Loving Her Highland Enemy

by Samantha Holt

  She hastened over to the wall and pressed a hand against the stone. She could climb it. Perhaps.

  Leana glanced around and her gaze landed upon a nearby barrel. With a grunt, she pushed it into position and climbed on top of it. If she stretched, she could almost reach the top of the wall. She pressed her fingers into the crack between the stones and found a foothold on an uneven stone. Her arms shook and her muscles strained as she hauled herself up and over the wall.

  Leana rolled over and stood up swiftly. Only one man remained, the rest being fought off by Maclean men.

  He held the torch aloft. A scream tore from her throat and she barreled forward, using her full weight to knock him off his feet. The torch dropped harmlessly over the side, ready to be swallowed by the sea. The Campbell man grunted and shoved her away, scrabbling to his feet.

  Before he could curl his hands around the pommel of his sword, she lunged forward with her blade. Flesh gave way and he issued a soft moan. He staggered a few steps back and collapsed against the wall.

  ✽✽✽

  TAVISH SURGED FORWARD with a yell. A beast of a man stepped between him and his uncle.

  Tavish smelled the acrid stench of his breath and viewed the wild bloodlust in his dark eyes. He gritted his teeth. No one would stop him from making his uncle pay.

  The man swiped at him, but his movements were slow and clumsy. When the sword struck stone, Tavish slammed his sword forward and was rewarded with the yield of flesh. His opponent crumpled and he stepped over the body, his gaze fixed upon his uncle.

  Uncle Mac hesitated at the top of the steps, stepping one way toward a Maclean, then pivoting. Tavish sprinted after him. He’d wondered if he’d have the courage to confront the man he thought loved him and his father but after seeing Leana’s blood spilled not once but twice at the tip of his dagger, he wanted to spill some blood of his own now.

  His breaths came hard and fast through his teeth, and he gripped the pommel of his sword until the pulse pounded through his fingers.

  His uncle twisted, backing toward the wall with his sword ready. Tavish knew his uncle’s manner of fighting well, having trained against him, but he approached slowly. A good warrior never assumed, and it seemed his uncle was not the man he thought he was.

  “Ye’ll no’ kill yer uncle will ye, Tavish?” He took another step back.

  “Ye were quite ready to kill my da’ and no doubt me after,” Tavish spat.

  “Nay, I wouldnae have harmed ye. I’ve loved ye as if ye were my own flesh.”

  “I am yer own flesh.”

  Kam took a step forward, one hand held aloft. Tavish kept his attention on his sword hand. “Come now…” He swiped at the last second and Tavish felt the swish of the sword blow past him as he jumped back.

  In response, Tavish swept forward. Steel met steel. The impact vibrated through his arm, but he felt weakness behind his uncle’s response. The man didn’t have the strength he used to.

  He lunged forward several more times, each time his blows blocked and parried. Movement behind his uncle caught his eye and he spotted Leana hurrying along the battlements. Her gaze locked onto his and he forgot where he was, the wails of fallen men melting into the background. With a sudden lurch, he was back into reality as a sword hissed past his nose.

  Teeth gritted, he sliced again. A sudden burst of pain registered in his mind and he realized the thrust of steel had penetrated, digging into his side. A scream sounded and Tavish hazily identified it as belonging to Leana.

  He twisted to bring his sword down upon the Campbell man who had struck him from behind, hitting him upon his shoulder. When he pivoted again, his uncle slashed forward. Tavish prepared himself for the blow, knowing he’d been too distracted and moved too late.

  But the swing went wide and his uncle hissed out a curse, clutching his side. Behind him, Leana held her dagger out, ready to slice at him again.

  “Ye damn heathen witch,” Uncle Mac spluttered, turning upon her.

  Tavish rushed forward, head low. He struck Kam in the back with his shoulder and his uncle twisted, losing his balance. His legs hit the low wall and he flailed his arms, grasping for purchase.

  His hands met air.

