Lords of the Isles

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  The Dark Dragon brings them. The thought shivered her down to her bones.

  It was with heavy sorrow that she detailed to her sister all that had happened since her capture.

  *

  The horses had turned skittish and the men leery the further they traveled into the woods. Their eyes were constantly going to the trees and bushes, expecting ghost warriors to surprise them at any minute.

  Rogan could not help but feel the same. After all, this was a trap and he was waiting for it to be sprung.

  Tales of the Dark Dragon’s exploits only served to make it worse. From stories being told, it would seem that the Dark Dragon was spawned from evil and that even the devil feared him. It was nonsense of course. Riding through the dense forest that grew ever more ominous and the darkening sky blotting out light and the mist swirling along the ground like a slithering snake, made one think that the Dark Dragon had called on his evil minions for help.

  Evil or devil, Rogan would fight both and go to hell if necessary to rescue his wife.

  *

  Emma kept her arm around her sister, fearing that any moment she would faint, she turned so pale.

  “It cannot be. It just cannot be,” Heather kept saying. “Why? Why would he want me?”

  They both shivered at the possibilities.

  “Do you have the ring I sent you?” Heather asked.

  Emma nodded.

  “Give it to me,” she said. “I feel so vulnerable when I am not wearing it, and right now I could use some strength.”

  Emma slipped it out of her pouch and Heather slipped it around her neck, giving it a squeeze before tucking it beneath her blouse.

  There was sudden movement in the camp. More warriors poured out of the woods and every one of their faces was painted white.

  “Oh God, Emma, he is come for me,” Heather said, grabbing onto her sister as they stumbled to their feet.

  Emma wished they could run, at least have a chance of escape, but ghost warriors surrounded them. There was no place for them to go.

  One large warrior stepped forward and beckoned with his outstretched hand. “Come, we leave now.”

  Both women stepped forward, clinging tightly to each other.

  “No,” the warrior commanded. “Only you.” He pointed to Heather.

  They clung even tighter to each other.

  “I go where my sister goes,” Emma said, her tone threatening an or else, though she knew not what the or else would be.

  The warrior shook his head. “Only Heather.”

  “No,” Emma shouted at him, frantic to keep her sister safe, but not sure how she could. She feared Heather being taken from her again, never able to find her.

  The warrior stepped forward.

  “Touch her and you die,” Rogan roared.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Emma watched as her husband fought to control his stallion, the animal pawing the ground and appearing as angry as Rogan and just as intimidating. She had to smile. Never had he looked more the mighty Highland warrior astride his steed, ready and fearless of the battle ahead.

  He guided his horse down the rise, his men following behind him.

  The ghost warriors remained as they were, not moving an inch. It was as if they had frozen in place. They made no move even as Rogan drew closer. They kept a tight knit circle around Emma and Heather, and Emma feared her husband would have to battle his way through them.

  Rogan kept his eye on the large warrior, standing a few feet away from his wife. He still was not close enough to stop him from reaching out and grabbing Emma. He had been shocked to see Heather next to Emma, though pleased. He hoped to rescue them both, though wondered if it would be possible. After all, this was a trap, but for who or why still went unanswered.

  They were only a few feet away when it happened. The big warrior rushed at Emma and Heather, and the other warriors rushed to close the circle. Then in mere seconds, almost in the blink of an eye, the ghost warriors vanished into the woods as if they had never been there at all. And they left only Emma behind.

  It took Emma a moment to realize what had happened and when she did, she let out such a furious scream that the horses startled and the MacClennan warriors cringed.

  Rogan rode straight for her, dismounting before his horse came to a complete stop and tried to pull her into his arms.

  Emma refused to be comforted. She pushed her husband away and screamed, “Heather, I will come for you. Patience and I will come for you. I promise.” Her scream grew to a fury. “And you, Dark Dragon, hurt my sister and I will see you dead. Do you hear me, I will see you dead! On that you have my word!”

  A mist began to creep down the hill, claiming everything in its path. The horses grew skittish as it settled around their feet, as if they feared it touching them. The warriors drew their legs up fearing the same.

  Thunder suddenly rumbled over the land like an angry beast and the dark gray sky seemed to grow darker. The thunder grew louder, cracking and rolling in thunderous roars.

  One of the warriors cried out, “A beast approaches.”

  Rogan turned a furious warning glare on him and the warrior froze, frightened more of Rogan than the beast. He then turned back to his wife. “They are on foot. We ride after them.”

  She nodded, grateful he was a fearless warrior.

  Before either of them moved, one of the warriors cried out, “The Dragon.”

  Everyone turned to look. There on the rise, the mist licking at his feet stood a figure shrouded in black, the wind blowing at his cloak, making it appear as if he had wings.

  Emma stared. The figure in her dream had come alive and was standing before her very eyes.

  A ghost warrior suddenly appeared a few feet away from them.

  “You will hear from your sister again, but if you dare follow, then you will never hear from or see your sister again.” He disappeared as fast as he had appeared.

  Emma turned to her husband and collapsed in his arms in tears.

