“Ye should be more careful with yer words, friend. This marriage will secure the future of our two families, an’ possibly the future of relations between our two countries. Prim an’ proper as ye say ’tis not a bad thin’.”
“For yer sake, I hope not. Looks like we hae company,” Finley said.
William did not remember much of Thomas Marston from their youth, save for his arrogance, and a fight where the lad had been content to cheat his way to victory. In fact, if his wee betrothed had not called out from her hiding place in the brush, the lad could have easily taken William’s leg as well as the victory. William smiled at the thought of the wee lass. He wondered what kind of woman she had grown into. Would their match be a good one?
If memory served him right, the young lord had fought with a real sword instead of the training sword that was customary at the time. And even though he didn’t trust Thomas Marston all those years ago, out of respect for his sister, and the arrangement they now found themselves in, he was willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps, he had grown out of whatever ailed him in his youth.
“MacNair,” The English man extended his hand in greeting.
“Me Lord, I trust ye find our arrangements to yer likin’?”
“Indeed, quite comfortable for this far north. I didn’t expect the MacNair keep to be so…” He looked around with a slight frown.
William felt Finley bristle at his side. Stay well friend, he thought, hoping that the Highlander would not lose his temper with their guest so early on in the visit.
William himself was quick to anger. MacNair Keep boasted some of the finest lands in all the Highlands. Stone walls of the bailey gave way to a medieval castle that was fortified against intruders.
However, his father, the current Laird, had made the keep into a true marvel of comfort. The castle boasted no less than fifty separate rooms for guests, all impeccably decorated with every possible comfort by his mother, God bless her soul.
There were two lochs that abutted the castle grounds. The family kept each stocked with an assortment of sporting fish each spring through early fall, which was rare for a Highland clan. Not to mention a stable filled with some of the finest beasties should anyone wish to ride along the paths and hills that surrounded the castle.
The great hall itself was large enough that any in the clan who wished it, could take the evening meal with the Laird and his family.
And the hearth in the great hall kept its fire going day and night. Two large tapestries hung above, one depicting current life in the Highlands, and the other a beautiful representation of a Pict warrior poised on the rocky sea, looking out to protect his land and his people. It was that tapestry that filled William with wonder as a lad and instilled in him the honor of keeping his clan, his people, and their way of life safe.
William did not take kindly to any slight on his home, no matter how politely delivered, but he also realized that he needed Thomas Marston, and without backing down, simply gave the arrogant fool a slight nod and bow.
“Please let me ken if ye’d be needin’ anythin’ specific to make yer stay more comfortable.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing a comely wench and some good ale couldn’t take care of,” Thomas replied, and his men gave a hearty laugh. “I’m sure you have good women around who are randy for sport, eh, MacNair?”
“Nae, Marston. Our women are all to be treated with the highest respect, an’ nae for sport, as ye call it.” Finley put his hand on William’s arm, reminding him of his duty to remain calm and act like a generous host. Yet, Finley was allowed to be more forthcoming with their guests.
William took a deep breath and tried to control his temper. He did not find the humor in the bawdy talk about women, especially the women of his clan. It did not speak well for Marston that he did.
William did not think he was going to share the same cordial, friendly relationship with Thomas that his father kept with the current Earl when it came time for them to take their place as the leaders of their families.
It doesnae seem Marston grew into any kind of different man than the lad he had been all those years ago.
He reminded himself to discuss it with his father. The need for the marriage was becoming even more apparent to him in light of his conversation with the Marston heir. The Laird must have seen the potential for trouble and hoped a marriage between the two families would be the way to secure the future. Rarely was his father wrong.
A small pit of trepidation formed in William’s middle. He disliked having choices about his future made for him, and hopefully, the sister wasn’t as arrogant and spoiled. Otherwise, it would be a long and lonely life for them both.
Chapter 3
The pins in her hair pulled as Emma walked along the darkened corridor of the keep. She longed to find herself in different grounds far away from her conventional world. She wanted to get away from Mrs. Briddle, her mother, and the curious glances of the MacNair maids that had been enlisted to help get her ready to meet her betrothed.
The mood around her had been jovial; the ladies clacking, humming, and frequently telling her how lucky she was to be marrying the Laird’s son.
Not luck ladies. No, this is the result of a carefully calculated and crafted machination of powerful men.
She couldn’t share in the maids’ happy moods. She was headed toward her own demise. Not to mention the sheer exhaustion she felt after what seemed to be hours of pinching, pulling, poking, and prodding that made Emma want to scream. Now, it was nearly nightfall, and the feast was to begin soon, so Emma took these precious last moments of freedom for herself.
Even in her despair, she couldn’t help but note how nicely appointed the keep was.
Clearly, Laird MacNair’s deceased wife had a hand in this beauty.
Emma ran her hand along the cold stone, admiring the candlelight as it played across the tapestries and portraits hung throughout. It made the scenes dance as if they were coming to life. If it had to be her funeral pyre, at least it was comfortable.
