Latharn's Destiny: Highlander Fate Book Six

by Knight, Stella

  “It will be difficult tae keep my hands and eyes off ye today,” he murmured. He expelled a sigh, stepping back from her: regret, and something she couldn’t identify flickering in his eyes. “But I must.”

  As if to accentuate his point, the deep rumble of his men’s voices filled the corridor as they left the dining room. He lifted her hand to his in a brief kiss before leaving her behind with a growing ache of longing between her thighs—and in her heart.

  Chapter 19

  Latharn stood across from Chieftain Modan Creagach, who studied him with an unreadable expression. Modan was a broad bull of a man, with red hair that had gone silver at the temples, and black eyes that reminded Latharn of a hawk’s.

  They were gathered in the great hall of Clan Creagach’s seat, Creagach Castle. Latharn and his men stood before Modan and his nobles, who all flanked him at the long head table. Latharn had just proposed that they work together as allies against Padraig.

  Modan had not responded, and now a long silence stretched. Latharn suspected the silence was supposed to intimidate him, but he steadily held Modan’s gaze.

  “I donnae hold no great loyalty tae Padraig MacUisdean,” Modan finally said. “I’d hoped his brother Neacal would become laird and chieftain instead; he has honor, unlike his brother.”

  Latharn tried not to bristle at the compliment toward Neacal, though Evelyn’s words did enter his mind. Padraig may be like his father, but I donnae think Neacal is. But he pushed aside the thought.

  “I wouldnae be here if I believed that Padraig was the best chieftain for Clan MacUisdean. I’ve spoken tae the common folk—and some nobles—about him. He’s filled with greed and cruelty. If ye join with me tae—” Latharn began.

  “We’ve had an alliance with Clan MacUisdean since before yer father was chief,” Modan interrupted. “They have more men than we do. If they kent we’ve allied with ye, they’ll attack.

  “Yer men wouldnae have tae fight him alone,” Latharn insisted. “Ye’ll have the men who swore fealty tae me, and the men of the laird I once served, Artair Dalaigh.”

  Artair had offered his help before Latharn had returned here, but he'd resisted reaching out to him, wanting to take back his titles without the help of his former laird. It was Gormal who’d convinced him to reach out to Artair; they needed as many men on their side as possible to fight his cousin. Latharn had forced his pride aside, allowing Gormal to send a letter requesting Artair's assistance. Gormal had sent the letter the day before; Artair was a man of his word, and Latharn knew that he'd come with men when Latharn sent for him.

  At his words, Modan fell silent again, turning to a dark-haired man at his side. The man murmured something Latharn couldn’t hear before Modan turned back to face him.

  “I’ll need some time tae discuss yer proposal with my nobles.”

  Latharn tensed; he didn’t want to leave until he had a clear answer. If he left now, he feared Modan would refuse to join him.

  He opened his mouth to protest, but at his side, Gormal gave a subtle shake of his head.

  “I will take my leave,” Latharn said, after a brief pause. “It would be an honor tae join with ye in an alliance. Consider what I’ve said.”

  As they made their way out of the great hall, Gormal hurried to Latharn’s side.

  “Needing tae discuss with his nobles doesnae mean he'll refuse ye,” Gormal said, but Latharn only offered him a grunt in response. If he couldn’t get Clan Creagach to ally with him—and they joined with Padraig instead—it would make defeating his cousin even more difficult.

  When they returned to the manor, he found Evelyn with Tulach and the others. By the browbeaten expression on her face, it looked as if her meeting with Lady Creagach hadn’t gone well.

  He gathered his men in the drawing room, where he told them how the meeting with Modan had gone, trying to not show how defeated he felt.

  “Brother,” Crisdean spoke up, when Latharn fell silent. Crisdean's gaze slid briefly to Evelyn before he continued. “I think Eibhlin’s earlier suggestion of reaching out tae Neacal was a fine one. Even Modan mentioned that he had honor. Perhaps Neacal can—”

  “No,” Latharn interrupted, giving his brother a scowl.

