Seduced by Her Highland Warrior

by Michelle Willingham

  While she cleaned the tunic, Alex scooped up some water, washing off his skin. Rivulets of water spilled over his hard muscles, and Laren found herself staring at her husband.

  He stretched and shivered from the freezing water. Her eyes followed the water that pooled over his skin, trailing downward.

  He saw her staring, and met her with his own frank gaze. Dark eyes moved down her face, past her breasts, to her hips. Unable to help herself, she reached out and touched his cool skin, wiping away a droplet of water with her fingertips.

  Alex didn’t move, but he caught her wrist and held it to his skin. “After the girls are asleep, meet me here again tonight.”

  He pressed her fingers over his ribs, guiding her hand around his waist. Though his skin was icy cold from the water, she leaned in to warm him. His hand cupped her face.

  Though he hadn’t done anything at all, Laren’s breath was shaky, her body seeking his nearness.

  His fingers stroked the side of her face, and she lifted her mouth to his, claiming the kiss that he hadn’t given.

  When he pulled back, he let his hands remain around her waist. “Tonight,” he repeated.

  She nodded and he released her.

  Seduced by Her Highland Warrior Harlequin® Historical #1054—August 2011

  Praise for Michelle Willingham

  The MacEgan Brothers

  Surrender To An Irish Warrior

  “Two wounded souls find hope and redemption in Surrender to an Irish Warrior, a richly detailed and emotionally intense medieval romance.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  Her Warrior Slave

  “Michelle Willingham writes characters that feel all too real to me. The tortured soul that is Kieran really pulled at my heartstrings. And Iseult’s unfailing search for her lost child made this book a truly emotional read.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Willingham skillfully combines a cast of wonderfully original characters with a refreshingly different, meticulously detailed setting to create a vivid tale of love and danger in medieval Ireland.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  Her Warrior King

  “The MacEgan tales just keep getting better. With Her Warrior King, Michelle Willingham has set a new standard of excellence. We will all be impatiently awaiting the next novel.”

  —Cataromance, 4.5 stars

  The Warrior’s Touch

  “I know we all wish we could have a MacEgan for our very own but since we cannot, be sure and pick up this not-to-be-missed tale of The MacEgan Brothers, The Warrior’s Touch.”

  —Cataromance, 4.5 stars

  Her Irish Warrior

  “Willingham not only delves into medieval culture, she also tells the dark side of being a woman in that era… The bright side is that in romantic fiction, a happy ending is expected, and it’s delivered in this excellent, plot-driven, page-turner of a book.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  MICHELLE WILLINGHAM

  Seduced by Her Highland Warrior

  The MacKinloch Clan

  Highland warriors prepared to fight fiercely for their country…and for love

  Look for the next book in The MacKinloch Clan Coming soon.

  Available from Harlequin® Historical and MICHELLE WILLINGHAM

  *Her Irish Warrior #850

  *The Warrior’s Touch #866

  *Her Warrior King #882

  *Her Warrior Slave #922

  *Taming Her Irish Warrior #966

  †The Accidental Countess #981

  †The Accidental Princess #985

  *Surrender to an Irish Warrior #1010

  **Claimed by the Highland Warrior #1042

  **Seduced by Her Highland Warrior #1054

  And in Harlequin Historical Undone! ebooks

  The Viking’s Forbidden Love-Slave

  The Warrior’s Forbidden Virgin

  **An Accidental Seduction

  Innocent in the Harem

  Pleasured by the Viking

  Author Note

  Whenever I’ve visited a medieval cathedral, my eyes were always drawn to the stained-glass windows. The stunning details and the intricate glass made it hard to believe that I was staring at something that was over seven hundred years old. I was fascinated by the artists who made the glass and those who pieced it together to form sacred art.

  I decided to create a heroine with the talent of making her own glass, a craft she learned from a mentor priest. But for Laren MacKinloch, glassmaking provided the solace she needed after losing her newborn son. Grief fractured her marriage with the clan leader Alex MacKinloch, and I wanted to explore how two people could rebuild a stronger relationship after a tragedy.

  One resource which I found extremely helpful was On Divers Arts by the monk Theophilis. He documented a treatise on blowing glass that explained the techniques used in the medieval era. In addition, this past fall, I was privileged to watch the glass artists at Art of Fire take me through the process of blowing glass. You can view pictures and videos of the process at my Facebook fan page: www.facebook.com/michellewillinghamfans.

  You’re welcome to visit my website at www.michellewillingham.com for excerpts and behind-the-scenes details about my books. I love to hear from readers and you may email me at michelle@michellewillingham.com or via mail at P.O. Box 2242 Poquoson, VA 23662 USA.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Glen Arrin, Scotland—1305

  Soldiers gripped spears in their palms and charged forwards, their weapons aimed at his wife and daughters.

  Blood dripped from a wound on his forearm, but Alex MacKinloch wouldn’t stop running. A primal roar resounded from his mouth as he lifted his sword and hacked his way toward the women. His lungs burned as he fought, the battle haze clouding his awareness of reality. In the distance, he saw his wife Laren’s gleaming red hair as she struggled through a water-filled ditch. Her skirts weighed her down and she held their younger daughter in her arms. She didn’t see the dozens of soldiers approaching as she tried to evacuate the fortress.