She stopped in front of a scene depicting a lone Highlander looking out onto a crystal blue lake. Emma couldn’t believe how the colors came alive under the artist’s eye. It looked as if she could clasp the Highlander’s hand and walk into the water herself.
“That one is a particular favorite of mine.” Emma startled and turned at the thick brogue behind her. “Och, I dinna mean to startle ye, lass.”
He put his hands out with a shrug. His black hair was tied at his nape and he was dressed in a formal kilt. The metal of the sporran gleamed in the candlelight as if it has been recently shined. The fabric of his shirt sleeves pulled tight against his arms, revealing strength Emma knew she would find underneath.
A pool of warmth hit Emma’s center followed quickly by apprehension as she stepped back. He was the same man she had spied from her chamber window earlier; the warrior in practice, only now standing in front of her he appeared to pull all the air from the corridor.
This Highlander is handsome, too handsome to be safe. He was larger than life, and Emma wrestled with herself. There was nothing but him surrounding her senses. She was drawn to him, still also wanted to run.
Why must all the men in my life be so imposing?
She fought to find her voice. “I...um…excuse me.”
She swore she saw a flicker of recognition cross his gray eyes, as she made to hurry away, but before she could name it, it was gone. He did stop her though.
He lowered his head and gave her a crooked smile. “Ah English, ye must be part of our visitin’ party then? Naeone comes through this way often, were I nae passin’ through meself ye would’ve been alone, lass.”
“I don’t wish to disturb you, sir.” She was flustered, yet for the life of herself could not tell why. She must simply be travel weary and nervous about her future. Clearly, she was safe within the keep walls, no matter who this rogue Highlander was, he was not going to harm her? Yet, there was something dangerous about h
im. The only problem was that she might not be right in speaking with him alone as she did not know who he was.
“’Tis no trouble, lass, ye weren’t disturbin’ me at all. Tell me, what do ye think of this one?” he asked, pointing to a portrait of a young man on the opposite wall.
The boy was tall, thin, and smiling, which was odd. Emma couldn’t remember the last time she saw a portrait of a person smiling. Most were of dour-faced aristocrats with firm grips on a cat or hound. This portrait was different, the boy was smiling and holding a duck. And by the look on his face, it was a duck he’d hunted and shot himself. He was wearing a short plaid, of the same color and pattern that the man in front of her wore, and Emma was struck by how familiar he looked. She couldn’t help the smile that came to her lips.
“Is that you?” she asked. The man let out a chuckle. Emma liked the shine in his eyes as he smiled. Her guard slowly eased back. He must be a member of the family, else why would his portrait be on the wall? Back home in England, often cousins and other relatives would have their likenesses hanging in the manor house. Emma supposed Scotland wasn’t that different.
“Aye, it ’tis, lass. Yer bonny an’ ye have a good eye.” Emma felt a blush creeping up her skin at the Highlander’s compliment. She knew bonny meant pretty. She had been called pretty only once before, and that was by her father in anger as he was ordering her to marry the Laird’s son. This man offered up the gentle word with no ulterior motive and Emma found she liked it.
“I was right proud of that hunt,” he continued. “Couldn’t hae been more than nine or ten. I insisted the moment be put to canvas. The artist made me hold a log for days on end in place of the poor bird so that he could get the light right for the paint.”
“What happened to the duck?”
“The duck?” He smiled again and Emma found herself returning his smile. “Och, the bird was plucked and eaten for a meal the night of the hunt. Ye don’t let a fine specimen like that sit around to rot. I’ve shot a lot of fowl on MacNair lands, but that bird ’twas the best duck I’ve ever tasted, even to this day.”
“I must take your word for it,” she replied.
So, the man had lived here for a long time. She could not guess his age, but if he had shot as many birds as he described, he must be on good terms with the Laird and his family.
Maybe Emma could get him to tell her more about this place. A friendly face would be welcome if she was to spend the rest of her life in the keep. She looked up at him and flashed her most brilliant smile. “Do you like living here then?”
Chapter 4
William was transfixed. He didn’t usually go for plain lasses. Even though, her plainness was only such at first glance. Upon closer inspection, he found something different in her dark hair, and dark eyes; something that made his blood stir. It seemed that those eyes hide more profound secrets of an admirable character.
Her chestnut locks were pinned atop her head in the style that was fashionable, or so he thought, as he did not pay much attention to these things. William would’ve much preferred to see her hair fall down her back. The curls looked soft and inviting. He had to keep his hands folded behind his back to prevent himself from reaching out and taking a ringlet into his fingers for a twirl. He knew if he did, it would be the softest, silkiest thing he would have ever touched. That terrified him.
Her eyes were enchanting in the low light. At first, he thought they were merely brown. However, when she turned and smiled at him, he saw the deep flecks of gold that glittered around her pupils and hints of soft green reminding him of the deep forests he hunted. No, there was nothing ordinary about this woman, nothing ordinary at all.
