had travelled. ‘Follow the path, and you will find our house. My father will grant you hospitality.’

She expected him to nod and obey her command. Instead, he appeared to have little interest in departing. She noticed then that he had no horse. Had he stabled it elsewhere?

‘You seem eager to be rid of me,’ he remarked.

Lianna stopped herself before she nodded in agreement. Instead, she asked, ‘What is your name?’

The Highlander leaned against the dolmen, staring out at the clear sky and the blue sea. A thin mist of clouds rimmed the horizon in the distance, and the sun lit the ripples of water in a pool of fire. ‘You may call me Gavin MacAllister.’

A MacAllister? That didn’t seem right at all. ‘Then why are you wearing the MacKinloch colours?’

His mouth twisted. ‘I had to borrow clothing when my daft horse tossed me into the mud.’ His gaze fixed upon her face. ‘I suppose you must be Lianna MacKinnon, the bride.’

‘I am. Unfortunately.’ She made no effort to hide her reluctance and patted her horse’s back. Likely he had guessed her identity after she’d revealed that her father was the chief.

‘Then you do not look forward to your wedding?’

She made a face. ‘Not at all. How would you like to be forced into marriage with a stranger? He could be cruel. Nay, I’ve no wish to be married.’

‘And what if he is a good man?’ Gavin prompted.

‘He is a Norman. And he will want me to change everything—my home, my clothing...everything about myself.’ She shuddered at the thought. ‘I want to stay here with my family. And...they need me here.’

She didn’t know why she was confiding all of this to a stranger and changed the subject. ‘What of you? You said you came to Eiloch for the wedding?’ Lianna unfastened her bundle of food and spread it upon the stone dolmen between them. Though she had only a little to share, she would not eat without offering him what she had. She broke off a piece of the bread and held it out to him. He reached for it and caught her palm in his.

Lianna froze when his thumb grazed her skin. Heat swelled up inside her, and she could not understand how this man could have such an effect upon her.

‘I came because my family wanted to build an alliance with your clan.’

Her mind began reeling through the names of all the MacAllisters she knew. There was a clan to the south, and it might be that he was kin to Rourke MacAllister. She was about to ask him when he interrupted.

‘I am sorry you are being forced into this marriage,’ he said, still holding her palm. ‘I ken what it is to live a life where others make decisions and there is naught you can do.’

‘But there is something I can do,’ she said, pulling her hand back. With effort, she steadied her breathing and forced herself to eat a bite of bread. ‘I have been saving coins for years. I will offer Rhys de Laurent all that I have in return for my freedom. We can go on as we did before.’

He gave her a sidelong look. ‘Is he not wealthy, this Norman suitor of yours?’

She didn’t like to think of that. ‘I suppose. But surely, he would rather have the silver than an unwilling bride. And I doubt he would want me, either.’

‘You are a beautiful woman,’ he countered. ‘Of course he would want you.’

Though his words were kind, she did not believe them. ‘The Norman will see what everyone else sees. A plain woman who would make a terrible wife to any man.’

He surprised her when he laughed. ‘Why would you say that, Lianna?’

The use of her name felt intimate, and she suddenly grew more aware of this man. Why did he tangle her emotions into such knots? Was it because she had never held a conversation with such a handsome Highlander? Or was it because he actually seemed to listen to her?

‘I ken the sort of woman I am,’ she said. To distract him from the question, she shared half her cheese with him. Then when they had finished, she folded up the cloth into perfect lines.

‘If you’re wanting to go and see my father, follow the road as it leads west.’ She pointed out the direction in which she had come. ‘He will find a place for you to stay.’

* * *

Rhys had no intention of leaving Lianna MacKinnon behind. She was a complicated woman, and he was beginning to see what her father had meant. Everything about her spoke of an ordered life. Even the way she folded the linen cloth was precise.

It was clear that she despised change in any form, and the urge came over him to ruffle her calm exterior and find out if more lay beneath the surface.

A light rain began to fall, and she raised her green and brown brat to cover her hair, clearly waiting for him to go. The rain did not appear to bother her at all.

‘It’s raining,’ he pointed out. ‘Do you not wish to take shelter?’

‘I am used to it.’ Nodding towards the road, she prompted him again, ‘Take the path, and you will see our home. It isn’t far.’

There was no denying that she wanted him to depart. But he answered, ‘Where I am from, we do not leave women unprotected.’

Lianna revealed the dagger tucked into her waist. ‘I am not unprotected. And if you had threatened me in any way, I would have gutted you.’ She spoke the words quietly and was startled to see him smile.

‘Good.’ He stared at her a moment and then said, ‘I suppose if you do not wish to go, then I will stand guard over you.’

‘There’s no one here,’ she pointed out. ‘What would you guard me from? If there were any danger, I could scream, and half my clan would come running.’

He ignored her claim and pointed to the dolmen. ‘You could take shelter beneath the stone. It will keep you dry for a little while.’

She laughed at his claim. ‘I would not fit inside such a small space.’ The humour in her brown eyes warmed him, and he liked her. She kept a tight control over her life, and it might be interesting to loosen those bonds. Rhys could not deny that this woman intrigued him.

He understood now, why her father had warned him not to reveal his true identity. In this moment, he could learn more about her without his Norman heritage overshadowing him. They could get acquainted as man and woman.

‘Are you certain you do not wish to find another shelter?’ he offered.

She shook her head. ‘There isn’t time. I usually visit with the crofters after I finish my meal. I should go now.’

But he caught her hand again and held it a moment. The rain spattered on her skin, and he stared at the droplets upon her lips. He wanted to know if she felt any sort of attraction towards him. The need was strong, and he wanted to unravel this woman, to see what lay beneath the surface.

And so, he decided to give her pieces of the truth. Let her make of them what she would.

‘I didn’t only come here to make an alliance,’ he murmured. ‘Or as a wedding guest.’

She closed her eyes but did not pull her hand away. Instead, it seemed that she was spellbound in the same way he was. ‘Why did you come?’

‘I came for you, Lianna MacKinnon. Because my father wanted me to wed you.’

Her eyes flew open at that, and she did try to pull away. ‘But—I—I cannot. I am already promised.’

Her face flushed scarlet, and he moved in closer, placing both hands on either side of her waist upon the stone dolmen. He waited, giving her every opportunity to push past him. If she even attempted to escape his embrace, he would not hesitate to let her go.

‘If you were not betrothed to the Norman, would you consider a different marriage?’

Her eyes were wild with fear, but she placed her hands upon his shoulders as if to ward him off. ‘I—I don’t think I—’

He leaned in, brushing his mouth against her temple. Her skin was soft, her red hair turning darker beneath the rain. But he could not deny his interest in her. He found himself wanting to coax this woman into yielding to him.

‘What if you wed a man like me?’ he murmured, his lips against hers. ‘Would that be so terrible?’ With that, he claimed her mouth. He kissed her gently, not wanting to frighten her. At first, her lips didn’t move, so startled was she. But as he learned the shape of her mouth, teasing her, gradually she began to respond.

She twined her arms around his neck, and tentatively moved her mouth against his. He stroked back her hair, encouraging her without words. His wife-to-be did have a more sensual side to her, and when he drew her body against his, she clung to him.

‘I shouldn’t do this,’ she whispered. ‘I am betrothed to another man.’

‘And what if that man were me?’ he asked, sliding his hands down her spine. ‘Would you be so reluctant to wed?’

