* * *
Evelyn sat behind Tulach as they rode away from the castle on horseback, scowling into the darkness of the sack that he’d unceremoniously placed over her head.
“Did ye need tae cover my head?” she demanded.
“Aye,” he snapped. “’Tis bad enough ye ken about Latharn.”
Evelyn gritted her teeth. After she’d asked Aimil about Latharn, insisting she wanted to know out of curiosity, Aimil had taken her to the source of the rumor—one of the young stable boys, who'd been in a heated discussion with Tulach when they’d approached.
“I donnae ken where ye heard that rumor,” Tulach had answered for the stable boy, shooting the younger man a glare. “Latharn died when he was a babe.”
She’d left the stables, defeated and wondering if she should even bother staying in this time, when Tulach had cornered her moments later.
“I need ye tae answer me truthfully,” he’d said, eyeing her closely. “Ye didnae just happen tae arrive here at the castle, did ye?”
For a panicked moment, she'd wondered if he knew she was a time traveler, but quickly dismissed the thought as unlikely. She’d decided that she had to take a risk; he might be the only lead to Latharn.
She’d told him who she was and the true reason why she was here—minus the time travel—and Tulach had gone pale. He'd accompanied her to the kitchens without a word, where he'd told Floraidh they were going to run an errand to the village. Once they were alone, he'd thrown a sack over her head, ignoring her protests.
Now, she tightened her grip on his waist, her heart thundering in her chest. Was Tulach truly taking her to see Latharn? Or had she been mistaken in telling Tulach who her father was—and she was walking right into a trap? But then she recalled how Tulach had warned her about Padraig, the sincerity that shone in his eyes. No, she didn’t think he was deceiving her—though he’d refused to tell her how he knew of Latharn’s whereabouts.
The horse soon slowed, and the sack was removed from her head. She saw that they were approaching a thatch-roofed cottage. A tall red-haired man stood outside of it; he stiffened at their approach. Tulach around turned to give her a sharp look.
“I’ll do the talking, lass.”
She nodded her agreement, swallowing as he helped her dismount.
“Horas, this is Eibhlin Aingealag O’Brolchan,” Tulach said. “Daughter of the late clan noble Tormod Ualan O’Brolchan and Ginnifer Robertson O’Brolchan. They were dear friends with Latharn’s parents; Steaphan had her father killed. She approached me at the castle; she wants tae offer Latharn her assistance.”
But Horas continued to study her with suspicion.
“There’s no one by the name of Latharn here. He died along with his brothers years ago,” Horas said, after a long moment. “Now leave. Before I make ye.”
Tulach went pale, but Evelyn bristled, sensing that Horas was lying. Latharn was here—or somewhere nearby. She opened her mouth to reply, but another voice cut across the silence. A deep, sexy voice with a distinctive Highland brogue.
“Tis all right, Horas,” the voice said. “Let her come inside. I’ll at least hear what she has tae say.”
Her heart leapt into her throat. Did the voice belong to Latharn MacUisdean?
Horas glared at her, but he stepped aside. Shooting him a glare of her own, Evelyn moved into the cottage, trailing Tulach.
A tall, dark-haired man stood before a hearth, warming his hands. When he turned to face her, her breath caught in her throat.
He stood taller than both of the other men, with a solid, muscular body that was evident beneath the dark tunic and breeches he wore. His hair was raven black and wavy, his whiskey-colored eyes set into a handsome fine-featured face, his angular jaw dotted with a sexy five-o’clock shadow.
This was Latharn MacUisdean, the infant her mother had spoken of? The infant who was very much alive and had grown into the most strikingly handsome man she’d ever seen?
Latharn stepped forward, arching a curious brow as he approached her. Evelyn was always aware of her petite stature, but Latharn her made her feel positively miniscule: she barely reached the center of his broad chest.
To her irritation, she could feel her face flame, which she knew made her look ridiculous given her flame-red hair, something her mother and childhood friends had teased her endlessly about, so much so that she always made a conscious effort not to blush. She must look like a flustered tomato. A flustered, sweaty tomato in drab servants’ clothing. Why hadn’t she at least bothered to wash and change into fresh clothes before leaving the castle with Tulach?
