Latharn's Destiny: Highlander Fate Book Six

by Knight, Stella

  “What’s yer name, lass?” asked one drunken noble, a pudgy man with bushy eyebrows and intense dark eyes, as she refilled his cup.

  “Eibhlin,” she said, turning to hurry away, but he reached up to clamp his hand around her wrist.

  “Eibhlin,” he repeated, slurring her name as his gaze raked appreciatively over her form. “How about ye join me when I return tae my guest chamber for the night?”

  Panic spiraled through her; she had the feeling he wasn't asking her; it was a demand. She gritted her teeth, trying to resist her modern-woman urge to dump the pitcher of ale she carried over his head.

  “Leave the lass be, Oilbhreis,” a gruff voice ordered from the opposite end of the table. “There are plenty of whores in the village for ye tae enjoy. Leave the castle servants alone.”

  She looked up in surprise. Neacal was glaring at Oilbhreis, and the older man obliged, releasing her wrist. Neacal’s eyes slid to hers; she quickly turned away, not wanting him to take any further notice of her.

  To her great relief, a skirmish broke out at the head of the hall, and both Neacal and Oilbhreis turned to face the commotion, giving her the opportunity to scramble away.

  “Ye ken the rightful heirs were yer cousins! The cousins yer father had murdered!” a clan noble roared.

  Evelyn stilled, turning to face the head table. Two guards rushed forward to approach the angry noble. He looked to be in his early sixties, with graying, blond hair and blue eyes, though his face had a youthful intensity as he glared at Padraig.

  Evelyn’s eyes slid to Neacal. He made no move to intervene and defend his brother—nor his late father. He remained seated, his eyes trained on his brother without a hint of emotion.

  Padraig, however, had leapt to his feet, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “Speak another word and I’ll have yer head, Dunaidh!”

  “I donnae care what ye do tae me—not anymore,” Dunaidh roared. “Ye’ve nothing but greed in yer heart. Ye’re no laird of mine!”

  “Get him out of here! Put him in the dungeons!” Padraig hissed.

  The guards obliged, grabbing Dunaidh by his arms and dragging him from the hall.

  “Does anyone else have anything tae say?” Padraig challenged, whirling to face the other nobles. She noticed that Padraig’s gaze seemed to linger on his brother. But Neacal didn’t move a muscle, his expression remaining stoic as he evenly met his brother’s gaze.

  The rest of the nobles fell silent; many of them had gone pale with fear.

  “I donnae take treachery lightly,” Padraig said, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall. “Hear this—if there are any more traitors among the clan, I will find ye. And when I do, I willnae show ye mercy.”

  * * *

  Latharn, Gormal, and Crisdean listened intently as Evelyn described in detail what happened at the feast last night.

  It was the next day; Evelyn had counted the seconds until she could leave the castle to tell Latharn what she’d learned at last night’s feast. Tulach couldn't join her; a shipment of grain had arrived at the castle and he had to spend the day hauling it down to the storerooms, but he insisted that she come alone—last night’s events were too important not to share right away.

  There was a long pause as she finished. Latharn’s expression went tight; he turned to Gormal.

  “Do ye recognize the name?” he asked.

  “Aye,” Gormal said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Ailbeart Dunaidh. He was close tae yer father, but I didnae ken he was still loyal tae him. He never breathed a word against yer uncle.”

  “Ye said they put him in the dungeons?” Latharn asked, turning back to face her.

  “Aye,” Evelyn said. “Padraig was enraged.”

  “We need tae get him out,” Latharn said. “If he’s loyal tae my father, he'll join me.”

  “Agreed,” Crisdean said with a firm nod.

  “I donnae advise that, my laird,” Gormal said.

  “Ye ken what Padraig is capable of. He’ll put Dunaidh tae death tae make an example of him,” Latharn growled.

  “It was his choice to speak out at the feast,” Gormal said. “And a foolish one. Ye donnae have enough men yet tae risk an assault on the castle.”

  Evelyn could almost taste the tension between the two men as a long silence stretched. Latharn glared at Gormal, but when he spoke, he addressed Horas, who hovered behind him.

  “Horas, do ye ken any guards at the dungeons—any who will accept bribes?”