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘But that man isn’t you.’ This time, she did pull back, her cheeks reddening. ‘I can do nothing until the Norman agrees to let me go. And that might not happen.’

She closed her eyes with guilt, and her mind was already forming plans, he could tell. But he wanted more from this woman. He wanted to tempt her into forgetting about the boundaries between them, offering her the chance to have a very different sort of marriage, like the one his grandmother had enjoyed.

Ever since adolescence, Rhys had been stifled by responsibilities. His father had taken full command over Rhys’s life, demanding that he learn every skill necessary for governing Montbrooke. And his stepmother had seized her own control, trying to bend him to her will. He closed off the darker vision, for he would never again be at a woman’s mercy. If he chose to wed Lianna MacKinnon, it would be on his terms.

He wanted to know if she found him desirable, if there was any hope for a true marriage between them. Rhys framed her face with his hands, and her eyes softened. The rain slid over her cheeks, and he kissed the water droplets, claiming her mouth again. This time, he would not allow her to think of anything else, save him. He needed to push away her doubts, and when he revealed the truth to her, she would no longer regret the match.

‘Gavin—’

‘Shh.’ He silenced her and kissed her with more intensity, hoping to drive her towards madness. He pressed his leg between hers, and lifted her hips until she was straddling his thigh. The kiss turned hotter, and when he stroked her tongue with his, he lost sight of his own plans. She emitted a slight moan, shuddering as she rocked against him.

Her innocent reaction caused him to lose control. This woman was his and had been promised to him since birth. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin when he kissed her. Her sensitivity made him reckless, and he could voice only one thought in his brain: Mine.

No longer would he consider giving her to Warrick. She belonged to him, and one day soon, this Scottish beauty would be naked in his bed, and he would enjoy pleasuring her. She shuddered, and he imagined how it would be to bring her to fulfilment.

But abruptly, she shoved him back, her face stricken. ‘I cannot,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry.’ Her face held shame and guilt, and she hurried past him to her horse.

‘Lianna, wait.’ It was better to admit the truth to her now, to reveal his name and let her know that there was no harm in what they had done.

But she had already mounted her mare. She urged the animal back towards the settlement, without looking at him. The rain had soaked through his borrowed clothing, but he hardly felt the chill at all. His body was raging for Lianna MacKinnon.

And he would stop at nothing to claim his promised bride.

Chapter Two

Lianna was on her hands and knees, cleaning a small pile of dirt from the floor when her brother Sían strode into the gathering space. He smiled warmly at her. ‘You needn’t kneel on my behalf, Sister.’

His teasing was meant to make her laugh, but she could not bring herself to do so. Inwardly, she was still shaken by the encounter with Gavin MacAllister. The Highlander had struck her speechless with his handsome face, and God help her, the kiss had made her into a trembling mess. It wasn’t her first, but it was so very different from the dry peck upon her mouth, only given because one boy had dared another. No, Gavin’s kiss had unravelled her senses. She had hardly been able to ride back to their fortress, for her face was burning with startled embarrassment.

Men didn’t pay attention to her. They didn’t even like her. As she rose from the floor, folding the cloth into a rectangle, she didn’t miss the smirk from one of their kinsmen standing nearby.

‘You missed a grain of sand,’ Robbie mocked her. ‘Just there.’

She glanced in the direction he pointed but saw nothing. The arrogant look in his eyes bothered her, and she looked to Sían to say something. But her brother ignored it, pulling out a chair before he sat.

‘What have you seen this day?’ he asked. ‘Did any of the crofters’ homes have cobwebs, or God forbid, a rat?’

Robbie snickered, but she ignored the man. The truth was, she’d forgotten to inspect the homes at all. She ought to confess to her brother the truth, that she had encountered Gavin MacAllister. And yet, a part of her wanted to hold that memory to herself.

Instead, she repeated what she had already told him in the past. ‘Hamish and Maire lost two of their cattle to raiders. Their daughter, Lara, will give birth in the spring. And Orna is growing old and is suffering from aching of her hands and feet. Most of our people lack enough supplies to last through the winter. We need to be prepared.’

A part of her knew she ought to use her precious hoard of coins to buy supplies for her kinsmen, but she hoped that the Norman would take her exchange and give her freedom from the marriage. If he refused, she would use the silver to help her clan.

Sían sighed. ‘Then everything with our clan is the same as always. What would I do without your observations?’ He winked at his men, and Lianna decided to broach the subject she feared the most.

‘Father has told me that the Norman has arrived with his men. He still wants me to marry Rhys de Laurent.’ She gripped her hands together, waiting to hear his response. Sían had the most to lose, for once de Laurent married her, he would take command of the clan.

At that, her brother’s expression turned cold. ‘Is that so?’ There was a cruel air within his voice, and he stood, resting his hand upon the dagger at his waist.

Lianna raised her eyes to his, pleading, ‘Will you speak to Father on my behalf?’ She knew her best hope was to flatter her brother’s ego. ‘You should be the clan chief, not a stranger.’ She steeled herself and said, ‘If you can stop this marriage, I would be so grateful.’

Her brother did appear irritated by the idea of losing command. ‘You are right that I should be the leader of our people. Father is sick, and we must be prepared for the worst.’

‘Thank you,’ she murmured. Her heart did worry over Alastair, for even during these past summer months, he had struggled to overcome a hacking cough. Sían had offered to take over his duties, but their father had refused. His pride prevented him from accepting help.

Sían took her hand and patted it as if she were a child. ‘Does this Norman truly think he can trespass upon our land, plant a babe within you, and steal all that we have worked for?’ He met the gazes of their kinsmen, who appeared as angry as he did. ‘It will not happen.’

‘Perhaps it could be avoided,’ Lianna suggested. ‘Give him another bride, if he wants an alliance with us.’ Surely there was a young maid who would not mind living with a wealthy Norman.

‘He can have your maid, Orna,’ Sían remarked with a hearty laugh. ‘As old as she is, she won’t mind at all.’

But Lianna did not share in his laughter. She stood and walked away from the men, knowing that Sían would not be serious until they were alone. As she hoped, he started to follow. ‘Peace, my sister. We will walk awhile and talk about this.’

Which meant he would discuss nothing in front of their kinsmen. She understood his need to remain a respected leader among them.

They walked in silence for half a mile before Sían turned serious. ‘You are frightened of this marriage.’

‘I am,’ she admitted. ‘I hope that the Norman will turn me down, that he will not want a woman like me.’ No one did, for she knew most of the men made fun of her behind her back. They didn’t understand her, and she didn’t expect them to.

‘It matters not if he wants someone like you. He would not willingly surrender command of Eiloch,’ her brother answered. ‘Our lands hold value, and he will want to gain favour in the sight of the English king by claiming them.’

‘It doesn’t have to be me,’ she whispered. ‘Why can we not ask him to go back? If we pay him, he may consider it. I have saved some silver over the years.’

Sían’s eyes clouded a moment. ‘Indeed.’ Then he let out a sigh and dropped his arm across her shoulders. ‘I will not let any man hurt you, Lianna. I promise you that. Especially not a Norman bastard.’

She wanted to believe her brother could defend her, but this agreement had been made before she was born. Not only that, but she knew the strength of the Norman warriors. They could tear the clan apart, leaving the crofters’ homes in ashes.