Focus Evelyn, she ordered herself. This wasn’t a first date. She was here for a serious matter.
“I’m Latharn MacUisdean,” the hunky Highlander said, his voice a low burr that wrapped around her like smooth velvet, and she couldn’t stop the shiver of delight that ran down her spine. “And who,” he continued, his gaze sliding up and down her body, leaving a blazing trail of heat along her skin, “are ye?”
Chapter 4
Latharn had to force himself to concentrate as the lovely red-haired lass gazed up at him. She was a startling beauty, from her mane of flame-red hair, to her sensual rosebud mouth and proud, high cheekbones with a smattering of freckles. Though she was petite, she didn’t lack curves—her plain servant’s garb didn’t hide the alluring flare of her hips, the tantalizing swell of her breasts . . .
He made himself meet her eyes; her most striking feature. They were amber gold, like the sun come to life. He tried not to stare, tried to keep his expression neutral, even though every one of his senses now hummed with desire.
“I’m Eibhlin Aingealag O’Brolchan,” the beauty replied. “My mother spoke a great deal about yer family. I overheard a maid gossiping that ye may be here, so I took a chance and came here with Tulach tae meet with ye. I want tae help ye.”
There was something slightly different about her accent, something he couldn’t place. He set his preoccupation with her beauty—and her voice—aside as her words settled in, and a flare of irritation arose within his belly. If she’d learned he was here, so could his enemies. He’d have to arrange for new housing as soon as possible.
He turned to Tulach, who seemed to read his thoughts and gave him a nod. Gormal had briefly introduced him to Tulach the day before; he liked the man, he seemed nothing but trustworthy.
“’Tis true. I think it may have been another of Gormal’s spies—one of the stable boys who has a loose tongue,” Tulach said.
“We’ll have tae remove him from the castle,” Horas said, his expression hard. “We cannae have loose tongues while ye’re in hiding. Gormal can find him a post elsewhere.”
Latharn nodded, turning his focus back to Eibhlin.
“Ye want tae help me?” he asked. “Why?”
“Steaphan MacUisdean, yer uncle and the man that killed yer parents, also killed my father,” she said, her voice growing hard with anger. “I came here tae kill him—only tae discover that he’s already dead. But I can help avenge my father in another way—by removing the traitor’s sons from power.”
Behind him, Horas let out a skeptical snort, and Latharn shot him a warning look. Aye, she was a petite lassie, but there was a strength to her, a ferocity. He still didn’t know how she could help him—she was a servant. He needed nobles on his side: strong clan warriors. Not distractingly beautiful lasses with golden eyes.
“I thank ye for coming here, lass,” he said finally. “And I admire yer courage. But I already have allies.”
Her eyes narrowed, and there was that ferocity again, burning in her eyes like a violent flame.
“How do ye ken ye’ll not need my help?” she demanded.
“Ye’re a servant and a lass,” he said gently. “My plan is dangerous for even the strongest of men. I’m sorry for what happened tae yer father, but I’ll not have ye coming tae harm—or dying—on my account.”
Her eyes flashed, and she stepped forward. Her sweet scent filled his nos
trils: hints of rosewater and honey. He dragged his gaze from her tempting, sensual lips to focus on her blazing eyes.
“And how do ye ken I’ll die or come tae harm?”
“I’m sure ye’re very capable,” Latharn hedged, trying to keep his voice steady, to not stare at her inviting mouth. “But I cannae have ye risking yer life for me.”
“I’m not risking my life for ye. I’m doing this for my father—and my mother. His death destroyed her, and she never recovered,” she said, anguish flaring in her eyes. “If ye’ll not allow me tae help ye . . . I’ll figure out a way tae bring down Padraig on my own. But ye’re making a mistake by not using me.”
Giving him one last glare, she turned to leave, but Latharn impulsively stepped forward.
“Wait.”
Horas frowned, giving him an imperceptible shake of his head, while Tulach’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Latharn ignored them both.
“What would ye do tae help me?”
