The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(15)

At that she had surprised him, but the desire pooling full and heavy in his groin was proof enough. The reaction was understandable. Though he had a leman to take care of his needs, it had been some time since he’d felt the urge to bed her. The oversight was obviously making itself known.

He’d have to do something about it.

He turned his gaze from the lass, only to find his host watching him again. “They are both very beautiful, aren’t they?” MacDonald asked, not expecting an answer. “But I think it’s the delectable dark-haired morsel on the right who has caught your eye.” The older man shook his head. “I can’t fault your taste; she’s stunning.”

“Who is she?”

MacDonald arched a brow. “She’s the one who interrupted the fight, isn’t she?”

“Aye.” That smile that was beginning to annoy the hell out of him. “And you find that amusing?”

MacDonald laughed and shook his head. “Nay, that’s not what I find amusing.”

It was becoming harder and harder to remember that he was MacDonald’s guest. Tor had always respected the older warrior, but at times Angus Og could be as provoking as his bastard of a cousin. He was done playing games. “Then what is it?”

MacDonald shrugged. “If you want her, she can be yours.”

Tor frowned. A harlot? Could it be she wasn’t as innocent as she looked? His gaze slid back to her. Nay, it had to be something else.

All of a sudden he understood his host’s amusement.

His mouth fell in a hard line. “Fraser’s daughters?”

MacDonald nodded. “I thought you might wish to reconsider.” He lowered his voice. “Say the word and she could be in your bed before the week is out.” Tor clenched his jaw, his body responding to the thought as his head could not. “The lass is a prize,” MacDonald urged. “Not only a beauty but rich in land and the daughter of an important nobleman. You would be hard pressed to find a better match.”

Tor’s jaw hardened. He was angry not only because he’d allowed his interest in the lass to show, but because in doing so he’d given MacDonald what he thought was an opening. But MacDonald didn’t know him at all if he thought he could be so easily turned. “Except that it comes at too much of a cost.” He gave his host a long look. “I told you before, I’ll not be drawn into Scotland’s war; I’ve enough troubles of my own. If you thought a beautiful lass would sway me, you were mistaken. If I want a lass in my bed, one will do as well as any other. I don’t need to jeopardize my clan to have that one.”

MacDonald sat back, folding his arms across his great barrel chest, the smile fading from behind his long gray beard. “You surprise me, MacLeod. Frankly, I thought you’d jump at the opportunity—not because of the lass, but because of the challenge. Nothing like this has ever been conceived before. Just think what these men will be able to do with the right training and the right leadership. This will be the best team of warriors in the world. Better even than Finn MacCool’s Fianna.”

It had intrigued him for precisely those reasons, but his duty was clear. Rising against Edward was of no benefit to his clan. More likely the treasonous rebellion would lead to harsh reprisal. “I’ve made my decision.”

MacDonald heaved a sigh of resignation. Tor’s uncompromising tone had left no room for argument. “Bruce will be disappointed, but if you will not agree, someone else will. The lass would tempt the devil himself.”

Something in MacDonald’s expression made Tor’s instincts flare. He followed the direction of the other man’s gaze and his entire body went rigid.

The lass had raised her head and he could finally see her face. A delicate pink flush had spread over her rosy cheeks, and an embarrassed smile was playing upon her wide red lips.

But it was the man standing before her who sent the flood of angry fire surging through his blood.

Aye, the devil himself: Lachlan MacRuairi.

Tor stared for a long moment, his stony expression giving no hint of his strangely intense reaction to the thought of his enemy winning such a prize.

But nothing would change his mind. His will was forged of iron, hard and unbending.

When at last he turned his gaze from the girl, he didn’t look back.

Three

Christina tugged the huque tighter around her chest in an effort to ward off the sudden chill sweeping over her, but the thick wool cloak felt as thin as linen against the penetrating mist. Glancing up at the darkening sky, she shivered and hurried her step.

She’d slipped away to the village after the feast, and though the autumn days were still long, her task had taken longer than she’d anticipated. If she didn’t hurry she’d be late for the evening meal, and she still needed to change.

After gifting her maidservant with a gently used cotte from her trunk, she’d secretly borrowed the girl’s old gown. It was still finer than the clothing worn by the serving women here, but worn and plain enough not to cause undue suspicion.

Thankfully, most of the guests, including her father, were housed in the old hall and barracks on the main island. Only a handful were staying in MacDonald’s new tower house, so she didn’t incur as much risk of running into someone who might recognize her.

She picked her way along the second causeway toward the smaller island, the shadow of the castle looming before her. The growing darkness made her uneasy, but it could not completely dampen her spirits. A smile curved her mouth as the swell of success rose inside her: She’d done it. Her crazy plan just might work.