Fear sank its claws into her, and she tried to steady herself. Right now, she needed a mindless activity to help occupy her time. The winter stores could be reorganised, and she decided it would be a good distraction.

‘Is there someone else you would rather wed?’ her brother asked. With a light teasing tone, he added, ‘Someone you have your eye on?’

The image of Gavin MacAllister suddenly invaded her mind. His body had filled out the MacKinloch clothing he wore, and she had welcomed the feeling of his arms around her. Even his kiss had captivated her senses.

Her face flushed, and her brother’s expression gleamed. ‘Who is he, Lianna?’

She covered her cheeks and shook her head. ‘No one.’ To avoid answering questions, she turned her back.

Sían laughed quietly. ‘You will not tell me, I see.’ He only ruffled her hair and said, ‘Don’t fear, Lianna. I will handle everything. You need not wed this man.’

‘What will you do if the Normans will not listen to reason?’ she asked. She knew better than to think it would be an easy escape.

A sly smile came over her brother’s face. ‘Don’t worry your head over that. Trust that I ken what is best.’

She wanted to trust in him, but could not quite bring herself to do so. Sían never prepared for the future, but made decisions depending on his moods—and his decisions changed by the hour. Although she might love him as her brother, he was utterly unreliable. But she wanted to believe that he would intervene on her behalf, if she asked it of him. She had to hold on to her faith.

Worry gripped her with the fear of her father dying. After her mother’s death in childbirth when Lianna was eight years old, he was all she had left. Although she had never understood Alastair’s fierce desire for a Norman alliance, he had been a kind and loving father. More than once, he had confessed that he wished she had been the firstborn son.

‘I know that you care for our people,’ he’d said. ‘You see what they truly need, instead of what they tell others to salvage their pride.’

His praise had warmed her heart, and because of it, she’d tried to fill the emptiness left behind by her mother. Davina had kept their house immaculate, and Lianna had tried to do the same. By holding on to her mother’s ways, it was a means of remembering her.

Sían walked back with her to the fortress, and Lianna parted ways from him, moving towards the thatched shelter that housed the entrance to the underground storage chamber. She climbed down the ladder, adjusting her woollen brat against her shoulders. All along the stone walls, she had organised food stores by grains and fruits. Now, she wondered if it might be better to sort them according to the month the foods had been harvested. It was nearly autumn, but she was well aware that there was a dire lack of supplies.

After an hour of sorting, she had regained command of her fear. It was frigid below the ground, and she climbed back up the ladder, only to see her brother on horseback with several men. They were gathering weapons, and she overheard one of the men jeering about the Normans. Her brother had a bow and quiver of arrows strapped across his shoulder.

Had Rhys de Laurent arrived, then? A sudden uneasiness caught her heart, and she picked up her skirts, hurrying towards them. ‘Sían, where are you going? Why do you have weapons?’

He wasn’t planning an attack, was he?

Her brother only smiled. ‘We’re going hunting, Lianna. You said yourself that we’ve a lack of food.’

She wished she could feel a sense of relief, but one of his kinsmen had an axe strapped to his waist. It was not a weapon meant for hunting animals, and she could not relinquish her suspicions, despite his words.

Sían smiled at her and added, ‘Don’t you want fresh venison or pheasant?’

His tone bothered her, for she was deeply afraid that he meant to attack the Norman travelling party. If he did, it would bring war among them, and she had no doubt the soldiers would slaughter any man who raised weapons.

In a low voice, she warned, ‘Sían, don’t do anything foolish.’ She didn’t want to outwardly accuse him in front of his men, but she sensed his lies.

His thin smile transformed into a sneer. ‘I am doing what is best for all of us, Lianna.’ With a mocking smile, he added, ‘We wouldn’t want any predators threatening our people.’

She needed to speak with Alastair, in the hopes that someone could deter her brother. He might be able to reason with Sían, to make him see that violence would only beget more fighting. And if he threatened the Normans, it would undermine her own chance at freedom.

Her brother was already striding towards the others, and she called out, ‘Sían, wait!’

He only raised his dagger in a mock salute, while his kinsmen laughed and mounted their horses. A flock of crows flew over their heads, and a premonition passed over her. If they attack, they’re going to die.

She knew better than to think that she could stop them from whatever they planned, but perhaps her father could. Lianna hurried back to the house, not knowing what would happen.

But Sían had to be stopped.

* * *

Rhys de Laurent sat among his men by the fire, watching the golden flames flare amid the peat. Although the clan chief, Alastair MacKinnon, had offered them shelter at his home, he’d wanted to bide his time a little longer. He knew better than to think the Highlanders would welcome Norman soldiers among their clan. But now that he had decided to go through with the betrothal, they would travel to Eiloch in the morning.

He was glad to have these last few hours to clear his head. His mind was caught up with a thousand questions he could not answer. He had gone to meet with Lianna MacKinnon to see what sort of woman she was. He’d predicted that she would be soft-spoken and timid, obeying her father’s bidding. Instead, she had met his gaze with her own courage. There was something about her that intrigued him—and now that he’d had a taste of her, he wanted more.

Once, he’d thought about switching places with his brother, allowing Warrick to wed Lianna in his stead. Yet, now that he’d tasted her lips, he wouldn’t even consider it. He had kissed her to satisfy a curiosity, to see if there was a woman of fiery spirit to match her red hair. Instead, he had found that she was innocent, confused and scared. Her kiss had been sweetly unknowing, as if it were her first. But in time, she had warmed to his touch, and he now believed that she would make a good wife for him.

God in Heaven, it had aroused him beyond all imaginings. Her palms had rested upon his chest, and she had opened to him, offering him her own yearning. When she had straddled his leg, allowing him to stroke her mouth with his tongue, he’d nearly lost himself. He had become a different man, one caught up beneath her spell.

He would indeed accept this woman as his bride. And although he had once imagined leaving her behind in Scotland, now he was reconsidering. It might be best to take her back to England with him.

And more than all else, he was looking forward to claiming her as his own.

‘You look besotted,’ his friend Ailric remarked. ‘Was she fair of face?’

If fair of face meant hair like a sunset, and skin that resembled the petals of a rose, then yes.

‘She was,’ Rhys agreed. ‘In the morning, we will go to Eiloch and you can see her for yourself.’

Ailric poked at the fire until a shower of sparks scattered across the air. ‘I hope that your marriage will be as good as mine is, my friend.’ There was a fleeting glimpse of longing on his face. His friend had been wedded for only a year, but already his wife Elia was expecting their first child.

‘You shouldn’t have come with us,’ Rhys said. ‘Better to have stayed home with your wife. This journey to Scotland is too far. What if Elia gives birth while you are away?’

‘With another mouth to feed, I will do what I must. Better that I can earn silver from service to you, my lord. We will need more, soon enough.’ He leaned back against a log, a gleam of joy in his eyes. ‘I hope that one day you will know the happiness I’ve known. To see love in your wife’s eyes and know that hers is the first face you’ll see in the morning. To touch her belly and feel the faint kick of your son beneath her skin.’ He shook his head as if he could not believe his good fortune. ‘’Tis a wonder, indeed.’

‘You will see her soon,’ Rhys promised. ‘God willing, I hope to return to England within a fortnight. I must bring Lianna back to Montbrooke so that the betrothal document may be signed and witnessed.’

‘Was that not already done when she was born?’