  He spilled over the side in a sudden rush, vanishing into the darkness with a scream. Tavish held his breath for a few moments, staring at the spot where his uncle had been. Finally, his stiff limbs gave him permission to move and he peered over the edge. All that greeted him was the dark swell of sea.

  “Is he gone?” Leana asked.

  “Aye,” he said grimly. “He’s gone.”

  She clasped his arm. “I’m sorry, Tavish.”

  “I am too. He had all our love and didnae want it.”

  She smiled. “Yer clan has a lot of love to give.”

  He turned. “I know someone I’d like to give it to.” Cupping her face, he tilted it toward the light. “Are ye well? Did he harm ye?”

  “A few scrapes.” She pushed his hands aside and tugged at his shirt. “I’m more worried about ye.”

  He waved a hand. “A scratch.” He turned to view the bailey and caught the attention of one of his cousin’s, who was checking the bodies. “The Campbells?”

  “Gone,” Bram said. “They retreated once ye took down the large one. We’ve secured the gate. I dinnae think they’ll be trying again.”

  Tavish rubbed a hand across his sweaty brow and blew out a breath. “I should check on my father.”

  “Ye need to be seen to first,” Leana ordered.

  “Och, yer a demanding lass.”

  “Aye, that I am.” She took his hand and led him down the steps.

  He paused at the bottom of them, turning her to face him so he could cradle her face. “Ye saved my father’s life.”

  She shrugged. “Barely. It almost cost ye yers.”

  “Ye saved mine too.”

  “It wasnae quite the revenge I pictured, I’ll admit.”

  “The man who set the fire is gone now. I hope ye’ can feel at peace now.”

  She glanced toward the wall and a small smile slipped across her lips. “I was starting to feel at peace the moment I stepped foot here.” Her smile widened. “Well, the moment I met ye I suppose, but, aye, I’m glad he is gone. I’m only sorry it turned out to be yer uncle.”

  “I am too. He caused a lot of pain and that death was too easy for him.”

  “My da’ will be gladdened to know the truth.”

  “What of ye? Will ye live yer truth now?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve been Leana for so long. Longer than I was Nessa. How can I go back?”

  “Ye dinnae have to pretend with me.”

  She curled her arms around his neck. “Aye, and that will do well enough for me.”

  Ignoring the pain in his side, he pushed a hand under her hair, gripping the back of her neck, and pressed his lips to hers.

  She kissed him back forcefully before breaking away. “I love ye, Tavish.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers and kept his voice low. “I love ye...Nessa.”

  Epilogue

  Wood and blaze came together to fight off the hostile gusts of coastal wind that swept in through the Great Hall. A few moments later, calmness prevailed again. Having won yet another bout against the cold enemy, the fires crackled afresh, glimmering and gamboling in victory.

  The dramatic scenes of the fireplace were reflective of the mood in the rest of the hall. Eminent members of the Sinclairs and the Macleans were seated at the chunky burnished table, coming together in revelry to celebrate the union of their two clans.

  Guests had come bearing gifts and were dressed in their finest for the joint celebration of Hogmanay and Leana and Tavish’s marriage. Leana glanced around the hall from her position at the head of the table and allowed herself a smile. She could not have imagined such a moment not long ago.

  The feast was a grand display of the juiciest cuts of veal and venison, stuffed fowl and generous mounds of bannock—prettied up by
arrays of greenery. Tankards of celebratory mead and ale were struck in cheer every time someone at the table needed a refill, which was often enough. The chatter and laughter were raucous, often drowning the jaunty tunes being played by musicians on their strings and pipes.

  The ambience was a glorious symphony of high spirits and hope, hope for an era of peace between the two powerful Scottish clans.

  Leana glimpsed up at the tall man in the chair beside hers, feeling her cheeks warm at the sight of him.

  A handsome grin lurked by his lips as he listened to her father, who’d unsurprisingly meandered the conversation towards another rambunctious joke.

