The Rebel Wears Plaid

by Eliza Knight

  In the week following her wedding, Jenny felt like her face would crack from how much she’d been smiling. Her body was sore from making love morning, noon, and night. But the ache was good, and she’d be just fine if it never went away. The prince took his men—and several of hers—northward to try to rally more support among the Highlanders, and so far, her brother had yet to return to Cnàmhan Broch. That seemed inevitable, however. The man would not allow her to win. And if he wasn’t chasing after the prince, she could expect him at her doorstep any day now.

  Twenty-Seven

  One Week Later…

  Toran sat on the same rise he’d been on a few months before, looking down at the curling smoke of Dùnaidh Castle. He’d not heard from his uncle since he’d left his castle with Isla and Camdyn in tow.

  But he couldn’t wait any longer. It was time to confront his uncle about the lies he’d told and the treachery.

  Behind him were Dirk, Mac, Archie, and a shackled Simon. The old Fox wasn’t the only one who could barter a life.

  They descended the hill and waited outside the gate while the men ran to find his uncle, for he refused to go inside and be set upon.

  “Bring out the old man, bring his guards, I dinna care, but we’re no’ coming in.”

  The Fox appeared a quarter hour later, one man by his side on horseback. They rode through the gate and met Toran on his terms.

  “Let’s no’ beat around the bush, lad. What do ye want in exchange for my son?”

  That was surprising. Toran had honestly assumed his uncle would tell him to take Simon to hell with him. But he managed not to show his surprise. “I know ye’ve secretly aligned with Boyd, which means ye’ve got information that might be useful to me.”

  “I know nothing.” His uncle’s voice was thick with mucus, and he coughed on the last note.

  “Ye lie. Let’s talk about my mother.”

  Not even a flash of guilt crossed the man’s face. He remained completely unaffected. “What about her?”

  “Ye lied to me about her death.”

  The Fox waved his hand in the air as if there was a fly buzzing about his head. “She had it coming. And ye served your purpose well.”

  Toran tightened his hands on the reins, imagining he was wringing his uncle’s neck. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to launch himself over the horse and run the bastard through. But to do so would incite more war and create more enemies that Toran and Jenny weren’t ready to handle. His death would have to wait until the next battle. “My mother was a good woman. A brave rebel. And ye had her killed.”

  The first show of emotion crossed over the Fox’s face—a flare of anger. “She was a traitor. And traitors die a traitor’s death.” The emotion was so lacking in his voice he could have been talking about the porridge he had that morning.

  That cut like a dagger to Toran’s heart. Anything more his uncle had to say about Moire, Toran didn’t want to hear it, and besides he knew he couldn’t trust it. “Then I’ll look forward to your execution when this war is over.” Toran shifted his horse beside Simon’s, grabbed the back of his cousin’s neck, and gave him an uncomfortable squeeze. “And on second thought, I think we’ll take wee Simon back with us.”

  Toran nodded to his men, and they started to turn, tugging Simon’s mount with them, when his uncle stopped him.

  “Wait.” There was panic in his tone. “I’ll give ye what ye want, but ye’ve got to give me Simon first.”

  Toran laughed. “Not bloody going to happen. Do ye take me for so much a fool?”

  His uncle narrowed his eyes, and an uncomfortable beat passed between them in which Simon whined, “Da, please.”

  “Ye’re a grown man, for Christ’s sake,” the old Fox growled. “Act like it.”

  Toran shook his head. “He’s a grown man who’s become accustomed to a cell. We’ve wasted enough time here. Clearly he’s not worth anything to ye.”

  “All right,” his uncle said reluctantly. “Hamish Mackintosh has orchestrated an attack on the prince, with the help of Boyd. It will take place just north of Inverness.”

  “When?”

  “One week. Now give me my son.”

  “And ye’ll send full warning we know of the attack?”

  “What do ye think?”