‘It was, but our fathers demanded that both of us must give our consent to the marriage.’ Rhys shrugged. ‘It will not take long, and we will be wedded after that.’

He wondered if Lianna would be glad to marry him, once she learned the truth. It didn’t sit well with him to lie to her, but perhaps she would understand his reasons. He hadn’t wanted her to judge him on his Norman heritage before she had known him as a man. And he had found her more desirable than he’d imagined.

‘God grant that you both are happy,’ Ailric said. He stood in the darkness, and there came the sound of horses approaching.

They were not expecting visitors at this hour, and Rhys signalled for his men to be on alert. Instinctively, he reached for his sword. It might be Alastair and his kinsmen, or it might be a threat.

The hoofbeats ceased, and silence descended over their camp. Footsteps approached, and Rhys turned towards the sound, his hand upon his sword hilt.

Only seconds later, he heard a cry from his friend. Horror washed over him when he turned back and saw an arrow embedded in Ailric’s chest. His friend crumpled to the ground, and God help him, Rhys knew it was over.

He seized Ailric’s shield, releasing a battle roar of anguish. Then he charged into the darkness, his rage and grief swelling like a tide. He didn’t know who had dared to attack, but their assailants would pay the price with their lives.

A tightness filled up his chest as Rhys kept his shield up, barking commands at his men to raise their shields and form a circle. It was difficult to see more than shadows in the night sky, but he caught a blur of motion and used the moment to attack. Fury poured through him with the need for vengeance.

As he slashed out at a faceless enemy, his rage mingled with grief. No longer would Ailric see his wife’s smile in the morning, and his friend would never hold his newborn son.

Rhys’s sword cut through human flesh, and he heard a man cry out as he was struck down. He ended his enemy’s life, and his men held their positions, waiting for the Highland raiders to approach.

So, they had asked him to wed the chief’s daughter, only to attempt a slaughter in the middle of the night? They would soon learn the strength and power of his forces.

One stepped into the light, clearly one of the MacKinnons, given his clothing. Damn them for this. Rhys had deliberately stayed back from the clan, not wanting to bring fear and war among them. But now that they had attacked like cowards in the night, they would see no mercy.

In the Norman tongue, he ordered his men to keep their shields up and pursue the Highlanders. His heart hardened, his emotions turning to stone. He had no idea how many there were, but any man who dared to attack would feel the edge of his blade.

For Ailric.

Another raider emerged, but he was no match for six trained Norman warriors. One by one, they defended themselves against the remaining raiders—but there was still the unknown archer. None of these men had a bow among them.

Rhys sent out three men to scout the number of horses. ‘How many are left?’ he asked, when they returned.

‘There were four horses,’ one answered. ‘So at least one raider is still out there.’

The archer, Rhys guessed. And if his horse was still here, then so was the man. ‘Spread out,’ he ordered them, in the Norman language. ‘Keep your shields raised and find that archer.’ He would not rest until they had found them all. And if Alastair MacKinnon was responsible for ordering this raid, then Rhys would see every last member of the clan driven out of Eiloch.

His men obeyed the command, leaving Rhys by the fire. He deliberately remained behind, wanting the light to guide him. He kept his shield raised, listening for the sound of the last Highlander.

‘I know you’re there,’ he called out to the man, using the Gaelic language. ‘And I know you have to hide in the shadows. Because you know that you are no match for Norman fighters.’

He sensed a ripple of motion and lifted his shield, just as an arrow struck the wood. It came from the opposite direction, but Rhys held his position.

‘Arrogant Scot,’ he jeered. ‘Was this your chief’s idea? To kill us all, before I claim his daughter as my bride?’

One man did step into the light, and he held another arrow nocked to the bow. ‘You think I would let you claim what rightfully belongs to me? I should be the leader, not you.’

‘These are my lands by birthright,’ Rhys contradicted. ‘You hold no claim to them.’ He stared at the young man, noting the overconfidence in his bearing.

‘I’m going to kill you, Norman. And your head will be displayed at our gates.’ He released another arrow, but Rhys blocked it again.

‘Your aim is poor.’ He kept his shield up, circling the man. Footsteps approached, and one by one, his men returned to join him. ‘Was it your idea to kill us in our sleep?’

‘It was,’ the man taunted. ‘And you’re still going to die. Norman bastards.’

As are you, Rhys thought. Because of this man, one of his most trusted soldiers was dead. If he lunged forward, he might be able to strike the archer’s bow away, leaving him defenceless. But he would have to lower his shield.

‘You cannot kill me,’ the archer said with a sly smile. ‘Do you know who I am?’

With that, Rhys dropped his sword and unsheathed the knife at his waist. He threw the knife at the man’s heart and saw the look of shock in the Highlander’s eyes as the blade struck true. His enemy dropped to his knees, the bow falling from his hands.

‘I know exactly who you are,’ Rhys said softly. ‘The man who killed my friend.’

* * *

Lianna heard the outcry at dawn when the Norman soldiers arrived. She hurried outside and saw them leading horses...with the bodies of Highlanders draped across the saddles. Her throat closed up with terror, her hands shaking.

Last night, she had begged her father to send men after her brother, but Alastair had refused. He’d said that Sían would listen to no man’s counsel, save his own. If he dared to attack, then that lay upon his shoulders.

And though she knew Alastair was right, her father should have tried. For now, she dreaded the worst.

The blood drained from her face, and Lianna stepped back against the outer wall of the house, trying to hold back the wave of fear. She knew, without asking, that Sían was dead. He hadn’t been hunting deer or game at all. He’d been hunting the Norman soldiers. And from the looks of it, none had survived.

Alastair hobbled from his house, his complexion grey. The grief in his bearing made her fearful of what he would do now. Without thinking, Lianna rushed forward to his side.

‘Father,’ she whispered.

But he did not answer. Instead, he walked towards one of the bodies concealed by a wool covering. He lifted the edge and revealed Sían’s face.

There came an uproar from the Highlanders gathered around, and God help her, Lianna feared they would rise up in rebellion. But they did not need more bloodshed, not now.

Her father raised his voice. ‘I did not order this raid. It was never my intent to start a war.’

His words cast silence over the clan, and he continued. ‘Lianna, make the arrangements for the burial of these men. I will meet with my council and with the Normans.’

Her eyes flooded with hot tears, and her stomach clenched. The Normans could burn in hell for all she cared. She stared at the horses bearing the bodies, and nausea twisted her stomach. Her maid Orna approached and said, ‘I will help, Lianna.’ The older woman motioned to several of the others, and she took the reins of one of the horses.

Lianna wanted to follow, but her legs would not move. With a fleeting glance towards the Normans, she wondered which one was Rhys de Laurent. All wore conical helms and chainmail armour. They appeared fully prepared for battle.

There was only one consolation that distracted her now—her father could not possibly demand that she marry the Norman. Not when these men had killed Sían. With a leaden heart, she followed Orna and reached for the reins of a second horse.

‘Hear me,’ her father called out to the clan members, and Lianna turned back to listen to him. ‘I will not risk our clan’s survival based on the lack of judgement from my son. I did not order this attack, and Sían’s defiance resulted in tragedy. No one here will raise a hand against our Norman guests—or you will be exiled from us.’ His grey eyes were the colour of iron, cold and unforgiving. He met the gazes of his men, who looked ready to engage in fighting.