  “Aye,” Horas replied.

  “I want ye and two men ye trust tae go tae MacUisdean Castle and bribe them tae release Dunaidh. I’ll give ye some coin. If they ask who sent ye, just tell them it was one of Dunaidh’s men,” Latharn said.

  Pride swelled within Evelyn at Latharn’s defiance of Gormal; she personally thought the older man was too imperious with Latharn. Gormal’s mouth tightened, but he said nothing.

  “Aye, my laird,” Horas said, and she could have sworn she saw a look of pride in the guard’s eyes as well.

  “Thank ye for telling us this, Eibhlin,” Latharn said, turning back to her. “I ken ye have tae get back. Let me walk ye tae yer horse.”

  When they reached the stables, Latharn reached for her hand, turning her to face him, and that familiar awareness corkscrewed its way through her body at his touch.

  “I’ve been a servant at feasts of drunken clan nobles,” Latharn murmured, his handsome face creased with concern. “Did—did anyone touch ye? Say anything inappropriate?”

  She thought of the drunken noble’s proposition and Neacal stopping him, and Padraig’s threat at the previous feast, swallowing hard. Now would be the time to tell him about both instances. But she didn’t want to say anything that would make Latharn stop using her as a spy.

  “Aye,” she finally admitted, deciding not to divulge any more detail. “But it was nothing. I can handle myself, Latharn.”

  Anger flared in Latharn’s eyes. His mouth tightened, and he raked a hand through his dark hair, the gesture making his hair sexily tousled. She averted her gaze. Why did Latharn have to be so distractingly handsome?

  “I donnae want ye tae come tae any harm,” he said. “Perhaps—perhaps ye’ve done enough tae help me and—”

  “No,” Evelyn swiftly returned. “I want tae help until ye’ve earned yer titles back and the traitor’s son no longer rules the clan. I told ye—’tis the best way tae avenge my father.”

  “I think yer father would have wanted yer safety above everything else,” he challenged. “But I ken how determined ye are.” He smiled down at her, and something flared in his eyes. Longing? Desire? “My father told me and my siblings tales of beasts who stalk faraway lands, called lions, some with golden eyes like yers. Ye remind me of what a female one would be like. A lioness.”

  His voice grew husky, and the simmering need in Evelyn’s gut flared into desire. Her mouth went dry, and she found her body moving closer to Latharn, almost of its own accord.

  “Eibhlin,” he whispered. She ached to tell him her true, modern name, just to hear it on his lips. Evelyn. “Lioness.”

  He snaked his hand in her hair, pulling it back so that his eyes clashed with hers. He leaned in, claiming her mouth with his, thoroughly plundering it with his tongue. Evelyn let out a whimper as the kiss deepened, as he explored every inch of her mouth. Her heartbeat thundered as her body strained against his, and he pressed her against the wall, his arousal prominent against her abdomen. Evelyn sucked in her breath and let out a moan.

  When they broke apart, his lips trailed along her jaw, down to her throat, and she again arched her body toward his.

  “God, how I want ye,” he whispered.

  “And I ye,” she returned, her voice catching on another moan as he reached out to tilt her head back, nipping hungrily at the base of her throat.

  “I should say that we shouldnae kiss anymore,” Latharn murmured, pulling her close, his lips against her hair. “But I cannae stop, lass. I’ve nev
er wanted a lass as I want ye.”

  Evelyn’s heart soared as he pulled back, gazing into her eyes with such searing intensity that her breath hitched. For a few taut moments, she considered telling him the truth; it hovered on her lips.

  Latharn seemed to sense this, studying her with a frown.

  “What is it, Eibhlin?”

  Evelyn tried not to flinch at the name—the name her mother had given her in the past. But how would he react if she told him she was born in the past but lived in the future? Even her father hadn’t believed her mother was a time traveler when she’d first told him; she’d had to tell him of several future events until he did—and her father had loved her mother. Latharn desired her, but desire wasn’t enough for him to believe such an insane story. She imagined his kind eyes blazing with fury and disbelief before sending her away. A powerful wave of hurt swept over her at the thought.