“I’d spy on the brothers Padraig and Neacal. I can serve meals in the great hall tae listen in on discussions; the head maid prefers lasses tae serve in the great hall. That’s something Tulach and yer stable boys cannae do.”
She held his eyes, determination shining in the depths of her own. Her offer was tempting; right now, the spies they had were all men. And he knew from his time as a servant that feasts in the great hall was where many important discussions took place—discussions that could give him much needed information about what Padraig was up to.
“Ye’ll have tae meet my advisor, Gormal. I’ll want him tae ken—and approve—of another spy,” he said.
Eibhlin’s eyes filled with triumph. She smiled: a wide, luminescent smile that seemed to light her up from within and made her look even lovelier. He made himself shift his gaze to Tulach.
“Can ye both get away from the castle tomorrow around midday?” he asked.
“Aye,” Tulach replied
“Tulach will escort ye tae me then,” Latharn told Eibhlin.
To his surprise, Eibhlin stepped forward to take his hand, looking at him with intense sincerity. He wasn’t prepared for the tsunami of heat that swept over him at her touch.
“Ye’ll not regret this, my laird,” she said.
She released his hand and slipped out with Tulach. Latharn watched her go as Horas stepped forward with a concerned frown.
“Gormal willnae be happy with this,” Horas said. “And, my laird, I say this with respect; I hope ye were thinking in terms of strategy, and not with yer desires, as the lass is bonnie—”
“Ye willnae finish that thought, Horas,” Latharn said sharply, glaring at him.
Horas fell silent, offering him a brusque nod before leaving to resume his post outside.
Once he was alone again, Latharn returned his focus to the hearth, studying the leaping flames of the fire. Eibhlin was lovely, aye, but that wasn’t why he’d agreed to let her help. In her eyes, he saw the same determination that burned within him to avenge his parents, to take back the titles stolen from him. He could tell that her desire to help was born purely out of love for her deceased father; he’d seen the flare of pain in her eyes when she mentioned him. It was the same pain that shadowed him ever since he’d learned of the circumstances of his birth parents’ deaths.
Gormal, Horas, nor any of the men who would fight for him could understand such pain: such grief tinged with fury. In the few moments he’d spoken with her, he’d seen those emotions play across her lovely features.
And they were lovely features. Even now, his cock lurched in his breeches at the memory of her beauty, of that sinful body hidden away beneath that drab servant’s gown.
He gritted his teeth and willed his lustful thoughts away. It would do no good to have such thoughts, especially if she was going to act as a spy for him. He had no time to focus on his baser desires. If he succeeded, he’d need to marry the daughter of a well-connected clan noble to solidify his claim. Later, after he was wed, he could take a mistress if he desired, but he’d not focus on anything—or anyone—else until he’d taken back the titles that belonged to him.
* * *
At midday the next day, Latharn paced anxiously in the sitting area of Horas’s home.
Gormal decided to move him to Horas’s home after he’d learned of his meeting with Eibhlin; it was too risky for him to stay where he could be found. Latharn hadn’t wanted to inconvenience Horas by using his home, but Horas insisted that he was never there; he had no wife or children, and he wanted Latharn to use it.
Horas now stood outside, awaiting Tulach and Eibhlin’s arrival, while Gormal sat at the table in the small dining area, sipping a hot broth that Aoife had prepared. Gormal was scowling, still furious over the knowledge that one of his spies’ loose tongues had revealed that Latharn was alive—and he was annoyed at the prospect of a lass working for Latharn as a spy. It was only at Latharn’s insistence that he’d agreed to at least meet Eibhlin.
Latharn stopped his pacing at the sound of approaching horse hooves. He turned to hurry out, trailed by Gormal.
At the sight of Eibhlin dismounting from her horse, a rush of heat coursed through him. She still wore a drab servant’s gown, but this time no coif covered her hair, and her flame-colored locks flowed loosely around her shoulders.
At his side, Gormal went still with shock. Latharn looked down at him, wondering the cause of his reaction. Gormal stepped forward, looking at Eibhlin with such intensity that she shifted uncomfortably beneath his scrutiny.