  “My laird,” Baigh hedged. “I agree with yer brother. If we can get Neacal tae work with us, perhaps we’d have no need for Clan Creagach.”

  Several other men muttered their agreement. He met Evelyn’s eyes; she gave him a hopeful look. He tore his gaze away.

  “Going tae Neacal would be a great risk,” he said. “If we’re wrong about him, he’ll hang me and the rest of ye as well. We still have Artair Dalaigh’s men who’ll fight alongside us—and I’m not giving up on Clan Creagach.”

  “My laird,” Gormal said, stepping forward. “I agree that going tae Neacal is a risk. Ye need tae focus on the best way tae secure an alliance—and that’s marriage. Padraig is focused on finding a bride from a clan larger than Clan Creagach. As such, Chieftain Creagach has two daughters, both unwed. If ye offer tae wed his eldest daughter, that would be an attractive prospect.”

  Latharn’s chest tightened. He shouldn’t have been surprised; Gormal had already suggested that he wed a lass from Clan Creagach. It took everything in his power to not look at Evelyn.

  “He’s right.”

  He stilled; it was Evelyn who’d spoken up. He turned to look at her. She held her head high, and though she’d gone slightly pale, she met his gaze.

  “Offering tae wed his daughter will help ye secure an alliance with his clan,” she continued.

  Gormal looked both pleased and surprised at her agreement, while Latharn noticed that Crisdean looked troubled, but said nothing.

  He swallowed, ignoring the twisting pain in his heart. He’d known this day was coming, that he would have to wed to solidify his claim. But he felt nothing but dread, like he was a prisoner being led to the dungeons for execution.

  “Very well,” he said. “Send a messenger and inform the chieftain that I will wed his eldest daughter—if he allies with me.”

  * * *

  Evelyn disappeared after the meeting; she didn’t even come down for supper. He almost went to her chamber that night but made himself stay away; he didn't know how she'd receive him now that he had a pending marriage proposal out to another lass.

  Though he already missed her, he was relieved that he didn’t see her the next morning as well—he needed to look convincing when presented with wedding Modan’s daughter. Evelyn’s presence would make that difficult.

  When they entered the great hall of Creagach Castle, Modan and his nobles were far more welcoming than they’d been the day before. Modan even stood to greet them, a wide smile spreading across his face.

  “I’ve discussed yer proposal with my nobles and my wife,” Modan said. “I accept—and I accept yer offer of an alliance. Ye will wed my eldest daughter, Ros.”

  “I am honored, Chieftain Creagach,” he said, with a forced smile, ignoring the hollowness that spread throughout his gut. “I’m hoping we can discuss a strategy tae—”

  “Later,” Modan interrupted. “I’d like for ye tae meet Ros, and then we can discuss details of the battle tae come.”

  Dread twisted Latharn’s heart, but he gave him a jerky nod.

  “I’d be honored, Chieftain Creagach.”

  “She’s waiting for ye in one of the back gardens,” Modan said, gesturing to a servant who hurried forward to escort Latharn out of the hall.

  The servant led Latharn to a private garden in the rear of the castle grounds, where a young woman stood next to her mother Reuda, a severe-looking woman with green eyes and dark hair, and two maids. They all bowed before leaving him alone with Ros.

  Ros was bonnie, with her mother's dark hair and her father’s sharp, dark eyes. But he felt nothing: no trace of desire. A glimpse of Evelyn filled his mind; her silken hair wrapped around his fingers, his lips on her skin. He forced away the images as he stepped forward.

  “’Tis an
honor tae meet ye,” he said.

  Ros opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Instead, she burst into tears.

  Startled, he led her to a stone bench where she pressed her hands to her face as her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

  “I—I’m sorry, my laird,” she whispered, when her tears subsided. “It—it willnae happen again. ’Tis my honor tae meet ye as well.”

  “What is the reason for yer tears?”

  “’Tis not important,” she said quickly. “Please donnae tell my parents that I wept.”

  “Lass,” he said gently, “ye can tell me. I’ll not be angered.”

  Ros expelled a sigh, searching his face as if looking for reassurance. He remained silent but gave her an encouraging nod.