  Slipping her palm onto her husband’s lap furtively, she threaded her fingers within his. “Tavish,” she leaned in and murmured, “I’m a wee bit tired. I’m to retire to our bedchamber I think…” She paused, disarming one of the nosy guests watching them with a wide smile. “Join me in a while, will ye?”

  His grin turned a touch devious, while he managed to keep his glances on the chief intact. “With pleasure,” he whispered back.

  A short while later, Leana reclined on the bed, smoothing her palms over the thick fabric of the blanket. It was hard to believe she had done it—she had married a Maclean and their union would keep the clans bonded forever.

  However, there was still one unread chapter to this culmination, an announcement that she wanted to share with Tavish, in person, before spreading the joy to the rest of their folks.

  “Tavish?” She stood up, her gaze travelling to the doorway as soon as she heard the familiar tread of his footfall echoing in the corridors.

  The door gave in with a creak, and he crossed the distance between them. “My wife…” His lips curved.

  Hooking his fingers around her waist, he pulled her close, his desire for her already obvious.

  She sucked in a sharp breath. “Ye came quicker than I thought ye would. Couldnae wait for my father to finish with his jokes, could ye?”

  “Nay, he was deep in his cups and scarcely noticed my absence.”

  Leana laughed. “I’m no’ complaining.”

  A roguish smile curled his mouth as he balled her wild locks into a fist and pulled her close. Descending on her lips, he teased them, toyed with them, leaving her heated and breathless. After several moments, he stalled the entanglement of their lips, his gaze trailing over her.

  “Ye make a fine bride, lass.”

  His hands wandered down over her breasts and untangled the laces of her kirtle with one quick tug. With a low growl, he shoved the fabric from her shoulders. “Leana…” his voice was low and raspy in her ears, “I could never tire of looking at ye…” His fingers traced the soft rise of her breasts.

  “And I could never tire of looking at ye, Maclean.”

  A gasp lurched in her throat as his lips trailed down the base of her neck. His warm mouth urged her back against the cold stone wall, the contrast in sensations sprinkling her skin with shivers.

  “Tavish…” she clawed at his long locks then wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders.

  “I have been blessed…” he hefted her waist close to his hips in raw need,. “to find a bride like ye.”

  With a smile, Leana removed his hand from the length of her legs and guided it up to her belly. “We’ve been blessed in other ways too.”

  Staring at the sight of his hand protectively perched on her center, his raw gaze met hers. “Say it, Leana,” his voice turned restlessly hoarse, “say what you’re meaning to.”

  “We’re going to have a bairn, Tavish.”

  She saw him swallow. “We are?”

  She pushed the stray lock trailing down his forehead. “Aye.”

  He clasped a hand to her face, his palm curving her cheek. “A bairn,” he murmured. “I couldnae have pictured such an end for us before ye came to Blair Castle.”

  “Nor I.” She gave a tilted smile. “‘Twill be a fresh start for the Sinclairs and the Macleans.”

  “Aye, that it will.” He kissed the bridge of her nose and rested his forehead against hers. “A fresh start,” he murmured. “I wouldnae mind starting something else right now, though.”

  She tightened her grip on his neck and kissed him hard, grateful to this man for allowing her to be herself, for accepting her, flaws and all. Justice had been served and she had gained everything she had lost—a family and love.

  “Ye’d better get started then, Maclean. Us Sinclair lasses dinnae like to wait.”

  “That I know,” he said with a chuckle, scooping her into his arms and carrying her over to the bed. “That I know.”

  THE END

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  OTHER TITLES BY SAMANTHA HOLT

  To Steal a Highlander's Heart

  To Dream of a Highlander

  To Avenge Her Highland Warrior

  Read on for Chapter One of To Steal a Highlander's Heart

  Chapter One

  ‘Tis time the sidhe repay their debt, the faerie thought as she cracked open a shutter and peered at the sleeping woman. Aye, she was a pretty one. Not like herself, but beautiful enough. A plan had been hatched long ago but now was the time to put it into motion. Both were ready for it and if she did not take action soon, then there would be no going back. The fate of many souls rested in Tèile’s hands. She smiled to herself and flew up above the keep. The sleeping spell was ready. The woman’s clan would not have the slightest clue what had happened. Her grin widened. She so enjoyed toying with humans.