Lianna saw murder brewing in the eyes of Eachann and Ross. The fierce Highlanders were among the strongest fighters remaining. They needed a means of releasing their anger, and she stepped towards them. ‘Will you help dig the graves of your kinsmen?’

They didn’t move, until Alastair said, ‘Do as my daughter bids you.’

She stepped up, facing each of them. Tension stretched thin until finally Ross muttered, ‘We will bide our time.’ Then they stepped back to fetch shovels to begin digging the graves. Lianna chose two more men to help them, and then sent for the priest.

She was grateful for the many tasks that had to be done. It occupied her time, allowing her to push back the wave of emotion threatening to drown her. Sían had been her only brother, the laughing young man who had believed himself invincible. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she could not cry now. Several women were openly weeping at the loss of their sons and husbands. Lianna busied herself with helping them, asking them to gather linen for the burial shrouds.

But as the Normans departed with her father, she could only think that her freedom had been won at a terrible cost.

She led the horse bearing her brother’s body, taking him back towards the stone kirk. There, she would prepare him for burial, and perhaps indulge in a moment of grief.

But, without warning, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She froze in place, wondering what had disturbed her so suddenly.

She turned and saw that one of the Normans was staring at her, his expression intent. There was a hint of familiarity around him, though she could not place it. From this distance, she could barely see his face and his hair was hidden beneath his helm.

It must be Rhys de Laurent.

Lianna lifted her chin in defiance, staring boldly back at him. Let him look. For he would never have her as his bride.

* * *

Rhys followed the clan chief into a private gathering space, accompanied by his men. Two other Scots joined them, and there was no denying the cold fury that permeated the demeanour of every man here.

He said nothing but waited for Alastair to speak. His own anger was raging, that they had come here in peace to fulfil the bargain, and the man’s own son had dared to attack.

‘Sían acted of his own accord,’ Alastair said quietly. ‘I gave no orders for a raid.’

Rhys stared back at the man in disbelief. Did he honestly think that he would believe such a statement? His gaze was hard and unyielding, but there was melancholy in the man’s eyes.

‘I am old, and my time here grows short,’ Alastair said. ‘My son coveted my position as chief, and time and again, he was wanting me to step down and let him lead.’ He glanced at his companions. ‘But such was impossible. Sían was too impulsive, believing he was always right. He often acted without thinking, and more than once, I’ve had to atone for his reckless actions.’ He met Rhys’s gaze evenly. ‘As I am prepared to do now.’

‘You broke our bargain of peace,’ Rhys said coolly. ‘I have the right to drive every man, woman, and child from Eiloch. These are Norman lands now, inherited by my father from the chief before you. And now they belong to me, as his heir.’

‘They belong to both the Normans and the Scots,’ Alastair corrected. ‘Your grandfather saw that he would be needing protection for Eiloch one day. When he married your Norman grandmother, he made that bargain to guard us from outside threats.’

‘You forfeited our treaty when your son tried to kill us,’ Rhys said. ‘I will not marry your daughter now. But I will seize command of Eiloch.’

Alastair closed his eyes and fell silent for a long moment. Then, after a long pause, he continued, ‘I grieve the death of my son. Sían was my flesh and blood, and no father should outlive his child.’ His hand closed in a fist. ‘But Lianna is no’ like her brother. She has the heart and the intelligence to lead this clan. Had she been a boy, I would have made her the leader, for she is a good woman who puts the needs of others before her own.’

Alastair poured mead into a silver mazer cup and lifted it high. ‘I don’t want war between the Normans and my people. They will struggle to survive this winter, and we need Norman aid to provide enough food for them.’ He drank from the cup. ‘I offer you this cup of peace. I will forgive you for killing my son, if you do not bring vengeance against our people.’ He passed the cup to his advisors, who drank in turn, and then the cup was given to Rhys.

He hesitated, for he was uncertain whether to accept this offering. Sían MacKinnon might well have acted without his father’s permission. Given the haggard expression on Alastair’s face, he did appear to regret his son’s actions.

This was a man who valued peace, above his own personal tragedy. And that was something to be respected.

‘I will not drive your people out of Eiloch yet,’ Rhys said quietly. ‘For now, I will wait and use my own judgement. If they dare to raise a hand against any of us, they will die for it.’ He drank the mead and passed it back.

‘If any of my people strike back at you or your men,’ Alastair answered, ‘I will order their deaths myself.’ He set down the mazer cup and leaned back in his chair. ‘Lianna will not want to wed you—I must be honest about this. But she does understand the needs of our clan. She knows how dire our circumstances are, and if I command it of her, she will obey.’

Rhys wasn’t certain he wanted to wed under these circumstances. But he did need to be honest with Lianna MacKinnon and tell her of his true identity. She deserved that much.

‘I will speak with her this evening,’ he said. ‘In the meantime, I will inspect your crofters’ homes and learn more about Eiloch.’

Alastair nodded. ‘My men will accompany you to ensure your safety.’ He rose from his chair and said, ‘Under most circumstances, I would join you and Lianna on your journey back to Montbrooke for the formal betrothal. But I think it best if I remain behind, to ensure that my people do not rise up in rebellion.’

‘You assume that I will wed her,’ Rhys said. ‘I will not claim her if she displeases me.’ Unbidden came the memory of her mouth beneath his, the softness of her kiss. But once she learned who he was, she would despise him.

Alastair’s expression tightened with firm resolution. ‘She will do as I command.’

* * *

Lianna stared at her father in shock. ‘I will not.’

How could he even imagine she would wed the Norman who had murdered her brother? The very thought was monstrous. Her heart pounded, and she gripped her hands together so tightly, her knuckles turned white. ‘The men are digging Sían’s grave as we speak. How can you ask me to wed the man who put him there?’ She rose from her place, panic gnawing inside her.

‘Because if you do not make this alliance, he will drive our people out of Eiloch.’ Her father’s pallor was grey, and he sat down, resting his hand on his forehead. ‘Lianna, you don’t ken what lies ahead. Our people cannot survive if he drives us out.’

‘Then fight back,’ she insisted. ‘We have more men than he does!’

‘If we slaughter the heir of Montbrooke, his father will send Norman troops by the hundreds. They would kill every last one of us, and you ken this.’ He swallowed hard. ‘Sían made a terrible mistake, and I should have listened to you. I regret not sending men after him, but I never thought he would do something like this.’

‘And yet, you ask me to marry his murderer.’ Her voice broke away, and terror poured over her in a wave. ‘I cannot do it. I will not do it.’

‘He is coming to dine with us this evening after the burials. You will meet with him then,’ her father said.

‘I would rather die than wed Rhys de Laurent,’ she shot back. Her rage poured over her, and she stood from the table. Right now, she needed to be on horseback, to ride hard and release the storm of tears building inside. She started to back away from the table, but her father raised a hand, and two of her kinsmen blocked her path.

‘You will not leave, Lianna,’ he said. ‘It is not safe now. With all that has happened, you must stay here.’

And be his prisoner, she realised. A blinding anger overcame her, and she tried to shove her way past the men. But Eachann gripped her arm, staring back at her father for his orders.

‘Go to your bedchamber,’ Alastair warned. ‘You may bide there until we bury Sían and the others. And you will meet with Rhys de Laurent later tonight.’ Though he spoke calmly, she didn’t miss the tremor of emotion in his voice. It seemed that he was holding back his own grief by a single thread.