  Toran said nothing but tossed Simon from his horse without regret. The wastrel was lucky to be alive. He landed with a thud before his father’s mount. Not wanting to waste another minute on either of them, Toran clucked to his horse and headed back to Cnàmhan Broch. Missives needed to be sent post haste northward to warn the prince of an imminent attack before it was too late.

  * * *

  Just eight days later, while Jenny and Toran were playing a game of chess, one of the guards rushed into the great hall to report that a large party was headed for the castle.

  Jenny stopped, her pawn midair and her eyes wide on Toran.

  He nodded at her, just a slight dip of his chin, but it was confident. “I’ll be right beside ye,” he said.

  Jenny placed her pawn back in its black square. “We’ll finish our game when we’ve settled matters with my brother.”

  “Aye, love, we will.”

  Together they stood in the courtyard outside the castle and belted on their weapons, the broadsword on her back with the JM engraved on the hilt and the pistol she’d taken from her brother tucked into the waistband of her trews. Men were filling the ramparts, crossbows armed, and in the courtyard her soldiers had gathered, their weapons ready to hand.

  Her mother was encouraging the other women and children to join her inside the castle, and Jenny gave in to her desire to see them safely tucked inside as well.

  “Go now, listen to Lady Mackintosh.”

  Jenny hurried up to the wall to look down the road, hazy now with the setting sun. In the distance she could hear the beat of drums carrying on the wind, the sound more jubilant than ominous, and it gave her pause.

  How dare her brother be so happy to come and annihilate his kin?

  Toran handed her the looking glass, and she extended it, holding it to her eye to peer through. The strangest thing… In the waning light, it looked almost like the prince’s standard being carried at the front of the line.

  The prince…

  Jenny cocked her head, trying to comprehend what was happening. The warnings from Toran’s uncle had all been about her brother. She glanced at Toran, who looked just as confused.

  “Is it a trick?” she asked.

  “I dinna know.” Toran’s jaw hardened as he gazed at the approaching riders.

  Jenny slipped her hand into his grasp and squeezed. “I hope Fiona was able to deliver our messages in time.”

  The muscle in his jaw clenched. “Aye. But I’d not put it past my uncle, that wily bastard, to be behind some falsehood. He was so willing to toss his entire bloodline over the garrison walls in order to save his own sorry arse.” Toran faced her. “I hope ye know that I’ll no’ betray ye as my own blood has.”

  Despite the men surrounding them on the wall, Jenny took her husband’s face between her hands, lifted on her toes, and pressed her mouth to his. For half a beat he was stiff against her, but then he softened, sliding his lips over hers.

  “I love ye, Toran Fraser, my husband, and I trust ye. Know this.”

  Toran’s blue gaze searched hers, finding what he needed, and he kissed her solidly once more. “I know it, my love, and I return your trust wholeheartedly.”

  “Whether this is an ambush, a trick, or some other such wretched plan done up by my brother or your uncle, I will stand beside ye proudly.”

  “’Tis I who stand proudly beside ye, lass,” he whispered.

  “We willna be beaten.”

  “Nay, never.”

  “Ride with me.” She studied his face, taking in the look of pure adora
tion and admiration when he locked his gaze on her.

  “Anywhere ye ask.”

  Down in the bailey, their horses were already saddled and waiting. Jenny and Toran mounted, followed by dozens more of their men.

  “We will stop the visitors in their tracks and see what it is they want. And if it is the prince, we shall return joyously and host our rightful sovereign for supper. Until then, ride hard, fight harder, return victorious, or die a glorious death.”

  The men sent up a volley of cheers that echoed against the ancient stones of the castle and walls.

  “We ride,” she bellowed and urged her horse into a gallop through the gates with Toran and Dirk by her side.

  They flew over the moors, horns blaring, making the air sing with noise. They gained the attention of the approaching riders who halted their advance and waved the Stuart flag rather frantically in the air.

  Jenny signaled her men to slow, for the closer they drew, the more she realized that it was in fact their prince at the head of the army.

