Latharn's Destiny: Highlander Fate Book Six

by Knight, Stella

  His pulse thrummed erratically at the base of his throat as they made their way to the rear of the castle. He waited anxiously until he heard the roar of flames and shouts of alarm from the stables.

  He gave his men a nod, and they charged toward the rear of the castle, swords drawn.

  One of the guards loyal to him waited for them there, giving them an encouraging nod as he swung open the back gate. But the guard abruptly stiffened, and horror roiled through Latharn as a sword pierced him straight through from behind. The guard slumped forward, dead.

  Another guard stood behind him, removing his bloody sword from the guard's dead body and charging toward them with a growl of fury. Latharn darted toward him with an enraged snarl of his own, ignoring Horas’s cry of warning as he launched into a sword fight with the guard. Two other guards rushed out of the dungeons, engaging with his men while Latharn whirled, knocking out his attacker with the hilt of his sword.

  While Horas and his other men continued to fight the guards, Latharn grabbed the keys off the fallen guard. Latharn, his brother and several other men then hurried into the dungeons. A dank and foul smell permeated the dungeons, which were lit only by a single torch. His body tightened with rage at the thought of Eibhlin being held in such a place.

  He heard groans from one of the cells—male groans.

  "Go tae them," he said, turning to his brother and his men. "I'll find Eibhlin."

  His heart thudding with dread, he moved forward, searching each of the empty cells, until he reached an isolated one in the rear of the dungeons.

  He froze at the sight of Eibhlin's form inside. She lay on her side, facing away from him, curled up into a protective ball like a bairn. Quelling his panic, he fumbled with the keys in his hand, trying several before successfully unlocking her cell door.

  She stiffened at the sound of footsteps, and as he drew near, she shot to her feet, her leg flying toward his chest. He managed to evade her just in time, stepping back and holding up his hands to show her who he was.

  Eibhlin went still as she took him in. Bruises marred her lovely face, and her golden eyes were haunted. Fury spread through his veins; Padraig would die a slow death at his hands.

  “Latharn." Eibhlin's voice cracked, and she dissolved into sobs.

  He moved toward her, enfolding her into the warmth of his arms as she wept.

  "Ye're safe now, Eibhlin," he whispered. He swung her up into his arms and carried her out of the dungeons. She leaned into him, cradling her head against his chest.

  A foreign, powerful emotion swept over him. Before now, his fight against Padraig was about family honor and his birthright. But now, it was about so much more. He would make the bastard suffer for what he had done to his Eibhlin—and he would ensure that she never came to harm again.

  Chapter 16

  Evelyn was dimly aware of voices around her as she drifted in and out, torn between sleep and dreams, memory and nightmare.

  After Padraig confronted her in the hall, his men had dragged her, kicking and screaming, down to the dungeons. There she'd waited, terrified, for what seemed like hours, until Padraig entered.

  She backed up against the wall as he approached her with the calm lethality of a panther, his cold gray eyes trained on her face.

  "I should have recognized those bastard's eyes," he hissed. "The man who wouldnae accept my father as chief and laird. Yer traitor of a father."

  "Yer father was the traitor," she returned.

  Padraig slapped her with such force she crumpled to the floor. Shock and fury whipped through her, greater than the pain of her throbbing cheek.

  Padraig squatted down to her level, yanking her up by the hair. Recalling her self-defense training, she lifted her knee to kick him in the groin. Pleasure coiled through her as he stumbled back with a pained cry.

  "Ye bitch!" Padraig snarled, again grabbing her by her hair and slamming her against the wall. "Ye're going tae tell me what I want tae ken about that bastard Latharn MacUisdean. And then I'm going tae enjoy this bonnie body of yers before I strangle the life from ye."

  He spat in her face, releasing her so abruptly she sank to the ground. She didn't let the fear that his words invoked in her show. Instead, she gave him a look of defiance as she stumbled to her feet.

  "Try," she snarled. She would kill the bastard before he could ever violate her in such a way.

