by Eliza Knight
The Highlander’s Dare
Eliza Knight
Contents
More Books by Eliza Knight
About the Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
The Rebel Wears Plaid
About the Author
Copyright 2020 © Eliza Knight
THE HIGHLANDER’S DARE © 2020 Eliza Knight. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part or the whole of this book may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted or utilized (other than for reading by the intended reader) in ANY form (now known or hereafter invented) without prior written permission by the author. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal, and punishable by law.
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THE HIGHLANDER’S DARE is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and or are used fictitiously and solely the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by Dar Albert
Edited by Quillfire
Published by:
More Books by Eliza Knight
The Sutherland Legacy
The Highlander’s Gift
The Highlander’s Quest
The Highlander’s Stolen Bride
The Highlander’s Hellion
The Highlander’s Secret Vow
The Highlander’s Enchantment — Summer, 2019
Pirates of Britannia: Devils of the Deep
Savage of the Sea
The Sea Devil
A Pirate’s Bounty
The Stolen Bride Series
The Highlander’s Temptation
The Highlander’s Reward
The Highlander’s Conquest
The Highlander’s Lady
The Highlander’s Warrior Bride
The Highlander’s Triumph
The Highlander’s Sin
Wild Highland Mistletoe (a Stolen Bride winter novella)
The Highlander’s Charm (a Stolen Bride novella)
A Kilted Christmas Wish – a contemporary Holiday spin-off
The Highlander’s Surrender
The Highlander’s Dare
The Conquered Bride Series
Conquered by the Highlander
Seduced by the Laird
Taken by the Highlander (a Conquered bride novella)
Claimed by the Warrior
Stolen by the Laird
Protected by the Laird (a Conquered bride novella)
Guarded by the Warrior
The MacDougall Legacy Series
Laird of Shadows
Laird of Twilight
Laird of Darkness
The Thistles and Roses Series
Promise of a Knight
Eternally Bound
Breath from the Sea
The Highland Bound Series (Erotic time-travel)
Behind the Plaid
Bared to the Laird
Dark Side of the Laird
Highlander’s Touch
Highlander Undone
Highlander Unraveled
Wicked Women
Her Desperate Gamble
Seducing the Sheriff
Kiss Me, Cowboy
Historical Fiction
Coming Soon!
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The Little Mayfair Bookshop
Tales From the Tudor Court
My Lady Viper
Prisoner of the Queen
Ancient Historical Fiction
A Day of Fire: a novel of Pompeii
A Year of Ravens: a novel of Boudica’s Rebellion
French Revolution
Ribbons of Scarlet: a novel of the French Revolution
About the Book
A lady determined to set her own path…
Lady Clara de Montfort begrudgingly attends the tournament at her mother and uncle’s insistence, to meet the Scottish warrior she’s being forced her to marry. But Clara has a plan—she’s got one week to change the Baston Ross’s mind and free herself from an unwanted marriage.
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A warrior who can’t say no to a dare…
Graham Sutherland accompanies his twin brother Cormac, the new Chieftain of their clan, to a tournament across the border of Scotland in England. After a failed harvest threatens the livelihood of their clan, they’ve come up with a perfect solution. The twin brothers will use the tourney to steal the wealthy English brides of rival clan Ross, thus bringing a bounty to their people.
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A love between them defies all the odds...
When Clara and Graham meet at the feast, he’s all too happy to help her break her betrothal, for she’s the one he’s come to steal. In return for his help, Clara believes she’s helping Graham with revenge against an old enemy. With each trick planned and acted out, the game intensifies, until the ultimate dare just might undo them both…
1
Scottish/English Border
Sunday, June 20, 1193
There were really only two reasons that Graham Sutherland would ever enjoy finding himself crossing the English border from Scotland. One was if he was chasing the skirts of a buxom and deliciously tempting lass. And the second, but of equal enjoyment, would be if he was about to run his sword through the chicken-livered belly of a Sassenach.
Now, theoretically, he was crossing the border to put his sword against some English flesh, and he was also chasing after a woman—however, neither in this case was what he would consider fun.
If one were to be honest, he felt a bit like he was being tormented. Like the devil himself had lassoed him from hell and was dragging him down into the fiery depths to endure hours, weeks, years, an endless amount essentially of suffering. The woman he was supposed to take to wife was no doubt hideous and whiny and awful. She would put a damper on all of his fun, and the rest of his life would no doubt end up being completely miserable.