  Prince Charles himself waved at her, a smile of greeting on his lips. “Ah, Laird of Mackintosh, you must have seen our approach. I hope I can beg another night of your hospitality. But this time I have come bearing a gift I think you’ll be very pleased to receive.”

  The prince swept his arm back, and his men parted to show her brother, tethered behind a horse, his proud gaze focused on her face, his teeth bared in a snarl.

  Hamish.

  Jenny’s mouth fell open in shock. How could it be? She didn’t know quite what to say. She blinked, trying to see if she was mistaken, perhaps even dreaming. For it had never once crossed her mind that her brother would be captured by Bonnie Prince Charlie. The other way around, aye, but this? Never in a million years.

  “Hamish,” she breathed, her body stiffening all over. “Alas, it has come to this.”

  “We caught him just north of here, skulking about,” Prince Charles said. “Perhaps he hoped to abduct me away from the might of the Mackintosh army. However, he was foolish to believe I’d let him take me.” The prince winked at her, and Jenny flushed.

  “Aye, verra foolish.” When Jenny spoke, she kept her gaze directly on her brother. His chin went up a notch, defiant. “What is your plan with him?” she asked the prince.

  “I’m glad you should ask, for I had hoped to parole this prisoner into your care.”

  Jenny dismounted from her horse, approaching her brother with the same caution a child might approach a wild boar. Nerves flooded her limbs, making her gait bounce just slightly, her toes feeling a wee bit numb.

  When she reached him, she stared up at his towering form, the rigidity in his posture, and wondered just what she was to do with her brother as her prisoner. Words were hard to form. Everything she wanted to say sounded stupid or contrite.

  Jenny worked to make use of her dry tongue. She was laird now, her brother in chains. For more than two years she’d been tormented by the way he had turned traitor, fearing him as the nighttime demon that might come and attack her. She had nothing left to fear, for the demon had been brought to heel before her.

  “Your servant, Captain.” The sarcasm of her chosen words and his title in the English king’s army was not lost on her brother.

  “Nay, but I am your servant, Colonel Jenny, your prisoner.” There was a sneer in his tone and on his lips, and she had the distinct impression he wanted to strike her.

  Colonel Jenny. Och, but that had a nice ring to it. “Aye, that ye are.” It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him he should have stayed true to his Mackintosh heritage, but to do so in front of everyone was unnecessary. And she wondered briefly, had her brother fallen prey to lies and badly seeded information? Did he have regrets about switching sides?

  With her brother imprisoned at Cnàmhan Broch, the dragoons would be certain to come looking for him. But that was a battle Jenny would relish. After their recent victories, she felt certain they could win any fight that came their way, especially now that she had Toran on her side.

  Though it was hard to do, Jenny managed to tear her eyes from her brother’s gaze to regard Bonnie Prince Charlie once more. She didn’t smile, but she did nod in his direction.

  “Thank ye,” she said. With her brother imprisoned, she would not have to worry about meeting him on a field of battle. She’d no longer have to worry about pressing her pistol to his heart and pulling the trigger.

  And she’d make damn certain he didn’t make any attempts to escape that would warrant her doing such a thing. If it came down to it, as laird of the Mackintosh lands and with the prince having delivered him directly to her custody, she would also be in charge of deciding any punishments he warranted.

  She walked back over to her horse, brushing her hand discreetly on Toran’s calf before she mounted. They rode back to the castle, the future king’s army in tow.

  That night, lying in bed, curled against her husband’s side, Jenny thought back to the moment they’d first met. How their eyes had locked and they’d challenged one another. How his sheer beauty alone had stunned her. How very dangerous he’d felt—and was.

  She stroked a hand over his chest, the fine hairs tickling her palm, and she realized not for the first time how content she felt in his arms. How settled.

  His hand came up to brush over hers, tickling her knuckles.

  “Before I met ye,” she started and stopped.

