The Munro Clan Highlander Collection (The Munro Clan Highlander Romances)

by Marilyn Stonecross

  Her whole body felt afire.

  One hand slipped up her right leg, pushing her skirt aside. She slid her leg up around his midsection, heat brewing somewhere deep inside her.

  “Lass,” Logan whispered, “mayhap we shouldna…”

  “I want this,” she said, pulling his head down to her. He could taste her lips, feel her breath against his chin. “There is something betwixt us, Logan, I know you feel it.”

  “That I do.”

  He slid his hand between her legs. Katrina gasped as his fingers found her core, sliding gently in and out. What am I doing? What the Devil am I doing?

  But she did not ask him to stop. She could not. Not now.

  Her fingers hurriedly undid his belt, and his trousers dropped down around his ankles.

  He eased her down into the grass, swallowing her small cry when he pushed into her. He hesitated when she whimpered. Too late to stop now, Katrina thought, bucking against him, her legs wrapping firmly around his midsection.

  And then it was as if he lost all reason.

  He pressed in and out of her with a strange, wild frenzy. It consumed him, roaring through his body as he slammed into her over and over again. Her entire body clenched around him—her arms, her legs, her delicate core—and she muffled her screams in his shoulder, her slender frame quaking.

  The sensation built low in her belly, a delightful, erotic pressure that grew and grew and grew until she felt white heat sweep over her senses.

  Her body bucked, squeezing him, and he emptied himself into her with a wild, gasping cry.

  The quiet of the forest closed in around them, but she dimly became aware that it was not all silent.

  Men’s voices drifted toward them.

  Katrina gasped when he pulled away from her. Logan stood up quickly, adjusting his clothing until he looked more or less respectable. “Stay here,” he said, taking swift strides in the direction of the voices.

  Katrina sat up, pushed her dress down, and tried to catch her breath. What had just happened? What had she done?

  Magic, Grandmother’s voice whispered in the back of her head. That was what we call magic.

  Something inside her knew she could not let Logan Munro out of her sight.

  She got to her feet and hurried after him, pushing her gown back into something that resembled decency.

  He had stopped not far away, his head tilted to the side. “Do ye hear that?” he asked.

  She had to strain to hear, but she, too, heard the steady drone of men speaking in low voices. Logan took her by the hand and led her to the right, pulling her away from the bank and into a copse of trees.

  From there, they had a disturbingly perfect view of a group of armed men standing about a grove.

  They do grow strangely, Katrina thought, before realizing these men ought not be here at all. This place had a sacred feel to it, ancient and full of possibilities, with trees so warped and intertwined they nearly blocked out the sun.

  Here in this darkness stood the men with swords and axes, and Logan’s hand around hers grew very tight.

  Gunns, he whispered into her ear. Be silent.

  She held her breath, but felt his presence next to her as if he were a crackling fire.

  “…we still can’t take the keep. Mayhap if we tunnel inside?”

  “Ye idiot, ye have any idea how long that will take?”

  “Nay. What if there are already tunnels? Those old keeps are full of such things. Families needed ways to get in and out. Our own father had one…”

  They whispered some discontented-sounding things that Katrina could not quite make out, and then one of the larger ones spoke louder:

  “And the carnival? What of them?”

  “Spare them. They’ve naught to do with this.”

  “Like hell! They’ve come to the Munro territories for years. They might as well be neighbors. Kill them as well.”

  Katrina stifled most of her gasp, and Logan’s hand slid up to cover her mouth, cutting off the rest of it. Even so, the men in the grove paused.

  “Did ye hear that?”

  “Wind in the trees. You’re paranoid.”

  “As I should be! We’re in the bloody Munro lands!”

  Logan tugged on her hand, leading her back into the forest. Katrina followed him, trying to make her steps as light as possible.

  They traveled in silence until they reached the stream.

  “Bloody hell,” Logan gasped, striding purposefully up the bank. “I’ve got to tell Ramsey.”

  “And I must tell Grandmother,” Katrina said.

  Logan paused, looking between her and the direction of the grove. “We’ll go to Ramsey first,” he said. “He’ll likely want to pull your people behind the walls.”

  “But I can—”

  “It will take only a few minutes!”

  Logan clasped her hand more firmly, hauling her off toward the keep she’d only seen from a distance. Katrina glanced over her shoulder, remembering the buckets of water she’d been sent to find, the promise to return quickly to Grandmother. The promise she’d forgotten when she’d allowed herself to be taken by the young Highlander.

  Then she picked up her skirts and ran with him.

  ***

  Ramsey did not appear overly pleased when Logan burst into his study with Katrina at his heels. He stood up, looked between the two, and finally fixated on Logan with his eyebrows lifted.

  “Brother, I’m sure ye have an explanation for this…”

  “We stumbled upon the Gunns,” Logan said. “Seamus and Liam, I’m sure of it, and some others. They were planning an attack.”