And yet, suffer he must, because despite being hellfire, the tourney was crucial to the survival of their clan. Their people had suffered long enough. Since they were unable to get the aid they needed from neighboring allies, it was time for Graham and his twin brother Cormac—the Chieftain of Clan Sutherland—to take what some might see as drastic measures.
And it had been Graham’s idea to come to the tournament, so he couldn’t really complain about it to his brother. Cormac wasn’t even good with ladies. Why the hell had Graham supposed he could get him to flirt with one successfully enough to steal her away from her potential husband, even if that husband was a bastard Ross? Everyone in the Highlands thought the Ross brothers—all five of them—were absolutely horrible people. Calling them people was an insult to other humans. Brodie and Baston Ross were at the tournament to gather up their brides and spill some English blood along the way, and Graham and Cormac were here to make sure the aforementioned didn’t happen.
But those in England were unsuspecting of the Ross brothers. For outwardly, they were able to exude charm, while on the inside, they were filled with the black slime of a bog.
Saints, how he loathed anyone of the Ross bloodline.
Graham was of the mind that if a lass was willing to sell herself into that vile lot, then perhaps, she wasn’t worth saving. Aye, saving, for though he and Cormac planned to rob the Ross bastards of their brides, they would also be doing the foolish women a favor.
And, in point of fact, their people—the Suther
lands—were worth saving. So, Graham and Cormac would suffer torment to save their clan. They could not watch more of their people die from hunger. Already, they’d lost too many.
So here they were, about to sell their own souls to the devil in order to lure a couple of lasses into an un-advantageous match, and more importantly their dowries, which should help bring their clan away from the brink of starvation and destruction. Easy enough, aye?
Graham slid his glance toward Cormac, who had the endless look of a man suffering greatly from a bout of food poisoning. Graham loved his brother to the deep marrow of his bones, but boy, did Cormac need to lighten up. Especially if he was going to gain the attention of any ladies present—specifically one intended for a Ross brother.
Rising up before them was Rose Citadel, as snobby a name as the man who sat his throne there, Lord Yves. The towers and battlements of the massive stone structure were littered with banners and ribbons proclaiming the tournament and the long bloodline of English bastards who resided there, but Graham didn’t give a fig about the castle. He was mostly interested in the tents that dotted the fields like spilled sugar on grass, and the many flags of the various men who’d come to fight, including their most hated enemy.
But if they were going to be successful, he was going to have to get his brother to stop his incessant frowning. Graham was tired as hell from their journey, and though he’d dried a little bit, he still felt soaked from the pounding rain they’d had to travel through. If he looked anything like his brother and the two Sutherland men that traveled with them—Lachlan and Duncan—then he’d have to step up the charm to win over any lady, let alone one betrothed to a Ross.
Luckily for Graham, wooing ladies was his specialty. It was even easier to woo them if they were already wed, or not saving themselves for a wedding night. Virgins took a lot more persuading, and he was going to have his work cut out for him getting Baston Ross’s betrothed to take a ride on the Sutherland side—but even worse was how he was going to help his brother. That was a challenge that was likely to wear Graham out faster than any lusty wench.
As if to prove that point, Cormac grimaced and let out a low growl at nothing in particular.
Graham shook his head and stifled a laugh. “Lighten up, brother, else ye’ll be sending Brodie Ross’s betrothed straight into his arms rather than yours.” Brodie Ross was the eldest of the Ross brothers and the current Chieftain of Ross. It made sense that Cormac, as a Chieftain himself, would go after another Chieftain’s woman. Though they hadn’t exactly agreed on that point quite yet. For them, it would be about which woman suited better, or which of the foolish wenches chose them.
Cormac slid an irritated glance at Graham. “This is never going to work.”
“Especially if ye look at it that way.” Graham pounded a hand on his twin’s back, taking note of the splash of water that came off with the smack. “Think of this conquest as ye would any other conquest—the only outcome is victory.” Graham shrugged. “Or if it makes more sense to ye, think of yourself as a twelve-point stag, and some young five-pointer has come along to steal your doe. Are ye just going to let that weaker, self-righteous arsehole get your lass or are ye going to skewer him with your superior rack?”
Cormac snickered. “By rack do ye mean his antlers, or my bride-to-be’s breasts?”
Graham laughed. “That’s more like it, brother. Show Brodie what he’s going to miss out on.”
Cormac scowled. “I’ll no’ be showing that bastard my wife’s breasts, brother. Nor any man.”
Graham’s eyes widened, and he held up his hands in surrender, trying to keep from laughing once more. “That’s right, ye’ll no’, so ye’d best quit with all the scowling, else she’ll no’ be showing ye either.”