‘I will not meet with him.’ Not now or ever. If he meant for her to stay in her room, stay she would. He could not force her to wed the Norman.

‘Take her,’ Alastair said.

Eachann was not gentle, but pulled her towards the stairs and marched her up each tread. When she reached her room, he opened the door and shoved her inside. She had no time to speak, but heard the tell-tale click of the key turning in the lock.

Lianna drew her knuckles into a fist and slammed her hand into the door, not even caring if it bruised. Her life was falling to pieces all around her, and she could not gather control of it. Anger roared through her, and she dropped to her knees on the floor. There was a stiff brush and a bucket of water in the corner, and she reached for them. She scrubbed the floor over and over, obliterating all traces of dirt. Her shoulders shook with rage and grief, and she wept for the loss of her brother...but most of all, for the loss of her freedom. She scrubbed until her fingers were raw from the effort, and her knees were damp from the water.

Then, a sudden thought took root in her mind. What of the coins she had saved to buy her freedom? Would the Norman consider the bribe? It was still a fragile glimmer of hope that she clung to.

She ran to the opposite side of the room and dropped to her knees again. With the blade of her dagger, she pried up the floorboard and reached for the sack of coins she had saved over the years.

It was gone. With horror, she reached her hand into the darkness, trying to see if it had somehow been pushed aside. But there was nothing at all, save something tiny, a scrap of fabric she could not see. When she pulled it from the hiding place, the tears sprang up again. It was a handkerchief she had embroidered for Sían.

He had taken her coins and used them for God only knew what. When had he done this? She had told him only a day ago, but it was clear that he had seized the coins long before that.

Where were they now? She recalled that he had gone ‘hunting’ with his men, but that was during the afternoon. They had not attacked the Norman camp until nightfall. Where had he been all that time?

She knew he had not kept the coins with him during the attack, for she had spent the past hour preparing his body for burial. A queasy feeling passed over her, and she sat against the wall, drawing her knees up. There was truly nothing left for her now. No silver, no means of convincing the Norman to leave her alone.

Her father wanted her to meet with the man this evening, but she could not fathom doing so. Her heart was ravaged with grief and frustration. If she laid eyes upon his face, it would only bring back her anger.

She lowered her face against her knees. Nothing would ever force her to wed the Norman—not after what he’d done.

She swore, with every breath in her body, that she would not let her enemy claim her.

Chapter Three

Rhys spent the remainder of the day inspecting the crofters’ homes, surveying every inch of occupied property. He continued to wear his conical helm and chainmail armour, for he wanted the Highlanders to realise that he was indeed a threat if they dared to assault him or his men.

He saw four graves dug in the clearing beside the kirk. Inside, he knew that they had prepared the bodies, and the burial would happen within an hour or two. The people were gathering flowers, and he saw another woman enter the stone kirk, carrying a length of linen.

Earlier this morning, he and his men had already buried Ailric beside the forest, saying a prayer for the man’s soul. It seemed impossible that they had broken bread with him last night, speaking of his wife and unborn child. Life was fleeting, and Rhys promised himself that they would somehow provide for Ailric’s widow, Elia.

The priest stepped outside by the graves, wearing a long brown robe knotted with a cord. His expression was sombre, and he approached Rhys and his men with a lowered head.

‘I offer you the peace of Christ,’ he said by way of greeting, using the Norman language. ‘The MacKinnon told me of this grievous tragedy. I will pray for the souls of these men.’ Rhys inclined his head, but knew the priest had another reason for speaking. As he’d anticipated, the priest continued, ‘But I beg you not to inflict your vengeance against our people. They are not your enemies.’

An invisible tension knotted across the space, and Rhys answered, ‘We will only attack those who raise arms against us.’ He glanced around at the people gathering for the funeral. ‘Those who keep the peace have nothing to fear.’

His words would not convince the MacKinnons, he knew. Several mothers held fast to their children, as if they feared he would cut them down where they stood. He nodded to the priest by way of farewell and strode across the space.

But he had seen what the clan chief had spoken of. These people were thin and suffering. Their clothing looked as if the garments had been worn year in and year out. There was no prosperity, no sense of security here.

That was the reason why Rhys’s grandfather, Fergus MacKinnon, had named Edward the heir, instead of a trueborn Scot. Without any children of his own, he had selected Margaret’s grown son from her first marriage as the heir. And by bringing an alliance between Normans and Scots, Fergus hoped to end the vast poverty here.

His father had not lifted a finger, Rhys knew. Edward had no loyalty here, and he cared nothing for Scotland. To his father, this was a vast wasteland of primitive people whose customs were very different. And so, it fell upon Rhys’s shoulders to change that.

A part of him wanted to walk away from this marriage and these people. He owed them no loyalty at all, not after what Sían had done.

But then, Rhys caught sight of a young boy standing near the kirk, perhaps thirteen years of age. The lad’s hair was dark, like his own brother Warrick’s, and his face was gaunt with hunger. Though he was taller than Lianna, the boy’s arms were too thin. Most likely he would die this winter, if there was not enough food.

A weariness settled over Rhys, for this was the reason why he could not walk away. He had inherited Eiloch, and that meant taking responsibility for these people and their poverty. Regardless of his personal feelings, he would never turn his back on starving children. Providing for them was the right thing to do. He possessed the means to change their lives, forging new alliances that would serve his king in times of war.

As a boy, he had suffered his own personal nightmares of abuse. He’d tried to shield his brother from their stepmother Analise, but their father had never believed the truth about her. They had been alone, unable to defend themselves. No one had offered to help, and when Rhys stared at this boy, he saw the shadow of himself.

There was no turning back now. Not from these people, and not from this alliance.

Slowly, he walked with his men towards their camp. They had deliberately left their belongings there, with the intent of returning tonight to take shelter within Alastair’s house. He decided to remain isolated throughout the afternoon and early evening. Let them bury their dead without a Norman threat hanging over them.

And when he returned, he would wear their clothing as a sign of peace.

* * *

Her father released Lianna from her chamber to attend the funeral Mass for her brother and their kinsmen. By then, she had regained command of her emotions, steeling herself as they lowered the linen shrouds into the ground. She hid her shaking hands by gripping them tightly, and when the rain fell upon their graves, it felt like the tears she could not bring herself to shed.

After the bodies were buried, her father led her back to the house. Quietly, he said, ‘You will return to your chamber and await Rhys de Laurent. I will send him to you, so that you may speak with him.’

She wanted nothing of the sort. But if she told her father she had no intention of opening the door, he would drag her below stairs and force her to meet the man publicly. She doubted if this Norman would listen to reason. His fierce bearing revealed a ruthless man who would act only upon his own accord.

Lianna held her silence as Alastair escorted her back. In the space of two days, her father appeared to have aged ten years. His demeanour was heavy with grief, and she slowed her steps. With a gentle squeeze to his hand, she murmured, ‘We will miss Sían.’

He gripped it in return and closed his eyes, as if to gather strength from her. ‘You must take the place he could not.’

She didn’t understand what he meant by that, for she could never lead the clan. But perhaps he intended for her to ensure that their people were protected, no matter what happened. And this she could promise.

‘I will try.’

He took her back to her room and regarded her. ‘I will send your meal to you here. And later tonight, Rhys will come and talk with you. Unless you would rather dine with everyone else?’

She shook her head. Her father knew how much she hated being among crowds of people. It was why she took her noon meal by the dolmen each day.