  *

  The wind and rain blew fiercely and Rogan was glad they were tucked safely away in the castle. He had had food brought to their room so they could sup in private, Emma having suffered bouts of tears since arriving home hours ago.

  “He is a monster, letting me see my sister and then taking her from me,” Emma said.

  “It was his plan and one that worked well,” he said, handing her a goblet of wine. “He let you see that she was unharmed, though warned that harm would come to her if you tried to follow and showing himself as he did was meant to instill fear so we would keep our distance. It worked, for stories now spread about the incident and many in the clan want no trouble from the vengeful Dark Dragon.”

  “The look on my sister’s face when I told her it was the Dark Dragon who abducted her haunts me. She had not known. He had never made himself known to her. I can only imagine her fear now.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Rogan hunched down in front of his wife, snug in a chair by the hearth. “If he intended to harm her, he would have done so by now. She appeared well cared for and the ghost warrior did say that you would hear from her again. So evidently, the Dark Dragon intends to allow her to communicate with you.”

  “But it is what he wants from her that worries me,” Emma insisted.

  “We still have to hear from the King,” Rogan reminded. “He may be able to intervene and bring an end to this.”

  Emma shivered. “Seeing him on that rise as he had appeared in my dream, makes me doubt that anyone would be willing to go up against him.”

  “I would,” Rogan said without hesitation.

  She rested her hand against his warm cheek. “I do not want to exchange your life for my sister’s.”

  “You have little faith in me, wife,” he said, taking her hand and placing a gentle kiss on her palm.

  “I have all the faith in the world in you, husband, but faith will not help you when you face an army of the Dark Dragon’s warriors. I thought I was prepared and
hoped that perhaps Heather and I could fight them off until you reached us. But they moved so fast that I did not even see them move. They were a few steps away from us and in an instant they were on top of us, and in the next instant they were gone. I did not even feel them separate Heather and me. How do you fight warriors you cannot see move?”

  Rogan had to admit she was right. He had seen it with his own eyes and not believed it.

  “We will find a way,” he assured her.

  “That we will, for I will not leave Heather in the claws of the Dark Dragon.” She yawned, not wanting to sleep, yet yearning for the oblivion it would bring, if only to ease her worries for a few hours.

  Rogan did not bother to tell her that she needed sleep. He simply scooped her up out of the chair and carried her to bed. He intended to leave her to sleep, but she reached her hand out to grab his arm when, after tucking her in, he turned to walk away.

  She realized as soon as she was in his arms that she much preferred to seek the solace he could offer, rather than the oblivion of sleep. “Make love to me.”

  Rogan did not think to deny her. He undressed, climbed into bed, and took her in his arms.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Emma stared out at the woods. She had been coming here daily since she had last seen Heather about a month ago, hoping that a ghost warrior would once again show himself and lead her to her sister. Though life went on, she could not shed the guilt of failing to rescue Heather.

  Rogan had insisted on accompanying her and the times he could not, he sent one of his warriors with her. She had managed to evade the warriors more often than not. Today was one of those days, and she was grateful for it. She desperately needed time alone, if for nothing else than to mourn her two sisters’ absence.

  She missed them so very much, though she could not say she was not happy in her new life. Her husband was wonderful, and she had made good friends with Ina and Murdina. She smiled. Murdina and Angus were inseparable, and while Angus still enjoyed his ale, it was far less than before. Everyone in the village was wagering when the wedding would be. Ina was certain she was with child, since she was a few days late in bleeding. She insisted she could feel a babe nestled in her and no one could tell her otherwise. Liam was worried she would once again be disappointed. But Emma had learned to trust a woman’s instincts, they were rarely wrong.

  Emma said nothing of her own suspicions that she was with child. She wanted to be certain so as not to disappoint anyone.

  The land was flourishing along with the clan and all was good, but would be far better if her sisters were here to enjoy it with her.

  She walked a bit more, taking note of seedlings she intended to replant in the garden as soon as they were strong enough to move. Then she started back to the keep, meeting up with her husband as she stepped from the woods.

  “When are you going to take pity on me and learn to obey me?” he asked.

  She hooked her arm around his. “I do obey you.”

  He laughed. “When it suits you.”

  “It suits me now to spend the rest of the day with my husband.”

  “That is good, since I was going to order you to do just that.”

  Emma patted his arm. “You see what a remarkable wife I am, obeying orders you have yet to issue.”

  “I agree you are a remarkable wife,”—he lowered his voice—“in so many, many ways.”

  Emma leaned in close. “Perhaps we should explore those ways, especially since I missed exploring them this morning.”

  Rogan slipped his arm around her waist. “Let us hurry before someone stops us.”

  They made it to the steps of the keep when Liam called out to them.

  They turned reluctantly.

  “A message from your father,” Liam called out to Emma as he ran to them. “Your sister Patience has returned home and she is well.”

  Emma squealed with delight. “Patience is home and safe.” She flung herself at her husband and hugged him tight. “I cannot wait to see her. I will have the servants pack. We will leave immediately.”

  “On the morrow,” Rogan said firmly and was surprised when she did not argue.

  “Aye, on the morrow,” she said and turned to hurry off.

