The Devil in Plaid(7)

The black-haired beauty straightened her shoulders. Steel entered her gaze. Giving her chin a haughty lift, she said, “I am the daughter of Laird MacDonnell, so ye’d best be letting us on our way or…”

The woman’s voice quivered before it trailed off as Jamie withdrew his broad sword from the scabbard strapped to his back. “Or what?” he said, his voice deadly soft.

With the tip of the blade pointed down, he let his weapon drop. It drove into the ravine floor. The women reached for each other and stepped back. An instant later, he jumped to the ground in front of them, forcing shrill screams from their lips. They clung to each other as he approached, freeing his sword from the earth when he passed by.

He kept his eyes trained on the lady. He needed to find out why the Lady of Clan MacDonnell—newly betrothed to the son of the most powerful clan in the region—was standing in a ditch on his land.

He stopped in front of her, holding his blade loosely in his hand. “Why are ye here?”

The lady met his gaze, her eyes unwavering. Still, she did not answer. His gaze dropped to her small hand, gripping so tightly to her maid’s arm that her knuckles shone white. He glanced at her maid who trembled while she eyed his men on the ridge above.

Jamie circled around them. “I suggest ye answer me, or I will make my own conclusions.” He stopped in front of her and drew close. “Mayhap, ye’re unhappy with the soft puppy to whom yer betrothed, and ye came here to find a real man.”

“My betrothal is none of yer concern,” she bit out. He could tell she was grappling for courage.

He leaned closer still. “Ah, but ‘tis very much my business, and why do ye think that is?”

Her eyes darted around nervously, but she offered no answer.

“Because ye’re on my land,” he snarled.

Her eyes widened. She clung closer to her maid.

Slowly, he returned his blade to its scabbard. Then he reached out and took hold of a lock of her black hair, stroking his thumb across the soft waves. She smelled of lavender and honey. “I suppose I could ransom ye.”

She drew a sharp breath, then snaked her hand out and jerked her hair free from his grasp. Blue iridescent eyes widened as he drew even closer. Her bottom lip trembled, drawing his gaze to her full mouth.

She swallowed hard. “The dozen head of cattle ye stole a fortnight ago should be ransom enough.” The fear in her eyes belied the strength of her tone.

He cocked a brow at her. “I was merely taking back what was already mine.” Without looking back, he motioned for his men to jump down from the ridge. The loud thud of each of his warriors jumping to the ground sounded behind him, a chorus of his Highland brethren, which further widened the women’s eyes and caused their feet to scurry back. They cringed with terror, and as well they should.

For centuries, their clans had feuded, always on the brink of war. And the only thing worse than a MacDonnell man in Jamie’s mind was a MacDonnell woman. They were notoriously spoiled, fork-tongued vipers. “Ye still have not answered my question. Don’t make me ask ye again. What are ye doing on my land?”

Her chin lifted, and for a moment, a flash of defiant strength shaped her delicate features. “This land is ours.”

Jamie grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her off the ground until they were eye to eye. “Ye don’t want to make me angry.”

*

A shiver raked up Fiona’s spine as she hung, suspended in the air, staring into amber eyes, burning hot with fury. If the wild, hairy, monster of a man snarling at her wasn’t yet angry, she did not want to know his true rage.

“The soil ye’re standing on has long belonged to Clan MacLeod. Now,” he hissed. “I am going to ask ye again. What are ye doing on my land?”

“Yer men attacked my escort.”

His eyes widened for a moment, just a flash, but she had glimpsed his surprise.

“I gave no such orders.”

“Be that as it may,” she snapped, forgetting her fear. “MacLeod warriors attacked us on the open road.”

Fresh anger flashed across his face the instant before he set her down. She grabbed Esme’s hand and backed away, eyeing the enemy. Tension filled his shoulders. She noticed his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

He closed the distance between them in one mighty step. “If ye were attacked, then it was because ye were trespassing on MacLeod land. The land from the road to ravine is ours, given as a dowry from yer clan nearly half a century ago,” he growled.

Her heart pounded. She swallowed hard, wishing Alasdair and her men would suddenly appear on the ridge and fire a dozen arrows into the devil’s back. But they were nowhere in sight. The task of defending her clan fell on her shoulders alone. She took a deep breath and fought for courage. “That union was never consummated, which forfeits the dowry,” she shot back, but inside her mind was screaming at her to stop talking.

At that moment, she needed to worry about survival not defending her clan’s honor. She was alone with her maid in the woods inches from the MacLeod, the very man who haunted the dreams of every MacDonnell child.

He shook his head at her, giving her a look of disgust. “Yer grandmother ran off before the wedding. She was a faithless viper, a stranger to honor and decency.”

“Decency?” Fiona blurted in outrage. Her grandmother had fled the betrothal because she feared for her very life, which Fiona was about to point out to the massive man glaring down at her when Esme grabbed her hand.