  Padraig glared down at her before his lips curved into a dangerous smile; a smile that caused a sliver of unease to coil around her belly.

  He took out a dagger from its sheath on his belt and approached her.

  "Where is Latharn MacUisdean?"

  Don't show your fear, she told herself. Never show your fear.

  "Dead," she replied, not allowing her eyes to stray from his.

  He swore an oath, pinning both of her hands to the wall above her head with one hand and pressing his dagger to her throat with the other. Fear clawed at her chest, and her heart slammed violently against her ribcage, but she kept her gaze steady.

  "Where is Latharn MacUisdean?" he repeated on a growl.

  "Dead."

  He asked her the question again and again, pressing the dagger to different parts of her body, but never hard enough to draw blood. She realized that this was his way of torture—the threat of him slicing her with the dagger was always there, and she didn't know when he would strike. Though her fear was so great she could choke on it, she betrayed none of it, repeating only that Latharn was dead—until she almost believed her own lie.

  She didn't know how much time had passed when he finally stepped back with a frustrated snarl.

  "When I return, I'll start carving up that bonnie face of yers. And then I'll have my men hold ye down and take their turns with ye until ye tell me what I want tae ken."

  He left her alone, and only then did she allow herself to dissolve into tears, shaking with terror. She was certain she was going to die in this cell. She cursed herself for her foolishness in trusting Aimil, for not being more careful, for failing to avenge her father. But her heart ached most of all at the thought of never seeing Latharn again.

  More time passed. Hours? Days? She heard pained screams and moans from the other prisoners, and dread gnawed away at her gut, knowing it would soon be her turn.

  When Latharn entered her cell, she thought she was dreaming, that he couldn't be real.

  Now, she awoke with a jerk, wondering with terror if her rescue had in fact been a dream, and she was still in that cell.

  But she was in a large chamber, and Latharn sat at her bedside, his concerned gaze trained on her face. Relief flooded her with such force that tears sprang to her eyes.

  “How are ye?” he asked gruffly. His eyes were shadowed; it looked like he hadn’t slept. Her gaze slid outside—it was dark.

  “I’m fine,” she lied, blinking back her tears. “How long have I been out?”

  “All day. ’Tis just after nightfall, but ye need rest,” he said, reaching out to give her hand a gentle squeeze.

  “I—I want ye tae ken. I didnae say anything tae Padraig,” she said. "I insisted that ye were dead."

  He dropped her hand, his mouth tightening as he glared at her.

  “Is that what ye think I care about?” he rasped.

  His anger took her by surprise. “I just thought—”

  “All I could think of was getting tae ye, Eibhlin. I donnae care about myself. When I came intae that cell, and saw ye lying there, not moving—" His voice caught, and he closed his eyes, expelling a shuddering breath. “All that mattered tae me was that ye were all right. 'Tis all that matters. I’ll make Padraig pay for what he’s done," he swore, his gaze lingering on her bruised face, anger flashing in his eyes before it was replaced by despair. "What happened is my fault, Eibhlin. I never should have allowed ye tae spy for me, tae return tae the castle—"

  “No. It was my choice. I kent what the risks were.”

  “Well, I’ll not let ye come tae harm again—I swear it,” he s
aid fiercely. “As soon as ye’re rested, Horas will escort ye out of the Highlands and tae Inverness. There are docks there; ye can book passage back tae the Lowlands or anywhere ye wish tae go. I'll make certain ye have plenty of coin."

  “Latharn, I donnae want tae—”

  “No,” he interrupted, his expression hardening. “This is what I should have done before. I’ll not let harm come tae ye again. I’m sending ye away.”

  Pain sluiced through her at his words as he stood.

  “I’ll have Aoife bring ye food,” he said. “Until then, ye must rest.”

  He left before she could issue another word of protest.

  Maybe he’s right, she thought, after Aoife brought her a meal moments later. She had done everything she could; she certainly couldn’t return to the castle. Latharn had a growing number of men.