  I have to reach them. Or they’ll die.

  It was a reality he didn’t want to face, and the thought of his Laren falling beneath a soldier’s blade was a horror he couldn’t grasp. His arm ached with a vicious pain, but he fought a path towards them. The soldiers blocked his line of vision until all he could see was a swift storm of arrows.

  A pulse thundered in his ears until he realised the arrows were coming from their younger brother Callum, who was guarding the women and children. Flames erupted from the wooden keep that stood high above them, like a dying sentry.

  The fortress was going to fall. He ran as hard as he could and heard his kinsman Ross breathe, ‘Mary, Mother of God.’

  As Alex rushed forwards, he heard the cracking of wood.

  ‘Callum, dive!’ shouted a man’s voice from behind her.

  Laren MacKinloch struggled through the forest, her skirts sodden with water as the keep surrendered to the flames and collapsed. She stared through the trees, in shock at the sight of her home.

  Gone now.

  And what of Alex, her husband? �
�Take Mairin and Adaira,’ she begged Vanora, handing over her daughters. ‘I’ll join you in a few moments.’

  ‘You can’t go back,’ the older matron warned. ‘This isn’t over yet.’

  ‘I won’t leave the trees,’ Laren promised. I just need to see him. I need to know if he’s safe.

  She didn’t wait for Vanora’s reply, but moved back to the forest’s edge, holding on to a slender birch tree for balance. Her breath frosted in the evening air as the cold settled around the glen.

  When English soldiers surrounded the men from both sides, she felt her heart branching into silent pieces of terror. Dear God, no.

  She couldn’t hear what was happening, but the look of grim finality on Alex’s face meant that the worst was near. As she stared from her hiding place, the years seemed to fall back. No longer was he a powerful chief but instead, the man she’d once loved. The fist of heartbreak caught her and tears dampened her cheeks. They’d grown so far apart over the past two years, and now she didn’t know if she would see him alive again.

  If she had one last moment with him, there were too many words to speak. Too many things she’d locked away in her heart for far too long.

  Her palm pressed against the tree bark. Though Alex couldn’t see her, she kept her gaze fixed upon him, as if she could memorise his face and hold it for ever.

  A fiery pain blasted through her right side. Laren’s knees buckled beneath her and she gasped in shock at the arrow embedded within her skin.

  The searing agony stunned her and she could barely keep her senses about her. Though it was a shallow wound, piercing the soft skin sideways, near her ribs, she’d not realised how close she was to the battle.

  She forced herself to snap off the feathered end, sliding the arrow free of the wound. Blood poured from her side and she pressed her dark cloak against the flow, fighting the dizziness.

  You have to go back to your girls, her mind warned. She couldn’t stay, no matter how much she feared for Alex’s life. One of them had to live, to take care of their daughters.

  It wrenched her apart, having to choose between her husband and her children, but she forced herself to continue. If the English gained the victory, they would come looking for the survivors. Her daughters needed her and she had to protect them.

  She struggled up to the top of the ridge. Each step sent another wave of pain raging through her side, but she ignored the wound, hiding it beneath her dark cloak. There would be time to tend it later.

  When she reached the girls, her elder daughter threw her arms around her waist, weeping. At the ages of four and not quite two, Mairin and Adaira weren’t old enough to understand what was happening. Laren caught her breath, keeping Mairin’s hands away from the injury while she spoke soft, reassuring words.

  ‘Where is Da?’ her daughter demanded. ‘Is he safe?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Laren’s throat tightened with fear, her eyes burning. ‘But we have to wait here for him, away from the soldiers.’

  ‘I’m afraid,’ her daughter sobbed.

  Laren brushed a kiss against Mairin’s forehead. So am I.

  The earth trembled as dozens of horsemen surrounded their army on both sides. Robert Fitzroy, the Baron of Harkirk, watched in fury as more of the Scots poured in, reinforced by the French. His hand tightened upon the hilt of his sword and he wanted nothing more than to bathe his weapon in their blood.

  The MacKinlochs were supposed to die this day. Hadn’t he burned their fortress to the ground, slaughtering their kinsmen? He’d already planned to set up an outpost here, to secure more land for King Edward Plantagenet, but he could see his victory fading away like smoke.

  ‘Pull back!’ he ordered and his soldiers obeyed. Though it splintered his pride, he hadn’t survived half-a-dozen battles by making foolish decisions that would endanger his neck.

  As they retreated into the hills, Harkirk cast a backwards glance. This wasn’t over. Not by half.

  He vowed that the next time he looked upon the face of a MacKinloch, it would be mounted upon a pike outside his gates.

  It took a quarter of an hour to reach the ridge and Alex helped his brother up to the top of the hill. Nairna looked worried, for although they had survived with only minor injuries, traces of battle madness lurked within her husband’s face. But Alex felt certain that once they brought Bram home, his brother would make a full recovery.