  Ramsey’s eyes widened. “And how did ye come upon the Gunns?”

  Logan abruptly realized that Katrina was standing awkwardly just behind him. He reached back, found her wrist again, and pulled her forward. “This is Katrina, from the carnival. We went for a walk.”

  His brother’s expression darkened, telling Logan exactly what he thought that “walk” had entailed. “Oh?”

  He could scarcely tell Ramsey what he and Katrina had done; he could scarcely believe it had happened at all. The memory of her hot, ready body wrapping around him floated to the front of his mind unbidden. “For God’s sake, man, the Gunns are planning our downfall right now.”

  “Please, Laird Munro,” Katrina spoke up, “you must allow the carnival inside your keep’s walls. They spoke of killing them…”

  The threat of the Gunns sufficiently distracted Ramsey from eyeing Logan with distrust. “Of course,” he said. “I will take a detachment of men to—where did you see them?”

  “The old grove,” Logan said.

  “You go with Katrina and move the carnival indoors. I want it done before nightfall. Find a place to put them—I don’t care where. Sabrina will help you.”

  “Aye,” Logan said. He glanced at Katrina. “Can ye ride?”

  “Yes.”

  They reached the stables in a blur, stopping only briefly in the great hall so Logan could tell Sabrina to make room for plenty of visitors. His blonde sister-in-law stared at him, then Katrina, calling after him in confusion. “But Logan, what are you…”

  “That was Lady Munro,” he said as they burst out the door. “Ye’ll meet her later.”

  A groom helped them saddle two horses. Logan was about to ask Katrina if she knew the way back to the carnival grounds, then had to close his mouth as she set her horse galloping out of the keep’s walls.

  A spitfire, this one, he thought, sending his own horse after her.

  They galloped down the hard-packed dirt, taking the right fork that led to the carnival grounds at the edge of the forest.

  Logan knew something was wrong even before they reached the grounds. The tents were askew, some of them toppled and others sagging as if their supports had been knocked out. Animals roamed freely—horses, oxen, a handful of chickens—and a few puffs of smoke still hung on the air.

  Logan flung himself from his horse and raced into the middle
of the camp, sword in hand. We weren’t gone that long…we only went to fetch Ramsey…a half-hour, no more!

  That half-hour was all the Gunns needed, though.

  He heard Katrina’s scream, and turned around just in time to see her dart toward what had been the fortune teller’s tent. She dug through yards of purple fabric, searching for the old woman, uttering oaths not suited for a lady’s mouth.

  Logan sheathed his sword and helped her, but they found no one.

  “Taken,” he said. “They’ve been taken. That’s the only reason…”

  “Taken where?”

  “To the Gunn stronghold.”

  She looked around helplessly, her eyes welling with tears. “But why? They’re actors, fortune-tellers, entertainers! What the devil could the Gunns want with them?”

  Logan could not begin to process why the Gunns would make off with a batch of carnival travelers, but he reached for Katrina’s arm, hoping to ease her sorrow. “We’ll get them back, somehow. We will go to Ramsey, and he’ll…”

  “We will do nothing,” Katrina snapped. “I wanted to go back and warn them, and you hauled me off with you to your brother’s study! They’re gone, maybe dead, because I agreed to it—because of you!”

  Logan stared at her, well and truly speechless.

  Katrina hurried to the edge of the camp, studying something in the dirt. “The tracks go into the deep woods,” she said. “I’m going to follow them.”

  That he knew was sheer foolhardiness—and he could not permit it. “Don’t, lass, I beg ye. Ye mustn’t…”

  She was already storming back for the horse.

  Did I think her a spitfire? She may just be mad. He caught her by the arm again, stopping her in her tracks. “What, ye think it shall be ye and yer one horse, flying in there and stopping their madness? Bloody hell, Katrina, I will make this right—I will—but ye cannot go storming into battle alone! These are dangerous men, the Gunns, they have been our enemies for years!”

  He paused to catch his breath, and something resembling lucidity returned to Katrina’s angry green eyes. He could not help but stare into them for a moment, struck by her loveliness, her outrage, her sense of duty to those she so loved.

  “I will help ye,” he whispered. “The Munroes will help ye. But we cannot help ye if you’re dead.”

  She nodded slowly, her gaze still locked on his.

  Logan released her arm, dimly fearful that she might lash out at him.

  “We’re going to search for survivors…or any left behind,” he said hurriedly. Survivors meant there were some who hadn’t survived. “Five minutes. If we doona find anything, we’ll go back to the keep, and tell Ramsey what’s happened. He will know what to do from there.”

  The search for survivors proved fruitless; the Gunns had been thorough, taking every last living man, woman, and child—even the bearded lady. Katrina gathered a few items from the fortune teller’s tent, stuffing them into a brightly colored satchel that she carried across her midsection.