  And now she had the memory of her time locked in that cell, terrified as she waited for rape, torture, death—or all three. She knew that her time imprisoned in that cell would continue to haunt her; those dark memories could lessen in her own time.

  Yet her time here still felt unfinished, and she knew her resistance to leaving was because of Latharn. Her feelings for him ran deep, and even though she knew there could be nothing between her and the future laird of MacUisdean Castle, she wasn’t ready to leave him behind.

  If you insist on staying longer, she told herself, you can’t keep lying to him. You’ll have to tell him the truth.

  A strange sense of calm settled over her as she came to this realization. She’d wanted to tell him the truth before but had feared his response. Now that he was determined to send her away, she had nothing to lose. You’ll lose Latharn, a phantom voice whispered. But she didn’t have him—and she never would.

  When Aoife came to collect her finished meal, she asked which chamber Latharn was sleeping in. Aoife looked startled at her request but told her he was in the chamber at the end of the hall. Eibhlin nodded her thanks.

  She waited until the din of voices from the distant corners of the manor receded into silence. Only then did she make her way to Latharn’s chamber. The door was unlocked, and she took a deep breath before turning the knob and entering.

  Her heart clenched as it always did at the sight of his, tall, dark and handsome form, which was facing away from her as he gazed out the window.

  He turned, looking startled at the sight of her.

  “Eibhlin. What are ye doing here?”

  She closed the door behind her and approached him, her mouth dry.

  “I’m here tae tell ye I’m not going anywhere,” she said, her voice wavering. “And,” she continued, dropping her brogue and switching to her modern accent, “that I’m not where you think I’m from.”

  Latharn froze, his eyes going wide.

  “You once asked me to tell you what I was hiding. Well . . . here it is. My name is both Eibhlin Aingealag O’Brolchan and Evelyn Angelica O’Brolchan,” she whispered. It was difficult to speak with her mouth so dry, but she forced herself to continue. “The second is the modern, Anglicized form of my name. I was born in the fourteenth century, but I live in the twenty-first. I've . . . I’ve traveled through time to be here."

  * * *

  Evelyn watched Latharn as she finished her story. She'd just told him everything, and watched as a range of emotions flickered across his face as her words settled in. Disbelief, anger, confusion and back to disbelief. She recalled feeling the same emotions when her mother first told her she was a time traveler.

  When Latharn finally looked at her, she braced herself for his anger. But there was still only a look of dazed disbelief on his face.

  “Yer mother was a time traveler as well?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I didn’t believe her when she told me at first.”

  It was odd to speak in her modern-day American accent after she’d spoken in the same brogue as everyone else in this time since she'd arrived. She could tell her natural accent discombobulated Latharn as well; his eyes narrowed as she spoke.

  “And yer father kent?”

  “Yes,” she said. “He also didn’t believe her at first . . . but he’d already fallen in love with her by then.”

  He turned away from her and began to pace, raking his hand through his hair.

  “The laird I used tae work for—Artair Dalaigh—he recently wed. He also mentioned his bride, Diana, going tae Tairseach. She’s a Sassenach, but her accent differs from other Sassenachs I’ve heard speak.”

  Evelyn stiffened. Her mother had never met another time traveler in the past, but she’d believed there were others.

  “Do you think she’s—” Evelyn began.

  “I donnae ken,” he said. “I—I’ve heard tales of strange happenings around Tairseach. My mother used tae tell me it was the faeries who stole people from Tairseach when I was a bairn.”

  “Not fairies,” Evelyn said, with a wry smile. “Time.” He didn’t return her smile, and her heart sank. “Latharn, I understand if you don’t believe me, but I—”

  “Ye’ve been nothing but trustworthy, Eibhlin—Evelyn,” he corrected himself. “I believe ye have no reason tae lie . . . especially after what ye’ve just been through.”

  Her heart lifted. He hadn’t admitted to believing her, but at least he didn’t think she was lying to him. It was a start.

  “The time ye’re from. The—future,” he said, seeming to force the word past his lips. “It must be safe for ye there, aye?”