  When they reached the clearing, the first glimpse of Laren sent a roaring breath of relief back through Alex’s lungs. The instinct pulled at him, to go to her. He needed to hold his wife and breathe in the scent of her skin, touching her soft red hair.

  Laren started to take a step towards him, but she abruptly stopped, her face ashen. Her hand pressed to her side and then she turned her attention to their girls. Their clansmen were watching, and at their sudden attention she shrank back.

  He couldn’t understand why. Aye, they’d grown apart over the past two years, but was it so much to ask that she show him a grain of affection? That she could welcome him back into her arms? The pain in her eyes bothered him, for he didn’t understand it. Wasn’t she glad to see him alive?

  Though Mairin and Adaira called out, Laren bent and spoke quietly, as if to prevent them from running to him. Adaira clutched Laren’s leg, burying her face in her mother’s skirts.

  A thousand moments passed by in a single second. Pride froze out the aching emotions, and Alex stared back at his wife, wishing she would meet him halfway. But she merely gave him a nod and moved away with the girls, unable to face him.

  Something was wrong. She’d closed herself off from him and he didn’t know why. His hand tightened on the door frame and he forced himself to look after Bram. ‘Will you be all right with him?’ Alex asked Nairna, who had helped her husband to sit upon their bed.

  ‘Aye.’ She poured water into a basin and retrieved a cloth to tend Bram’s wounds. When she had wrung out the cloth, she sent Alex a pointed look. ‘Go to Laren. She needs you.’

  He left them alone, watching the way Nairna cared for her husband. The deep love in her eyes and the answering look in her husband’s face brought a surge of envy. He wanted to be with Laren right now, to shatter the invisible wall between them.

  The thought became a thorn, digging deeper into his pride. She was the woman he’d pledged to protect. Years ago, she would have thrown herself into his arms, not caring what anyone else thought. She’d have clung to him, whispering words of how she’d worried.

  But now she kept her distance from him, almost as if they were strangers.

  His frustration strung tighter as he walked among the survivors, asking about their welfare. During that time, not once had Laren moved towards him. Her face was white, as though she were too timid to move.

  Damn it all, he didn’t care if she no longer wanted him. They’d survived their brush with death; right now he wanted to hold her. He needed her in his arms, whether or not she was too shy to answer the embrace.

  He crossed through the people, moving directly towards her. Without voicing a single word, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. She let out a slight gasp, but her hands moved up to his shoulders, resting there. He didn’t speak, didn’t reveal any of the thoughts coursing through his mind. Adaira and Mairin each grabbed his legs, but right now, he needed Laren.

  Dimly, he was aware that she wasn’t quite holding him in return. Her hands were there, but there was no warmth, no answering embrace. His heart numbed when he pulled back to look at her, his hands resting at her waist.

  He’d mistakenly believed that if he made the first move she would welcome him back, that the past two years of distance wouldn’t matter any more, because they were alive. But she didn’t look at him, as if she were too shy to speak.

  He let his hands fall away, saying nothing. The girls were chattering, asking him questions about when they could go home, where they would sleep, and he couldn’t give them an answer.

  His kinsman Ross came near, and asked,
‘Do you want to bring your family to our home for the night?’ Since Ross’s home was on the opposite side of the fortress, it had escaped the fires.

  Alex never took his eyes from Laren, but agreed. ‘Aye, if it’s no trouble to you.’

  ‘Not at all. Vanora will want to fuss over the wee ones, as she likes to do.’ His gaze grew sombre, staring at the smoke that rose from the valley below. ‘And you’ll be needing a place to stay until you can rebuild the keep.’

  ‘I’ll take the girls there now,’ Laren said quietly, ‘if you think it’s safe to return.’ Her voice was shaky, but at his nod she guided their daughters away from the crowds. As they disappeared into the forest, Ross was saying something else to him, but Alex didn’t hear a word of it.

  His wife was behaving strangely and he didn’t know why. Then his gaze drifted down to his hands. Blood stained his palms from where he’d held his wife.

  It was Laren’s blood.

  Laren held Adaira’s hand as Mairin skipped forwards. She kept her head held high, even though the tears flowed freely down her face. She kept her hand firmly upon the bleeding wound at her side, trying not to take deep breaths. When Alex had held her, his hands had pressed against it and she’d nearly passed out from the pain. The injury felt like an aching fire, but she refused to pity herself.

  She’d said nothing of it to the girls. They were frightened after the battle and the last thing she needed was for her daughters to start crying again. Right now it took her full concentration to keep from breaking down in front of them. She’d never known that a minor wound could hurt this badly.

  Now that the enemy soldiers were gone, she could return to Glen Arrin for a little privacy to tend it. The wetness against her hand told her that the bleeding had started up again and stars swam in front of her eyes.

  You should have told Alex, an inner voice chided. The very thought of her husband sent a quiet ache of regret through her. When he’d taken her in his arms, the urge to cling to him and sob out her miseries had been so tempting. But the last thing he’d needed was a hysterical wife bleeding all over him in front of everyone. He had to be strong in front of the clan, to be the leader they needed in this time of crisis. There was time to speak of it later, when they were alone.