  “I think that we should put distance between us.” She forced the words past her lips, her stomach clenching at the hurt that flared in his eyes. “I—I donnae want tae distract ye from yer duty. I ken ye must marry a noble lass tae secure yer claim. It will only impede ye tae dispense amorous attentions on a servant like myself. We shouldnae be alone together anymore.”

  Chapter 11

  Eibhlin was hiding something from him—something besides her painful words of keeping her distance from him. He could tell that some confession had hovered on those lovely lips after he’d kissed her, before she’d shut herself off and insisted they no longer be alone together.

  The thought plagued him long after she’d ridden away, her face pale and closed off, lingering even as he discussed Ailbeart Dunaidh’s rescue with Horas. Horas was friendly with two guards at the castle whom he could bribe for access to the dungeons. For his safety, Latharn would have to stay behind during the rescue, something he hated to do, but Gormal insisted that if he fell into Padraig’s hands before they had enough men to defend him, it would mean his doom.

  After the discussion over Ailbeart’s rescue came to an end, he rode to another village tavern along with his brother and Horas to convince a group of local farmers to fight for his cause.

  “I ken what ’tis like tae have a poor harvest, tae not ken when yer next meal will come,” he said, when some of the farmers reacted with skepticism. “I’ve heard of the current laird’s cruelty. He doesnae care about the common folk who toils his land. I do—because I’ve been ye. I am ye. And ye have my word, on my father’s honor, that I will defend ye with my life, that ye will never starve when I'm laird and chieftain.”

  When the meeting concluded, most of the men had pledged their allegiance to him.

  “Ye did well in there, brother,” Crisdean said, as they left the tavern and made their way to the horses.

  Latharn just gave his brother an abrupt nod. He knew he should feel pleased, but he still had many more men to convince, and time was running out. It wouldn’t be long before word spread to Padraig that Latharn was alive and determined to reclaim his titles. He needed to be prepared before that happened.

  His thoughts strayed to Eibhlin and the mystery of whatever she was hiding. He didn’t suspect her of treachery or betraying his cause; he only saw sincerity in her eyes when she spoke of defeating Padraig and restoring Latharn to his rightful place as head of the clan. No, it was something else that she was hiding. He was determined to find out exactly what it was.

  * * *

  “My laird.”

  In the middle of the night, just after he’d fallen into a fitful sleep, he awoke to the sound of Horas’ voice. He sat up abruptly; Horas stood at the doorway.

  “We’ve rescued Ailbeart Dunaidh—I had the help of two guards who hate Padraig and who've agreed tae help us,” Horas said, beaming. “I barely had tae bribe them.”

  Relief flooded Latharn; he’d feared they wouldn’t be able to rescue Ailbeart in time.

  When he left his bedroom, he found Ailbeart standing before the hearth, along with Crisdean and Gormal. Ailbeart’s face was bruised, his skin pale, but at the sight of Latharn, a tumult of joy flickered across his face.

  “Ye have the look of yer father,” he breathed, shaking his head. “I didnae truly believe ye were still alive. I—I apologize for serving yer uncle. Yer father was a good man—a great one. I—”

  Latharn held up his hand. He didn’t need Ailbeart to echo the same words Baigh had uttered when he’d promised to serve him.

  “All is in the past,” he said.

  “Ye have my allegiance, Latharn MacUisdean. I will do what I can tae help restore ye tae yer rightful place as laird and chief,” Ailbeart swore.

  “I thank ye for joining me,” Latharn said, holding his gaze. “But the first thing ye need tae do is apologize tae Padraig—on yer knees. Tell him yer men rescued ye from the dungeons, but ye’ve been humbled by yer time there and ye’ve realized the error of yer words.”

  Everyone in the room looked at him in startled surprise. Gormal opened his mouth to speak, but Latharn again held up his hand for silence.

  “I need ye close tae Padraig—I need tae ken what he’s planning,” Latharn said firmly.

  A look of hesitation flickered across Ailbeart’s face. It was a dangerous thing he was asking Ailbeart to do, but it was necessary. If Padraig was as prideful as he suspected, he would take Ailbeart back into his circle—as long as Ailbeart fell to his knees before him.