  They raced back to the keep, only to be told that Ramsey was still out, presumably searching for enemies he would not find.

  “Will you tell me what’s going on?” Sabrina demanded as Logan completed his search of the keep. “My husband rides out with a hundred men, you’re dragging that poor girl about, what is it?”

  “The Gunns,” he simply said. He pointed at Katrina. “I’m going to go find Ramsey. Look after her.”

  “Logan…”

  The protest died on her lips as he strode from the keep, intent on finding his brother.

  He knew it would not be a good conversation—the Gunns had done what he’d feared they’d do for years now, and attacked Munro land. Even if the carnivalgoers were not Munro family members, they were still granted safe harbor in the forest, and God knew how many poor folk had been taken.

  The Gunns had executed a clever move. Ramsey would be forced to do something now, forced to take action against them, lest he be considered weak—or worse yet, a poor laird.

  Yes, the Gunns had done well in that regard.

  Logan spurred his horse onward. Soon enough, there shall be a reckoning.

  ***

  Katrina had never been in the presence of a real English lady, and she found Sabrina Munro, with her golden tresses and challenging blue eyes, at once fascinating and intimidating.

  The day stretched on for far too long, and Sabrina tried to keep her busy by challenging her to card games, giving her tours of the keep, and finally bringing in her three small children to provide some manner of entertainment.

  The children were the easiest to handle. Katrina was quite used to children, and often looked after the younger carnival set. Jamie, the boy, was almost six; his two sisters were four and one, respectively.

  Sabrina bounced the youngest one on her hip as she glanced nervously out the window. “They should have been back by now, if they were only going to the grove.”

  Katrina felt she’d been given everything but answers. “Lady Munro, who are the Gunns? Why would they take my people?”

  Sabrina sat on the edge of a gigantic chair, pulling her youngest into her lap. “The strife between the Gunns and the Monroes goes far back. They’ve fought for decades, albeit sporadically, and many, many years ago, they attacked the Munro keep, killing the laird. Ramsey and his brothers fostered with my uncle, the Earl de Montfort, and that was when we fell in love.”

  The older woman smiled blissfully, and Katrina allowed herself a twinge of envy. What is it like, to be that happy?

  “The Gunns have been a constant presence. They killed the McHugh heir, Connor, a few years ago. Cara and Alec have held together the McHugh lands since then, and the Gunns have been quiet…too quiet, I suppose.”

  Katrina nodded. “And what will Laird Munro do?”

  “I do not know, truthfully. He will be pressed into doing something, that much I can tell you. An act of treachery on our lands? He cannot let this one slip past. He wished to go after them years ago, of course, but we haven’t the soldiers…and they are fierce fighters, all of them.”

  And we walked right into their age-old familial squabbles. Katrina did not voice her discontent, and instead smiled at little Jamie when he held up a toy soldier for her to admire. “That’s very nice, Jamie.”

  Afternoon had become dusk before the sound of horses’ hooves rumbled through the keep, and Sabrina and Katrina raced outside to confront the mass of people. Laird Munro and Logan stood out from the rest, with their matching dark hair and broad shoulders. Laird Munro handed his horse off to a groom and strode inside, his hands clenched into fists.

  “They’ve taken them back to their stronghold. I know not what to do besides a direct attack.”

  Sabrina gasped. Logan just nodded grimly. “Aye, he’s right. There’s naught else for us to do. We cannot let this stand.”

  “Are they alive?” Katrina asked.

  Laird Munro seemed to remember she was there, and swung around to look at her. “We found no bodies, lass, thus I imagine they do live. I shall find them when we attack.”

  “When we attack?” Sabrina blustered. “Ramsey, you cannot be thinking…”

  “Oh, but I am, little wife. I’ve sent word to Alec already. When he and his men arrive, we will see to it the Gunn threat is ended.” He thumbed his hand against the wall. “I swear before heaven, they’ll not strike us again!”

  Katrina hung back, watching the man thunder deeper into his keep, his wife at his heels. “My love,” Sabrina called after him, “I implore you, please…”

  Katrina started to follow, but found herself restrained by Logan. “Don’t,” he said softly. “They need time.”

  It was a strange side to this otherwise brash young Highlander. She folded her arms and tried to stare coldly at him, though she suspected she looked merely tired. “And what am I to do? I have nowhere to go.”

  “Ye’ll stay here, of course. We’ve plenty of space. Ye’ll be protected.” His expression lightene
d somewhat, and he bowed to her. “I must beg yer pardon, lady. Allow me to welcome ye to our home.”

  It was a charming gesture, or it would have been, were it not for unfortunate circumstances. “I thank you,” she said, thinking it a proper response. In truth, they were long past proper behavior, weren’t they? “The lady of the keep has been most gracious.”

  “Yes, Sabrina is nothing if not gracious. Have ye eaten?”