He knew the moment the lass opened her mouth that she was his intended, Emma Marston, the only daughter of the Earl of Dawaerton. He had almost not recognized her. She was a beautiful woman with an aristocratic air exuding her body, far from the wee rascal he remembered as a lad. But just the same, she was Lady Emma. The way she spoke, the gown she wore, and everything about her countenance gave her away as a gentlewoman.
Och, this is no wee lass, but a woman.
A woman he was betrothed to marry. A small bit of the tension around his father’s decision eased, appreciation filling him as he looked upon her.
He did not reveal his identity to her, though that was not the gentlemanly way to handle their first interaction. He liked coming upon her in a natural state. He wanted a few moments alone with the bonny lass to determine her character, and he was afraid if she knew it was him, she would close herself off. He had no idea how Emma felt about the betrothal, but he would much rather try and know her without worry.
“Do you like living here, then?” was her question and he thought about it.
Her smile was radiant and disarming. William found the small dimple that formed in her left cheek when she smiled, enchanting. He wondered what it would taste like were he to place his lips right at the point where the dip gave way to her full lips.
“Aye, indeed. I think even if it weren’t the only home I’d known, I would be quite happy here. ’Tis gorgeous, and the people are fine and good.”
“Even the Laird and his son?”
Ah, so there was the heart of it. The lass was nervous about the wedding. William couldn’t say he blamed her. He was nervous as well. Before he could answer, a sudden a swoosh of air sped by his head. William didn’t think, he just reacted, moving forward to close the distance between them, pulling Emma to the ground.
“What the…!” He cursed as they fell. He tumbled them down so the brunt of her fall would be absorbed by his own body. Angry at himself for the quick reaction, he ran his hands up and down her arms, searching for any injury he may have caused. He heard a low murmur from her as the shock of their fall began to wear off.
“Are ye hurt, Emma?” He moved to get them both into a sitting position, startled to realize it was not a groan that was coming from her lips, but rather, laughter.
William felt his anger ebb while Emma quickly became the focus of his thoughts. God, she was bonny when she laughed.
“Where did that bat come from?” Emma asked timidly, as William helped her to her feet. He was on his guard, but still noticed how soft her ungloved hand was in his own. Sure, she was steady enough to stand on her own but he liked her hand in his own. He allowed himself a chuckle, as well.
“Ye doona ken bats keep residence here in seldom used parts of the castle?” He asked, urging her to look at the wooden rafter at the end of the corridor where their flying intruder had settled.
“I did not know that. Do they bite?”
“Nay, they are quite content to sleep all day, and they dine on other insects and vermin so we let them stay around.” He searched her face looking for any sign of fear. There was none. Instead, he saw she was intrigued.
A laughing lass who doesnae mind a bat?
A rush of warmth went through William.
“How do you—wait, you called me Emma. You know who I am?”
“Aye, lass. Ye are Lady Emma Marston. Here to wed William MacNair, heir to the lairdship of clan MacNair.” She backed away from him. He didn’t want her to be afraid of him. Somehow, he had to make her see she could trust him. That meant fighting the urge to reach out to her.
“You know who I am, sir, but I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”
Her breathing was shallow and tight. Gone was the smiling girl of a moment ago. She had her hands raised as a barrier between them. William noted the fear in her eyes and the rapid way she spoke.
Of course, he had to tell her who he was and that he had no hand in their betrothal, or she would not trust that he was not part of it.
“Ye ken, I’m the only one in this whole keep who has as much to lose as ye do.” He slowly extended his hand in a proper manner for him to escort his betrothed into the feast.
“Whatever do you mean?”
William knew she was a smart lass. Realization began to dawn on her lovely face. Still, she backed aw
ay. William didn’t like that she was scared of him, but he watched as her fear gave way to anger. She was a fiery lass, indeed.
“Aye, lass, ye’ve got it right now. I’ll not hurt ye. I’m William MacNair. I’m to be yer husband.”
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Also by Lydia Kendall
Thank you for reading Daring the Highlander!
I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, may I ask you to please write a review HERE? It would mean the world to me. Reviews are very important and allow me to keep writing the books that you love to read!
Some other best sellers of mine:
Disciplined by the Highlander
Torn Between Two Highlanders
Highlander’s Forbidden Soulmate
Highlander’s Love in Captivity
The Highlander’s Secret Maiden
The Highlander's Enigmatic Bride
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Lydia Kendall
About the Author
Lydia Kendall has always been passionate about medieval romance. Having traveled to the Scottish Highlands several times as a young girl, she has always been drawn to their unparalleled beauty and history. A history that inspired stories of love and passion, mixed with tradition in the most appealing way for every hopeless romantic - much like herself.
Born in Denver, Colorado, Lydia Kendall has a degree in English Literature and Creative Writing, and over the last decade she has been writing non-stop for several clients - that is until she decided to start publishing her own work. When she isn’t writing, Lydia loves spending her time on the beautiful outdoors with her loving husband and baby daughter.
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