‘I need you to make this alliance,’ her father said softly. ‘I believe that you have the strength to wed this man. And he will listen to you.’

He was wrong in that. Men never listened to her, and neither would a Norman warrior. But she went to sit beside her window, and her father closed the door behind him. As she’d predicted, he locked it, leaving her a captive once more.

Which was likely a good decision, given that she wanted nothing more than to escape. Lianna walked over to her bed and straightened the coverlet, pulling it so that both sides were even.

Her mind turned over the problem, wondering if there was something she could do—anything to avoid this marriage. But she could not see a pathway to freedom, no matter what wild ideas sprang to mind.

Her stomach lurched when abruptly there came a knock at her door. It was too soon. They had not eaten the evening meal, and she didn’t imagine that her father could have brought the Norman to her this soon.

She ignored the knocking, her heart racing within her chest. And then a voice called out in Gaelic, ‘Lianna, I need to talk with you.’

It was the Highlander, Gavin MacAllister. She had nearly forgotten about him in the midst of the funeral. But now she wondered if he could be useful to her.

‘My father has locked me inside this room,’ she said. ‘Else, I would open it.’

To her surprise, she heard the turning of a key. ‘Alastair gave me permission to speak with you. May I come in?’

She opened the door and saw that he was wearing the same saffron léine and trews that he’d worn before. His dark hair was cut short against the back of his neck, and the bristle upon his cheeks made her want to touch it.

‘Why did my father send you to me?’ she asked, inviting him inside.

‘Because there is something I need to speak to you about. I was not entirely honest with you when we met.’ He glanced over at the two stools on the far side of the room. ‘Could we sit?’

‘First, give me the key,’ she demanded. She had no intention of allowing the Norman warrior to invade this room while she was talking with Gavin. She inserted it into the lock and turned it. ‘If we are to speak, I do not want the Normans interrupting us.’

His mouth tightened. ‘That is what I wanted to discuss with you.’

She led him to sit at the far end of the room, wondering if he had come to take her from Eiloch. He had said before that he had wanted to wed her. And though she hardly knew him, she could not deny that he made her blood race.

When he had kissed her, she had come alive in his arms, feeling desirable. No man had ever affected her the way he did, and a sudden, rash thought came to her. He could help her escape this unwanted marriage. Perhaps he could escort her to safety where she could avoid the Norman forces.

Her mind stilled with an unmistakable fact—if she wed Gavin MacAllister, they could no longer force her to marry Rhys de Laurent.

Her brain dismissed the idea, for she could not fetch a priest and speak vows with so little time. It would never work. But her mind was caught up with a storm of thoughts swirling within her.

‘Do you still wish to wed me?’ she blurted out, rising from her seat. She could not look at Gavin while she spoke, for his very presence unnerved her. ‘Is that why you are here?’

He paused a moment. ‘In a manner of speaking. There is more I need to tell you.’

Her body went numb with anxiety, and it felt as if her breath caught in her lungs. She squeezed her hands into fists and forced herself to face him. ‘And what if I said yes?’

He hesitated again. ‘You may not want to wed me, after we have spoken.’

She would wed the devil himself if it meant avoiding the Norman. And there was one way of doing so, a way that would end any chance of marriage with Rhys de Laurent.

Her face burned with humiliation, and she could hardly bring herself to voice her idea. Instead, she blurted out, ‘Do you...want me?’

For a long, painful moment, he didn’t answer. She closed her eyes, wishing she had never spoken at all. He would make excuses and leave. Her heart sank, and she berated herself for even asking. Of course he wouldn’t want a woman like her. She was plain-faced with bright red hair and a body that was bony instead of soft.

But he rose from the stool and came to stand behind her. His hard body pressed against hers, and he drew her waist to him, so that she felt the warmth of his breath against her throat. ‘From the moment I kissed you, I have thought of nothing else.’

Her breath released in a ragged gasp, and his mouth pressed against her nape. Gooseflesh rose over her skin, and she now knew that she could do what must be done.

‘Then claim me,’ she pleaded softly. Seduce me so that I no longer have to wed Rhys de Laurent. She needed to bind this man to her, to ensure that there was no chance of being forced to marry the Norman.

Gavin’s body went rigid, and his demeanour transformed. Slowly, he turned her in his embrace, tilting her chin up to face him. ‘Lianna, there is something you must know.’

She didn’t want to hear reasons or excuses. This was her chance to escape a marriage she’d never wanted, and she was willing to sacrifice her innocence for that. And so she stood on tiptoe and pressed her mouth against his in a hungry kiss.

* * *

Rhys de Laurent knew he was a bastard. He had come to her room to tell her the truth, to reveal his true name to Lianna, and to discuss whether they should end the arrangement. He’d been willing to consider giving her to Warrick instead, especially after the death of her brother.

But from the moment she kissed him, offering her sweetness, all logic disappeared. She opened to him, and when he slid his tongue into her mouth, she gasped and moaned, pressing her hips to his.

His body was already rigid with desire, and her softness only ignited those forbidden needs. She believed he was a Highlander, a man who would take her away from Eiloch and give her the freedom she wanted. He knew that, just as he knew she would despise him if she knew who he really was. Was this seduction meant to bind him to her? Was she trying to escape their marriage?

Her hands slid through his hair, and she murmured against his lips, ‘I can hardly breathe when you touch me.’

Rhys responded by bringing his palm to the curve of her breast. She wore a woollen gown, and he could feel the cockled nipple beneath it. He teased it with his thumb, and she shuddered.

He had been with women before, but none who reacted so strongly. The look of pleading desire on her face nearly brought him to his knees. He wanted to spend all night pleasuring her. But if he dared to voice the truth, all of it would end. This beautiful woman would look upon him with hatred, demanding that he leave. Although the voice of reason tugged at his conscience, he couldn’t quite bring himself to speak. This woman would become his wife, and if he accepted her offering, there would be no turning back. All he had to do was remain silent.

Was it so wrong to desire a woman who begged for his touch? Especially when it meant consummating an arranged union? He decided that he would give her what she wanted, as long as she was willing. If she faltered or asked him to stop, he would do so without question. And soon enough, he would have his answers.

She reached for the laces of her gown. ‘Will you help me with these?’ Her brown eyes were hazy with need. ‘My hands are shaking.’

He rested his hands upon the laces and pulled one out, then the other. ‘Slow down, Lianna.’

She closed her eyes as he continued to unlace her. He lowered the gown to her shoulders and pressed his mouth to her skin. ‘Are you certain this is what you want?’

‘Yes.’ Her voice was breathless, but the anticipation in her tone held fear as well. He hesitated, resting his hands against her shoulders, giving her time to pull back.

But instead, she pulled the gown lower, baring her shift. The fine linen was slightly sheer, and he could see the faint rosy tint of her nipples. Her auburn hair tumbled over her shoulders, and the force of his desire roared through him.

God help him, this was wrong. He knew he should not take this any further, for she would despise him once she learned the truth. But a dark hunger flared within him with the need to touch this beautiful woman.

Rhys was starving for a taste of her, and a vain part of him hoped that he could bring her such pleasure she would change her mind about wedding him. He cupped her cheek and slowly trailed his hand down her throat. She closed her eyes, her lips softening. Slowly, he lowered his hand, brushing his knuckles against her taut nipple.