  Evelyn stiffened, knowing where this was going.

  “Yes,” she hedged. “But Latharn, things are different in my time. Women are more independent; they can fight. I’ve trained in archery and sword fighting. I was scared when Padraig captured me, but I held my own against him. I can take care of myself. I want to stay not just to avenge my parents—I want to help you. After working among the servants, I know they’re terrified of Padraig. They deserve a fair and kind laird—and I believe that laird is you.”

  Latharn’s expression softened, but he still looked divided. “I cannae allow ye tae put yerself in harm’s away again.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Latharn."

  Latharn glowered at her, but she returned his glare. He finally expelled a sigh and approached her, moving his hands up to cup the sides of her face.

  “I kent there was something different about ye, lioness. From the moment I first laid eyes upon ye. But I never would have kent that ye’re from another time.”

  “I know it sounds mad, but it’s the truth. I’ve traveled through time to be here. Let me help you, Latharn.”

  He rested his forehead on hers, closing his eyes. When he opened them, they were a storm of conflict.

  “If anything happens again—"

  “It won’t,” she said fiercely. “And even if it does . . . you should know—Padraig likely has sore balls right now. I think he’s afraid of me.”

  His eyes widened, and he let out a chuckle.

  “My Evelyn,” he murmured. “My lioness.”

  His eyes went smoky with desire; he captured her lips with his. She hungrily returned his kiss, wrapping her arms around him as he held her close.

  “I have so many questions,” he rasped, when he released her, “about yer time, and how ye got here. And ye need tae heal. But God, I want ye with a ferocity I can hardly bear, my Evelyn.”

  “I am healed,” she whispered, as he began to pepper kisses along her jaw, causing sparks of electricity to dance along her skin. She didn't want to spend her time alone, with only the dark memories from her imprisonment as company. She wanted—needed—Latharn. “And I can answer any questions you have. Later,” she said, her voice dropping with meaning.

  Latharn let out a growl. He stood, and she gasped as he hefted her up into his arms, bridal style, carrying her toward the bed, a fierce hunger in his eyes.

  Chapter 17

  The wild tale Evelyn had just told him faded from Latharn's mind; all he could focus on now was his burning desire for her and h
is need to protect her. To claim her.

  He plundered her lips with his as he lowered her to the bed. Evelyn wound her arms around his neck, moaning in a way that made his cock stir with arousal.

  She reached up to disrobe him of his tunic and kilt, and he removed her underdress, his breath hitching in his throat at the sight of her perky breasts capped with rosy nipples, the flat expanse of her abdomen, the apex of her thighs and her glistening quim. Her body was a feast for the eyes; he allowed himself to take it in for a moment, until he could hold himself back no longer.

  He let out a groan, lowering his head to her nipple, suckling on it as she arched toward him. She whimpered as he kneaded her breast before moving his mouth to her other nipple, suckling it thoroughly. Only then did he pepper kisses down along the long expanse of her abdomen. He knelt before her, spreading her legs wide. He looked up at her, meeting her eyes as he leaned forward to taste the sweetness between her thighs.

  “Latharn . . . "

  His name escaped from her lovely lips on a moan, and he luxuriated in the sound of her pleasure, the taste of her sweetness as he lapped at her. Her breath quickened, and she arched, her lovely breasts peaking upward.

  "Ye're delicious, lass," he growled, grasping her thighs as he continued to taste her, and she shook and quivered beneath his tongue.

  "Latharn!" she cried, as her release claimed her. He kept his gaze trained on her as she succumbed to the force of her release, her lovely body shaking, her eyes fluttering, her hands grasping the sheets. It was the most seductive sight he'd ever seen; he burned it into his memory.

  Only when she'd caught her breath did he remove his mouth from her center, licking her skin up to her abdomen, her breasts, her throat, until he hovered above her.

  She looked up at him, her face flushed, her breaths still rapid, arching her lovely body toward him.

  "Latharn," she moaned. "Please . . . "