  “I—there's someone else I care for. Someone my father will never allow me tae wed,” she whispered. “But I still have my maidenhead, my laird. I swear it.”

  A torrent of relief washed over him.

  “Do ye wish tae marry this man?” he asked. "Ye can tell me the truth."

  “Aye,” she whispered, her eyes again filling with tears. “But I’ll wed ye, as ’tis my duty—"

  “There’s no need tae make such promises,” he said. “There’s someone I care for as well. I have a proposal for ye—a proposal that will suit the both of us.”

  Chapter 20

  Evelyn remained in her chamber after Latharn left to seal his betrothal with Chieftain Creagach's daughter, grief tearing at her heart. As soon as she was alone, she sank to her knees, her body shaking with silent sobs.

  It had taken everything in her power yesterday to agree with Gormal that Latharn needed to wed the chieftain’s daughter, though her heart was tearing apart as she’d said the words. She’d gone out of her way to avoid him after that, pain and jealousy gnawing at her insides.

  It was ironic that the same day Latharn sealed his engagement to another woman was the same day she realized she was in love with him. Desperately, painfully, deeply in love.

  Her feelings had started with desire—he was insanely sexy, and the most handsome man she'd ever seen. But there was also an innate goodness to him. Claiming his titles was more than about obtaining wealth; he genuinely wanted to help the common folk of his father's clan. And that made her love him even more.

  She knew the wise thing to do was to leave. Latharn had plenty of support around him, especially now that he was securing the alliance with Clan Creagach. She was the one who didn’t belong here; this was Latharn’s destiny all along, to wed a noblewoman, to become laird and chief. She couldn’t watch him wed someone else. She didn’t even think she could be around him when he was officially engaged.

  But she still ached to remain near him for as long as possible. She was a fool; a lovesick fool. And like a fool, she’d spend as much time as she could here and return to her own time with a broken heart.

  She thought about what Latharn had suggested, that she move on from the past and live her own life in the future. Her life in the future was empty; she'd been close to her mother, and after her death she'd felt . . . adrift. She'd sold the home they'd lived in and took odd teaching jobs to support her preparations to return to the past, not making any meaningful relationships.

  Evelyn had spent so much of her time in the future preoccupied with the past and returning here that she hadn’t truly considered what she’d do with the rest of her life once her task here was complete. She had briefly considered teaching in a university setting; after all, no one in the present was as aware of what life was like in the fourteenth century as she was. But she bristled at the thought of being stuck in a classroom or a lecture hall.

  Perhaps she could teach medieval combat training at a fencing school. That sounded appealing, but an even more appealing thought occurred to her: teaching women of this time how to defend themselves. She allowed herself to briefly fantasize about what her life could be like in this time as Latharn's bride and his lady, using her status to teach lower-born women self-defense moves. She could even imagine Latharn giving her an approving nod as he watched her from the sidelines as she taught women how to use daggers, how he'd ignore the disapproval of the nobles at her very unladylike prowess.

  But she forced the appealing thoughts to scatter, like ashes in the wind. Latharn needed to wed someone appropriate—and he didn't love her.

  She resolved to keep her distance from Latharn, at least until her tumultuous feelings calmed, and she could look at him without wanting to burst into tears. She needed to find other ways to make herself useful now that her meeting with Lady Reuda Creagach hadn’t gone well. It had been downright disastrous.

  She’d thought Reuda would at least be polite to her, but as soon as a servant ushered her into the drawing room where Reuda was waiting, the older woman had glared at her.

  “Are ye Latharn MacUisdean’s whore?” Reuda had asked bluntly.

  Evelyn looked at her in disbelief, struggling to tap down her anger.

  “I’m—"

  “Ye’re the only lass in his company, and ye’re quite bonnie,” Reuda continued, spitting out the compliment. “Why are ye with him?”

  “Because I’m his ally. His uncle killed my father—who ye kent,” Evelyn said, trying to maintain a façade of calm, though rage was simmering inside her. “I want tae help Latharn because ’tis what my father would have wanted. I came tae see ye tae implore—”

  But Reuda wouldn’t let her finish, holding up her hand to silence her.