  After several long moments, Ailbeart gave him a nod.

  “It will be done, my laird,” he said.

  “But,” Latharn continued, “if necessary, ye can disavow all knowledge of my presence here. We’ll have a man on ye tae make certain no harm comes tae ye—and tae ensure he doesnae imprison ye again.”

  “I’ll do all that ye ask, but I’ll not disavow ye,” Ailbeart said, shaking his head. “I once turned my back on a good man—yer father. I’ll not do it again.”

  During the course of the next fortnight, Ailbeart joined the small but growing group of men who’d pledged their loyalty to him. He learned that Padraig planned to again raise rents on the tenants of the lands, even after a difficult winter when the poorest had little to spare. This had sparked Ailbeart's outburst at the feast, the outburst that Eibhlin overheard.

  Ailbeart, along with Tulach, Eibhlin and two other castle workers, now informed him of what Padraig was up to. He also learned that Padraig was insecure about his status as laird; he was seeking to wed a noblewoman who would solidify his claim and he was also making the nobles swear oaths of fealty to him—again. That explained the late-night visitors one of the stable boys had seen come to the castle.

  Padraig’s brother Neacal, however, didn’t seem concerned with either helping Padraig secure the lairdship or taking it away from him. He tended to his own manor and men, only visiting the castle for feasts.

  “I still donnae trust him,” Gormal said. “I think we need tae keep eyes on him.”

  Latharn agreed, and they had the guards Horas was friendly with take periodic rides out to Neacal’s manor to see if he was up to a coup of his own, but they saw nothing that caused suspicion.

  Most of this information came from Ailbeart, who proved to be such a useful ally that Gormal apologized to Latharn for not wanting to rescue him from the dungeons. Eibhlin could only inform them of which nobles visited the castle, and the nobles discussed nothing more of note at the feasts. Even though she had the least amount of information to share, it was her visits he looked forward to the most.

  Yet she kept to her word and remained distant and closed off, keeping her visits brief, only offering clipped responses to his questions and declining to stay for meals with them. He soon grew weary of this; though he desired her fiercely, he missed more than just her lips on his—he missed their talks. Her companionship.

  “Tulach informed me Floraidh doesnae expect ye back for some time,” he said, when she arrived to inform him about an upcoming feast one sunny midday, after days of her continued distance. “Will ye take a brief ride
with me?”

  Her golden eyes filled with surprise as they locked with his, and she opened her mouth with what he knew was a protest.

  Gormal, Crisdean and Horas were seated at the table behind them, and he doubted they could hear, but he made certain to keep his voice low as he stepped forward.

  “I promise tae not touch ye, lass,” he whispered, giving her a teasing smile. “I miss yer companionship, that’s all.”

  That was a lie. He missed her lush body pressed against his, the sweetness of her kisses, but he didn’t want her to put more distance between them.

  Eibhlin gave him a shy smile and a hesitant nod, and relief washed over him.

  Latharn ignored the pleased look from Crisdean and the disapproving look from Gormal as he informed them that he and Eibhlin were going for a ride.

  Horas accompanied them as they rode away, but he seemed to sense Latharn’s desire to be alone with Eibhlin, keeping his distance and riding a dozen yards behind them.

  The air was brisk and heavy with the promise of rain as they rode, though the sky was a clear and bright blue. The weather in the Highlands changed as rapidly as the flutter of a hummingbird's wings; he hoped it stayed dry long enough for him to have time alone with Eibhlin. He didn't want her to use a downpour as an excuse to flee back to the castle right away.

  But the weather held, and they soon reached a loch that sparkled beneath the midday sun, surrounded by lush green trees and edged by white sandy banks. They silently took in the loch's beauty for a moment before watering their horses and tying them to a nearby tree. Latharn didn’t see Horas, but knew he was nearby. He was thankful that Horas had given him and Eibhlin privacy; his perceptive guard must know how much he desired her.

  “Gormal told me that my birth parents liked tae come tae this loch together and walk along its banks,” he said, taking in its glistening waters. “Now I see why. ’Tis peaceful.”

  He could see the lingering reticence on Eibhlin’s face vanish. She smiled, turning to face the loch.