  He brought her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss over her fingertips.

  “Before ye met me, the world felt ominous and empty,” he said very dramatically, and Jenny giggled.

  “Something like that, aye. And English.”

  A low rumble of a laugh sounded in his chest, mingling with the strong beat of his heart. “And now?”

  “Now I feel almost like I can do anything.” She smiled into his skin, pressing a kiss to his ribs.

  “Ye can.”

  “I have ye to thank.”

  “Och, lass, ye dinna have naught but yourself to thank. ’Tis I who am grateful to ye for making me see the light. If not for ye, I’d be dead or in London, which both seem about the same kind of hell right now.”

  She curled closer, pressed her ear to his chest right where she could hear his heart beating, steady, strong.

  “And to think,” he mused. “I considered letting ye put that bullet into my heart.” His chest rumbled again with his laughter. “Would ye have done it?”

  “Aye, I would, and I’d have regretted it immensely.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I would never have found another man like ye. Ye’re a special breed of Highlander, Fraser. For ye have retained your manhood and have a wife who is laird.”

  “I take a fair amount of ribbing for it, to be sure.”

  Jenny maneuvered herself over him, straddling his hips and pressing her hands to his chest as she stared down at him. “Who is ribbing ye? I’ll put them in the stocks for three days and then see who is laughing at who.”

  Toran grinned up at her, skimming his palms over her hips to her buttocks and giving a good squeeze. “Och, I’d no’ tell ye that, lass, else I wanted to be made an example of among the men.”

  “An example?” She stared down at him, incredulous, and then shook her head. For years she’d walked her way through the men’s world, learning to think and act like them. “Never mind, I know what ye’re getting at. They would see ye as weak, and we canna have that.”

  “Exactly.”

  She reached between them, sliding her palm along the thickening member that jutted from his body and rested between her thighs.

  “They know nothing about ye, Husband, if they think ye weak.” She lifted slightly on her knees and placed his arousal at her entrance before bearing down. Her head fell back as he filled her, stretching her in that delicious way.

  “I am weak when it comes to
ye,” he groaned, pumping his hips upward. “So weak.”

  Jenny rocked her hips in time with his thrusts, stroking her hands over the corded bunching of his muscles. “Ye’re strong, Fraser. And I demand ye show me just how strong. Right now.”

  Toran sat up, his hands on her rear as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood, with her still wrapped around him.

  “Like this?”

  “Aye.” He made her feel as light as a feather, beautiful and desired as he stood on his thick, muscled legs and pumped into her.

  Jenny clung to him as he carried her toward the table, sat her down on it, and then dropped to his knees, momentarily leaving her body. His tongue replaced his shaft just as quickly, and she was drowning in pleasure once more. She cried out as delicious sensations whipped through her with each stroke of his wicked tongue. Just when she thought she’d die from the pleasure of it, he lifted her once more and plunged deep inside of her. He twisted them around to fall onto the bed, pumping with purpose. Back on the mattress, her legs high around his hips and her hands threaded in his hair, she let her wild husband take ownership of her body the way she’d never thought to allow another being, until she was shattering with rapture and his name was the only word on her lips.

  “Toran, Toran, Toran.”

  He growled low in his throat as he pumped faster. He too was calling out her name, marked in deep guttural moans with each thrust of his hips against hers. He filled her, utterly, in body, heart, and soul.

  “I love ye, ye wee rebel,” he murmured against her ear, pressing hot kisses to her skin and stroking her flesh as she tried to regain her breath.

  “Ye’re my everything.” And she meant it. For the one thing she’d not known before was that love was a greater reason to fight—for freedom, for right—than anger could ever be.

  If you loved Eliza Knight’s fierce Highland warriors, you won’t want to miss the SCOTS AND SWORDS series from USA Today bestselling author KATHRYN LE VEQUE! Keep reading for an exclusive excerpt from Book 1:

  Available August 2020 from Sourcebooks Casablanca!