The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(43)

He cocked a brow, looking her over in a way that made her body tingle with awareness through the thick wool cloak. “Is that so?” he drawled.

She nodded. “Aye, and in these same places there are even men who are under six feet tall.”

The dazzling smile returned with a chuckle. “We may have one or two in the isles, but we hide them away.”

“That’s better than a cliff or drowning, I suppose,” she said wryly.

“We’re not barbarians,” he mocked. “We did away with throwing them off the cliffs a few years ago.”

She rolled her eyes. “What a relief, I won’t have to lock my door at night.”

They grinned at each other in the settling darkness. A rush of warmth crashed over her. The discovery of his dry sense of humor filled her with all the excitement of unearthing a buried treasure. He might appear cold and remote, but she’d known there was warmth beneath the stony façade. She needed only to find a way to unlock it.

He studied her for another moment, as if she’d surprised him and he didn’t quite know what to make of it.

This time when he stood, it was not so eagerly—perhaps there was even a hint of reluctance. “I must ready the ship for arrival; we’ve entered the loch.” He turned around and pointed into the darkness. “If you keep looking straight ahead once we get around the other side of the islet, you’ll be able to see the castle soon.”

“I will.” She smiled, suddenly shy. “Thank you.”

He nodded and made his way down the center of the boat back to his post at the sails. She couldn’t help watching him. Noticing how his powerful legs moved in a long, purposeful stride, navigating the rocking boat with ease. He was in total command and in total control, as comfortable on the sea as he was on land. She’d never met a man like him.

And he belonged to her.

The warm glow of their conversation settled over her. She was becoming more and more convinced that despite their dubious beginning, marriage to Tor MacLeod might be a dream come true.

He was a fiercely aggressive man. All hard edges and brusque manners. But when he’d smiled and teased her, she’d gotten a glimpse of something more. Something she could help bring out.

She snuggled deeper into the fur, savoring not only its warmth but the heady masculine scent of the man who’d worn it. She imagined long nights before the fire, tucked away in the cozy haven of their keep, just the two of them talking or playing a game of dice or chess. Or perhaps she would be reading and he would turn to her and smile, a secret smile meant only for her.

She kept her gaze fixed in the direction he’d shown her, excitement building in her chest. It was dark now, the black waters of the loch mixing seamlessly with the night, but she could just make out the halo of torches in the distance, marking a wide curtain wall.

Then she saw it. She gasped, as the mist parted like an ephemeral curtain. The sharp lines of the massive rock and austere curtain walls loomed before her like a battering ram, piercing the mist with sheer brute domination.

Impenetrable indeed, but he hadn’t mentioned terrifying.

To say it wasn’t what she was expecting was an egregious understatement. There was nothing remotely warm and charming about Dunvegan Castle. It was a warlord’s stronghold, built to defend.

There was something cold and desolate about the place, but also menacing. Not unlike its owner, she thought with a shiver.

Remembering the pride with which he’d spoken of his home, she kept her face turned away from her husband’s, not wanting him to see her reaction.

She took a few deep breaths, trying to not get carried away. It couldn’t be that bad.

But as they drew nearer, she could not prevent the chill from settling deep in her bones. A less welcoming place she could not imagine.

And it was about to get worse.

No sooner had the castle appeared when she heard a stir behind her. The energy in the boat did a dramatic shift as the men roared into action. Something was wrong. Tor started barking out orders in a hard, clipped voice.

She tried to catch his eye, but he didn’t even look in her direction. The warlord had returned. She’d never seen him like this—even when he fought Lachlan MacRuairi there hadn’t been this kind of deadly intensity. He looked savage, determined, and utterly ruthless. She pitied whoever had brought it on.

She turned to one of the guardsmen seated near her on the oar. She thought his name was Aonghus; he was one of numerous guards in her husband’s personal retinue. His Am Fear Braitaich, she thought, his standard bearer. “What is it?” she asked hesitantly. “What’s wrong?”

His expression was grim and angry. “An attack, my lady.” He pointed to an area beyond the castle. She could just make out the dark plumes of smoke that she’d mistaken for mist. “At the village.”

An attack? She paled, fear gripping her throat.

The next few minutes passed in a blur of shouts and well-ordered activity. The relaxed atmosphere of their journey was utterly forgotten as the men pulled together in concerted action, working as one.

They pulled alongside the jetty beneath the castle, and Tor jumped off onto the wooden dock into a crowd of guardsmen who’d come down to greet them. Christina tried to make out what they were saying in the short, cryptic phrases shot back and forth, but they seemed to be speaking in some kind of code.