A shuddering gasp erupted from her lips, and her hands dug into his shoulders. He stroked the erect tip, and she leaned her head back, her expression rapt with yearning.

Never could he give this woman to his brother Warrick—or to any other man. Not when she reacted so strongly to his touch.

Rhys lifted her in his arms and brought her to sit upon the bed. She started to remove the shift, but he caught her hands. He needed to give her one last chance to guard her virginity. For if they continued down this path, the marriage was inevitable.

‘This wasn’t the reason why I came to you, Lianna,’ he said. ‘If I join with you, you must become my wedded wife afterwards. Or if you want me to stop touching you, I will.’

She framed his face with her hands, her face flushed. ‘Don’t stop.’

* * *

Lianna knew this was wrong. She knew it down to her very soul, but she had come this far, and she could not wait any longer. Her father would come to her chamber with Rhys de Laurent, and if she were caught in Gavin’s embrace, that would be the end of her betrothal to the Norman. Rhys would never accept a woman who could be expecting another man’s child.

For that reason, she knew there was no return from this path of sin. She had made her choice, and she would abide by the consequences later.

‘So be it,’ Gavin growled. He removed his shirt, pulling it over his head.

She was spellbound by his hard muscles, fascinated by the reddened scar that ran across one rib. More than anything, she wanted to touch him, to know what it was to feel this man’s flesh upon hers.

He knelt before the bed and touched her bare feet, tracing her soles. Instead of being ticklish, his touch was sensual, awakening her. As his hands passed over her ankles and up to her calves, he caught the hem of her shift and lifted it higher. She wanted to help him, but the intense stare in his dark blue eyes warned her not to move. His hands slid over her inner thighs, and she was aware of the sharp contrast between his heated palms and her cool skin.

Between her legs, she felt a yearning, to be filled by this man. He would take her body, and afterwards, she would no longer have to wed the Norman. This Highlander would free her from that prison. Her mind tried to warn her that her father would not allow it, but she silenced the words of reason. Her time was running out, and she had to see this through.

The Highlander moved his hand to her intimate flesh, and she was shocked to find that she had grown wet. His finger traced the seam of her opening, and she could not help but moan with the pleasure of his touch. She had always imagined that lovemaking was a necessary means for breeding children, where she would lie still, so that her husband could complete the act.

It had never involved such shocking feelings of need and urgency. She fought to regain control of herself, but her body warred against her mind.

Gavin guided her to lie back on the bed with her legs still open. Then he leaned in and covered her nipple with his heated mouth, over the linen. She nearly bolted off the bed when his finger slid inside her.

Sweet God Almighty.

‘I—I can’t think when you do that.’ Reckless feelings tore through her, and she tried again to master her response. But her body craved his, aching with such fierce needs, she could hardly breathe.

‘Good,’ he answered, swirling his tongue over the damp fabric. ‘I don’t want you to think of anything else but me.’

Her body strained, yearning for something she could not understand. He circled her sensitive nodule while stroking her wet entrance. Then he switched his attention to her opposite breast, and she felt her body erupt with tremors.

‘Don’t fight it,’ he said quietly. ‘Your body will ken what it needs.’ He slid her shift higher so it was bunched at her waist, and then he inserted a second finger. The pressure of his invasion, coupled with the suction of his mouth, was her undoing. A burgeoning spiral of desire made her arch against him, until she felt a surge of hot pleasure breaking over her with the force of a wave. She cried out, fisting the sheets as she rode out the release. His fingers were coated with her essence, and soon she heard him remove his trews. A moment later, she felt the blunt pressure of his erection at her entrance. He was so large, she feared he might hurt her. But he didn’t force her at all. Instead, he remained poised there, his hands moving over her sensitive breasts.

‘Do you still want this, Lianna?’ he murmured.

‘Yes.’ There was no turning back now, not when the Norman could come to her door at any moment.

‘Then take off your shift.’

It was still bunched at her waist, but she obeyed until she lay naked upon the bed. Now that the moment was upon her, she tensed, closing her eyes. Surely, he would thrust inside her, and it would be painful. But as he traced her nipples, she felt her body stirring once more. He slid in a slight fraction, and then stopped again. She didn’t know what to think, but he withdrew and penetrated again. The motion startled her, for there was a yielding of her body, a craving to be filled. He continued his motion, and soon enough, she felt the hot shimmering sensation return.

‘Gavin, please,’ she begged.

The use of his name seemed to bring about a transformation in him. There was a sudden intensity, as if he hadn’t liked to hear it. But he answered her cry, sheathing himself in her body. It did hurt a little, and the sudden breach throbbed, bringing about a different sensation. He didn’t move, and she wondered if it was over. She was so conscious of his body joined with hers, of his breathing and the weight of him. He started to pull back, and she grasped his shoulders, silently pleading for him not to end it. She was certain that he had changed his mind, and she felt herself to blame for it.

But he thrust inside her, filling her completely. His dark blue eyes burned into hers as he made love to her, mastering her body. She met his thrusts, lifting her hips, and was rewarded with another surge of pleasure. Gavin pulled her to the edge of the bed, palming her bottom and invading her wetness with his steel erection. Over and over, he penetrated in a steady rhythm that made her exhale in time with his thrusts. She was coming apart, her body shaking until once again he pressed her over the edge, making her body soar with another release.

She lay beneath him, feeling the slight change in tempo as he continued pumping until he reached his own crest of pleasure. His body filled hers once more, and then he finished, his hard body pressed against her own.

Lianna’s heart was pounding, and she drew her legs around his waist, keeping him close. The Highlander kissed her sweetly, and she closed her eyes, trying not to let her mind dwell upon her father’s fury. Right now, she felt deliciously bruised and swollen, her body fully satisfied by her impulsive move.

He drew the coverlet over them, holding her close. For a moment, she allowed herself to feel safe and protected. But she knew her father would come soon enough with the Norman. And she didn’t know quite what to say to him.

Or worse, would the Highlander have to fight Rhys de Laurent for her? She didn’t like that thought at all.

Gavin drew his hand over the outline of her ribs, his body still joined with hers. A low growl resounded from her stomach, and she blushed. ‘I am sorry. It has been a long time since I’ve eaten.’ She hadn’t taken a meal at all, not since burying her brother. And then, too, her nerves gathered up into a tight knot at the thought of her father bringing her evening meal.

‘Shall I bring you food?’ he suggested.

‘No.’ He could not dare to leave her, not now. ‘It isn’t safe for you there.’ She was afraid of what would happen when her father returned. The burden of guilt weighed heavily upon her, more so because she had found Gavin’s touch so pleasurable.

He withdrew from her, still holding her to him. His thumb idly stroked her nipple, and a sudden tremor of pleasure echoed in her womb. ‘Lianna, we need to talk about this.’

‘I ken that.’ But she was frightened to face what would come. ‘I am afraid of what my father will say. I—I never imagined I would do something like this to avoid marriage to Rhys de Laurent. But he still wants me to marry the man who killed my brother.’ She turned to face him, feeling the raw emotions rise up once more. ‘I cannot marry him. I will do anything to escape this prison. Even wed a stranger.’

Her Highlander traced the outline of her face. There was a sudden hard cast to his expression, as if he recognised that she had used him in this way. She hoped he would understand why she had made this choice.

But at last, he stared into her eyes and admitted, ‘Lianna, I am Rhys de Laurent.’

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