  “Yer father was a good man, aye, but he is long dead. Ye’re now a servant, and I’ve nothing tae discuss with a servant.”

  “Lady Creagach, with respect, I am no longer working as a servant. I am here as Latharn MacUisdean’s guest and ally. I implore ye tae—”

  “Donnae make me fetch my guard tae escort ye out,” Reuda interrupted, her eyes flashing with hostility.

  Evelyn left with her tail between her legs, when she’d wanted nothing more than to tell the snobby Lady Creagach off. But she had to remind herself that in this time class was everything; Reuda had every right to dismiss her. And if Reuda refused to hear her out, the other noble wives of the clan would likely do the same.

  The sound of horse hooves pulled her from her maelstrom of thoughts, and she hurried to the window to see Latharn approach with Horas and Gormal. Her heart clenched at the sight of him, handsome as always, his dark hair windswept, his muscular arms rippling as he dismounted from his horse. A physical ache tore through her, and she stepped back from the window, blinking back tears. Had he sealed his betrothal to his bride-to-be with a kiss? Was his betrothed beautiful? Was he happy that he was going to wed?

  She swallowed, turning to head out of her chamber. She needed to get out of the manor—perhaps to find Tulach for more self-defense training, or to take a walk—anything to avoid Latharn and take her mind off her heartbreak and jealousy.

  But as she emerged from her chamber, she halted in her tracks. Latharn was striding toward her with purpose.

  She almost fled back into her room, but Latharn seemed to guess her intention and quickened his strides, taking her by the arm.

  “I need tae talk tae ye,” he said, leading her back into her chamber.

  She opened her mouth to refuse him, but they were already alone, and he was closing the door behind him.

  “Latharn, you’re betrothed,” she said, trying to keep her voice from wavering. “You need to—"

  “No,” he said, “I’m not. At least not in truth.”

  Hope swelled in her chest.

  “What—what do you mean?"

  “The lassie is in love with someone else. I told her she can keep her lover, as long as she goes along with the pretense that we are tae be wed. Once the alliance is secure and I have my titles, we plan tae tell her father the truth.”

  A burst of joy exploded in her heart at the words, before unease settled in.

  “But—if you go back on your word to wed the chieftain's daughter—"

  “I can tell t
hat Modan just wants his daughter to wed a noble from Clan MacUisdean, to further bind the alliance. I plan tae offer him a marriage between his other daughter and another noble of Clan MacUisdean," Latharn said.

  Evelyn bit her lip, conflicted. She should tell Latharn that it was too risky to deceive the chieftain in this way, but her love for him made her selfish; she didn’t want him betrothed to Modan’s daughter—or to anyone.

  “Ye were avoiding me,” Latharn continued with a frown, reaching out to cup the side of her face. “Were ye jealous, Evelyn?”

  “I was the one who agreed with Gormal,” she said, licking her dry lips. She didn’t want him to know she loved him; it would only complicate things further. “I knew it was best if ye—”

  “It wouldnae have caused ye grief if I’d kissed my betrothed? If we'd made love?” he asked, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he stepped closer.

  The jealousy that seized her was so potent she could taste it.

  “It would have caused me great grief,” she confessed. “So, yes. I would have been jealous.”

  To her irritation, he looked pleased. He leaned in to seize her lips, and her love and desire for him was too great to resist. His lips were firm and demanding against her own; he kissed her until she was breathless. He released her and stepped back, pinning her arms to her sides.

  “What—what are ye—" she began, her voice dropping to a rasp as he hiked up her gown.

  "I have tae return tae my men," he whispered, nipping at her lower lip. She gasped as his finger dipped into her center. "I donnae have time tae make love tae ye as I wish, tae show ye that ye are the only lass I desire. But that doesnae mean I cannae make ye come for me."

  "Latharn . . . " she moaned, but his lips captured her moan as his finger began to stroke her in a tantalizing rhythm, in and out, in and out, as he plundered her mouth with his.