“Point taken.” Cormac shook the water from his hair. “Let’s go find a place to set up, preferably well away from the bloody Ross bastards.”
“That’s the spirit.” Graham grinned at the Lachlan and Duncan, who returned the gesture, all of them becoming serious again as soon as Cormac speared them with his regard.
“Enough nonsense, brother. We are no’ here for fun.”
“On that account, I never doubted.”
They rode through the throng of tents, gaining glowers from some, nods from others, and what Graham liked most—being ignored—from yet another batch.
Graham picked the best location he could find in the few empty spaces. Having entered the tournament last minute, it looked like they were nearly the last to arrive in this godforsaken country.
Lord, he hoped there were going to be more Scots about than just them and the Ross clan. The machinations they had planned for those rotten scoundrels would more likely be noticed if they were the only Scots in attendance. And they couldn’t have that messing up what they’d come here to see done.
Come hell or high water, they would return to Scotland with wealthy brides to save their clan from starvation—even if they literally had to steal them away. Highlanders had done so before, and they’d do so again, he was certain. Graham did, however, hope their plans at wooing worked, because stealing a wench away would make his personal future bleaker than it already appeared.
Dismounting from his horse, Graham was immediately nudged on his thigh by the snout of a medium-sized hound. He rubbed a hand over the dog’s mud-colored head and matted spine, his palm coming away with a stain of brown.
Seemed like Graham was not the only one in need of a bath.
The owner of the hound looked just as worn and dirty, though he nodded at them with respect. “Are you looking for a mercenary?”
Graham tried not to laugh. Silly Englishman, didn’t he realize that Graham and Cormac were basically mercenaries themselves?
Cormac brushed away the man with a swift denial of their need to hire him, and the two brothers ducked into their newly built tent to prepare for the feast. They stripped out of their miserable clothes and washed, redressing in their finest garments that were mercifully dry.
“Are ye going to meet the lass tonight?” Cormac asked, affixing the Sutherland pin to his tunic.
“Aye, as should ye, brother. We’ve only a sennight to make the lassies fall in love and leave their intended matches. ’Tis a tall order on our parts, but also theirs.”
“Should be easy for ye, Graham. The lassies are always dropping at your feet like flies on honey.”
Graham raised his brow skeptically. “Aye, but what if in this instance, the flies wish for vinegar?” Lord help them if the brides actually wanted the Ross brothers instead.
“I dinna see that happening.”
Graham shrugged. “I didna see the Rosses giving aid to the MacDonalds and look where we are.”
That was a sad fact. After several bad harvests and not enough food coming in, the Sutherland brothers had begged aid from the Rosses, who always seemed to have more than enough. But in a vile twist, they had refused and instead gave aid to the hated MacDonalds, who would not share. Most of the other clans in the area were either in the same boat as the Sutherlands or had only enough to feed their people.
Cormac ran a hand through his dark hair, the same shade as Graham’s. He let out a long sigh that told of the enormity of their situation. If they didn’t win the battles they’d come here to fight, there was a lot more at stake than their pride. Lives would be lost.
Winning even one bride would make things better, but two would put their clan back on a path to prosperity for generations to come.
“I believe in ye, my laird.” Graham squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “To the feast, where we’ll make a lucky lass believe in ye, too.”
Lady Clara de Montfort had promised herself that the second day would be better than that first, which had been boring to the point of tedium and also fraught with nerves.
She’d had to travel all the way from her family home in Normandy, where she’d lived a relatively comfortable life unaffected by the drama in England and court of her Aunt Isabella, who was married to the st
range Prince John. The sailing across the Channel had been awful, and she’d been sick nearly the whole of it, only to land and find herself feeling sicker with what was to come in a sennight—a most unwanted marriage.
Today, Sunday, everyone had started to arrive at Rose Citadel.
With her father’s health suffering as of late, he’d not been able to attend, and her mother had stayed by his side. But remaining in Normandy did not leave Clara without her mother’s long reach wrapped around her neck. With her father, the once virile Count de Evreux, she’d often found an ally against her mother’s plots, but now, there was no buffer. And the countess had schemed with her sister and Prince John to marry Clara off to some savage in the Highlands. A brute that she was going to meet today. Baston Ross.
Nay, thank you very much. I shall not like to take you as my husband.
Just how was she going to work up the nerve to say it?
Somehow in the next sennight, she had to figure out a way to get rid of the brute. She’d never met him before, but everyone knew that Highlanders were only a step above wild hogs. Clara might even go so far as to say that a wild hog had mated with a beastly bear and thus created Highlanders.