  ✽✽✽

  Wisps of mist rose from the ground and swirled around Alana’s ankles. She thrust out a foot to watch the white haze dance about her before glancing over her shoulder at the keep in the distance. Tucked against the mountain and cut off by a shallow river, the tall stone castle seemed almost insignificant. She blew out a long breath and watched as it too misted.

  Though pleased to be free from the keep, and her father’s watchful eye, a sense of foreboding struck her. Alana frowned while she tried to recall why she had come out onto the moors. In truth, she barely remembered getting dressed yet here she was, in her pale blue plaid, hair braided, drawing in the early morning air. Only the foggy remnants of a dream remained, something that beckoned for her to come here.

  And how was it there were no men to stop her from leaving?

  A strange occurrence indeed, for her father never left the castle walls unattended. It had been deathly quiet. A morbid thought occurred to her and she wondered why she did not check that all was well. Had they been attacked overnight? Were her kinsmen dead? Nay, surely not, for there would be triumphant victors crowding the halls of Dunleith Keep by now and she would either be killed or captured.

  The whole morning had been strange. Her first clear memory was standing in the moors and staring off into the distance as if awaiting something. A prickle danced over her skin and she spun wildly, feeling as though fingers had tickled down her spine. Ach, either someone played games with her or her mind was addled. She huffed. Too much time spent cloistered away.

  Specks of orange sunlight filtered across the mountains, dancing between the cracks and valleys and Alana tilted her head. The urge to keep going, to see what lay over the other side warred within her. She so missed being outside, missed her freedom.

  Da would have a fit.

  With a sigh, she turned back to the castle, the stone tower seeming more grey and oppressive than ever before. Hitching up her skirts, she strolled leisurely back, taking her time to admire each wild flower as she went. She ought to walk quickly. Should her father discover her absence, he would no doubt lecture her on the dangers of her actions and would certainly remind her their enemies were everywhere. Ach, she saw no—

  She spun wildly when the heavy thud of hooves sounded. A brown horse bore down upon her, barely a few paces away. Alana squeaked in surprise when the rider snatched her plaid and hauled her into the saddle i
n front of him, not even slowing the mount as he positioned her firmly in his arms. She scarcely comprehended how it had happened. One moment there had been no one and then suddenly… A ghost mayhap?

  She tried to wriggle in his hold but a strong arm pinned her to his chest. “Release me, ye fool.”

  “I think not, my lady.”

  Alana scowled as the deep timbre of his voice singed through her, setting her senses on fire. There was something wildly disturbing yet familiar about it. Her heart hammered heavily and fear penetrated her surprise at being caught unawares. If he were an outlaw or an enemy clansmen she was as good as dead.

  “Ye cannae kidnap me on my own lands!” she protested. “My da will have yer head, just ye see.” Alana tried to keep her voice strong but even she heard the wobble in it.

  “Be still,” her captor commanded when she fought against his hold, the growing distance between her and the castle stealing her determination. “Ach, I told ye—”

  The press against her chest loosened marginally and the world rushed past as she dropped to the ground. Dirt scraped across her face and hands, as she tumbled along and a sharp pain slammed up her wrist when it jarred in an attempt to brace herself. The back of her head crashed into the ground. Her vision clouded and she skidded to a stop.

  Sweet Lord, was she dead? She ached everywhere. Alana blinked but the world remained out of focus. A shadow came across her and a jolt of panic flew through her. She attempted to turn onto her side but she could not. Her body refused to move.

  “Alana?”

  She blinked again, drawing in harsh, raspy breaths.

  “Ye daft lass, ye could’ve killed yerself.”

  Who was this man and why was he lecturing her? What did he expect would happen when he tried to kidnap her? That she’d sit there like a mild and meek woman and play captive? And how did he know her name?