“When Latharn told me who yer father was, I couldnae believe it,” Gormal said, shaking his head. “But ye have his distinctive eyes. Where have ye been all these years? Is yer mother still alive?”
Latharn noticed a brief flash of uncertainty in her eyes before she spoke.
“She died several years back. My mother fled tae the Lowlands after Father died, fearing for both our lives. She had kin who lived on a farm there and they took us in. I grew up there and took work as a servant tae bring in more coin. But I always kent I’d return here tae avenge my father.”
“What about yer father’s family? Did they not want tae take ye in?”
“They never approved of my father wedding a Sassenach,” Eibhlin replied, her mouth twisting with bitterness. “And even though my mother had nothing tae do with what Steaphan did, even though she mourned him for the rest of her life and never took another husband, many of them blamed her for his death. Even if we had gone tae them, they’d have turned us away.”
Pain and anger flickered across her lovely face, and sympathy rushed through him. Eibhlin had been through much in her life—and all because of his uncle.
As if sensing his sympathy, she jutted her chin defiantly.
“I donnae tell ye this for yer sympathy. I tell ye this so ye understand why I want tae help.”
Before Latharn could respond, Gormal stepped forward.
“I understand wanting tae avenge yer father, but I chose the spies we have at the castle because they’re men who escape notice. Ye’re bonnie, and those eyes are memorable.”
Latharn glowered at Gormal, though deep down he’d had the same thought. How could any man not take notice of such a beauty?
“I’m not the only bonnie lass in the castle,” she replied. “As a lass, I can get tae places that yer men cannae. I can handle chambermaid duties and serve in the great hall; the laird prefers lasses as servants there. And ye said it yerself, Latharn. I’m a wee servant lass. No one will suspect me of spying.”
Her golden eyes were filled with determination, and pride swelled within his chest. Though he knew that men in the castle would notice her—something which caused him a surprising amount of irritation—she was right about no one suspecting her of being a spy. She looked harmless. A petite, harmless beauty. But by the fiery purpose in her eyes, he suspected that she was as harmless as a poisonous spider.
“I think the lass speaks the truth,” Latharn said, offering her a small smile.
“
Very well,” Gormal grumbled. “But I’ll tell ye the same thing I’ve told the other spies. Even though ye’re a lass, if ye get caught, we willnae help ye. The other spies will deny kenning ye.”
Latharn wanted to protest, unease coiling around his spine at the thought of Eibhlin being left on her own if she were discovered.
But Eibhlin didn’t flinch.
“I wouldnae expect anything else,” she said. “I’ll do what is necessary tae remove the traitor’s sons from power. Anything I can tae help avenge my father and honor his memory.”
Chapter 5
A tumult of anxiety and desire swirled through Evelyn’s body as she rode back to the castle with Tulach. She had to work on hiding her attraction to Latharn. Who would have thought that the baby her mother had spoken of would grow up to become such a—well, a hunk? It had taken everything in her power to not blush and stammer around him. The man was driving her to distraction: his deep, Highland brogue, those whiskey-colored eyes, his defined jaw, that muscular body . . .
She shook her head as if to rid herself of the memory of him. Latharn had the monumental task of reclaiming his titles—and she was his spy. Having erotic thoughts about him would only hinder matters.
“Are ye certain ye want tae do this, lass?” Tulach asked, as they drew closer to the castle.
“Aye,” she returned abruptly, her face flaming, as if he could somehow glean that she’d been fantasizing about Latharn.
He turned, shooting her a look that was half skepticism, half admiration, and gave her a nod.
“Ye need tae understand, lass,” Tulach said, as they dismounted. “What Gormal said was true. If ye’re suspected of being a spy, we cannae protect ye.”
“I ken,” she said, though her stomach twisted at the thought of what would happen to her if she were caught. She reassured herself that if it came down to it, she could flee back to Tairseach if she ran into danger. But she prayed it wouldn’t come to that.
“Tulach, I need ye tae get these barrels of wine down tae the cellar,” Floraidh said, as soon as they entered the kitchens. “Eibhlin, help Marsail prepare the stew for tonight’s feast.”
Latharn's Destiny: Highlander Fate Book Six Page 3