  Rogan grabbed her arm, stopping her. “You will not sneak off without me. We will leave together tomorrow. I will have your word on it.”

  She kissed his cheek. “You have my word, husband. We will leave together tomorrow.”

  Rogan watched her hurry up the stairs and into the keep.

  “She obeys you well… this time,” Liam said, grinning.

  “That is what I’m afraid of.” Rogan shook his head. “Just when I thought things had settled to a relative calm… they start all over again.”

  THE END

  About the Author

  Donna Fletcher is a USA Today bestselling romance author. Her books are sold worldwide. She started her career selling short stories and winning reader contests. She soon expanded her writing to her love of romance novels and sold her first book SAN FRANCISCO SURRENDER the year she became president of New Jersey Romance Writers.

  Drop by Donna’s website www.donnafletcher.com to learn more about her.

  Books by Donna Fletcher

  Macinnes Sisters Trilogy

  The Highlander’s Stolen Heart

  Highlander’s Rebellious Love

  Highlander The Dark Dragon

  Highlander Trilogy

  Highlander Unchained

  Forbidden Highlander

  Highlander’s Captive

  Sinclare Brothers’ Series

  Return of the Rogue

  Under the Highlander’s Spell

  The Angel & The Highlander

  Highlander’s Forbidden Bride

  Warrior King Series

  Bound To A Warrior

  Loved By A Warrior

  A Warrior’s Promise

  Wed To A Highland Warrior

  The Irish Devil

  Irish Hope

  Isle of Lies

  Love Me Forever

  Dark Warrior

  Legendary Warrior

  For more titles go to Donna’s website

  www.donnafletcher.com

  The Raider’s Daughter

  Kimberly Cates

  Chapter One

  Lucinda d’Autrecourt Blackheath scaled the branches of the oak tree that rambled up the side of Blackheath Hall, oblivious to the limbs that tossed in the waning storm. The golden glow of her bedchamber window beckoned at a height the most hardened adventurer would have found dizzying on the best of days, and simply terrifying tonight, with the lightning dancing against the sky.

  Lucy was soaked bone-deep, from the rags she had stitched to the sleeves of the scarlet regimental coat she wore, to the lead paint she had used to transform her winsome features into a ghastly mask. But no trace of fear or discomfort shone in her cornflower-blue eyes, only unabashed merriment and fierce satisfaction.

  Tonight had been perfect. She laughed aloud, savoring the memory of three burly men cowering beneath their beds, terrified of the phantom that had risen up before them.

  It had been almost too easy to convince the thick-skulled Baumgartens that she was a denizen of the Underworld. She’d appeared as one of the undead, come to stalk them as mercilessly as they had tormented Cotton Wells, a broken old man who had lost everything in the war—his beloved king, his fortune, and all three of his sons.

  Throughout the War for Independence and during its aftermath, the Tories who remained in America were considered fair game, bears in a pit to be tortured at will. But Lucy couldn’t tolerate the tyranny of Americans against the defeated loyalists any better than she had been able to tolerate the tyranny of the English king.

  In spite of the love that had been lavished on her for the past twelve years by her adoring mother and adoptive father, Lucy remembered all too vividly the dark time in her own life, when she had been afraid and alone.

  She brushed away thoughts of
the child she had been and gripped the stone window ledge, pulling herself up to the level of her room. Beyond the glass she could see the fire on the grate, and she couldn’t wait to toast her chilled fingers above the blaze and clean off the paint that was dribbling in rivulets down her neck.

  Bracing herself in the fork of a branch, Lucy tugged the length of rawhide she’d used to open the window countless times before. This time the pane wouldn’t budge.

  Damn the thing. She’d left it ajar when she’d slipped out hours before. Had one of the maids locked it?

  The very thought was enough to fill Lucy with her first twinge of misgiving. Thunderation! It would be just like Tansy, the upstairs maid, to discover that the lumps beneath Lucy’s coverlets were nothing but artistically arranged bolsters and announce it to the world.

  Lucy’s jaw set hard at the image of the girl tripping delightedly down to the drawing room, where Lucy’s parents were entertaining a few remaining guests, then spilling out her discovery, a properly horrified expression on her sly face. If Tansy had frightened Lucy’s mother, Lucy swore she’d wring the chit’s neck.

  The possibility of gentle Emily Blackheath’s distress was enough to dampen Lucy’s spirits as the rain had not. Muttering an oath she’d learned around the campfires of her father’s soldiers, she jammed her boot against the wall and gave a mighty yank.

  The window came open with such force she all but tumbled from the tree, her honey-gold curls straggling across her eyes. Gripping the window frame, she started to climb into the room.

  Hands shot out and jerked her into the room as abruptly as a sinner being dragged down to hell.

  She struggled for an instant before her boots landed square on the floor then she froze, peering up at her captor through the sodden lengths of her hair.

  Lucy’s gaze locked on the man who had struck terror into the hearts of English troops throughout the War for Independence. Pendragon, the Patriot raider who had darted like quicksilver through the English ranks, stood before her. His arms were crossed in the timeless attitude of parental displeasure, and he regarded his adopted daughter with eyes that were unaccustomedly stern, his mouth grim enough to sour new milk.