Seduced by Her Highland Warrior

by Michelle Willingham

  He stared at the fire, but it did nothing to warm the coldness inside of him. ‘I am going off to battle, Laren.’

  ‘Don’t you care at all? This is our daughter.’

  ‘I know well enough what’s at stake, Laren.’ He didn’t need her to remind him that their baby’s life lay in his hands. If he made a mistake, Adaira could die because of it.

  Laren shook her head, backing away from him. ‘You were like this when David died. It was as if his life didn’t matter.’

  ‘It mattered to me.’ The words were emotionless, but beneath them, he felt the shadow of loss. The more she dwelled upon the past, the more it dug into him like a dull blade. ‘Right now, I have to think of how we’re going to get inside Harkirk’s fortress. And how we’ll free her.’ He used a heavy staff to poke at the fire, sending up a shower of sparks.

  ‘You never mourned for David, did you?’ she murmured. ‘You visited his grave…but that was all.’

  The accusation sliced through the shell surrounding his heart. He caught her wrists and held them in front of her. ‘Don’t you ever accuse me of not loving our son. I mourned for him, aye.’

  He was holding her too harshly and released her, feeling the frustration rising higher. ‘But I’m the chief of this clan. I can’t let anyone see what’s inside of me. Not them. And not you.’

  Every word she spoke was grinding against him. Couldn’t she see that he felt pain as deeply as she, even if he could never show it?

  ‘I’m your wife, Alex,’ she whispered, her eyes filled with tears. ‘If you don’t confide in me, who else is there?’

  When her hands moved up to his face, he gripped her hard, lowering his face to her hair. ‘We won’t lose another child. I swear it to you.’

  Despite his efforts to block the memory of his daughter, he saw Adaira’s face in his mind. He remembered the sweetness of her smile and the way she would skip and gallop instead of walk. He’d surrender every last drop of his blood for her.

  Just as he would for his wife. In her eyes, he saw the disappointment. He didn’t know what she wanted from him. Dwelling on the past wouldn’t change it.

  But perhaps…by holding back his thoughts, he was hurting her more.

  ‘When we lost our son, there was nothing I could do to comfort you,’ he said at last. ‘Nothing I could say to take away your pain.’

  ‘I was afraid to reach out to you,’ she admitted. ‘You never spoke of it.’

  ‘It was the worst moment of my life. I’d wanted a son so badly…and then to lose him so soon—’ The only thing worse than losing David was losing his wife.

  She reached up to take his face in her hands. ‘We’ll have another son one day. And he’ll grow up to be as strong as his father.’

  He kissed her. ‘One day, perhaps.’

  Laren reached for his hand and brought it to rest upon her womb. She remained still and he moved his fingers in a circular motion. ‘Have you felt the bairn move within you yet?’

  She shook her head. ‘But I’m feeling a little better. Not as tired or sick.’

  For a time, he rested his hand there, as if willing their unborn child to be safe. ‘I won’t fail you, Laren,’ he vowed. ‘I’ll bring Adaira home.’

  She drew him to lie down beside her, but he remained protective of her body. He smoothed her hair back from her temple and she twined her legs with his. The future was too uncertain right now. He didn’t know what threats awaited them or what had already happened to their daughter.

  Laren was staring at him, her blue eyes filled with unspoken emotions. He cradled her face, as if he could hold the image in his mind for ever. God above, he loved her.

  He kissed her mouth, drifting lower to her throat. Though the layer of her gown separated him from her bare skin, he kissed her ribs, the swell of her hip, then he laid his mouth upon their unborn baby.

  ‘You’re going to live,’ he whispered to the child, ‘and grow strong. I promise you.’

  No matter what happens to me.

  His wife reached down to him and guided him back up to look at her. ‘You speak as if you’re not coming back.’

  He couldn’t lie to her about this. Instead, he caressed her cheek, looking steadily into her eyes. ‘I will do anything to send her back to you.’

  ‘Don’t make me choose,’ she ordered. ‘Don’t ever make me choose between your life or Adaira’s.’ Her voice was trembling and she closed her eyes, pressing her mouth to his palm.

  ‘It won’t come to that.’ Especially if there was no choice to be made. Any father would willingly sacrifice himself for his child. Just as Tavin had surrendered his own life for Bram.

  When he was a boy, he hadn’t understood it. He’d been the one to find his mother raging over her husband’s body. He’d looked into his father’s sightless eyes, unable to understand why Tavin had taken the sword that was meant for his brother.

  Now he did. And though he planned to do everything possible to survive this, he understood the risk.

  ‘Do you think she’s alive?’ The torment upon Laren’s face carved itself into his heart. He held her close, not wanting to see her anguish.

  ‘She’s alive. Harkirk will use her to get to us.’ But he didn’t doubt that Harkirk would relish the opportunity to kill Adaira in front of him. The thought numbed his heart and he felt Laren’s tears dampening his tunic.

  ‘Be careful.’ Her words were below a whisper, hardly there at all. Then she was kissing him with desperation.

  He tasted the salt of her tears, trying to be the strength she needed right now. She touched his tongue with hers, seeking him, her hands moving beneath his clothing.

  As she drew back the layers that separated them, he helped her until they both lay skin to skin. He felt the transformation in her body, the lushness and beauty of her. Though her waist held only a slight bump, her breasts were fuller.

  Her arms wound around his neck, and he rubbed his hands down her spine, to her lower back. ‘You give me a reason to come back, a ghràidh.’

  And when she pulled him down to love her, he savored every touch, every moment. Knowing it might be their last night together.

  Laren’s eyes were dry as Alex rode away. There was nothing worse than trying to go through each day, when her heart was with her husband and daughter. She wished now that she’d sent Adaira with Mairin to be fostered—at least then her baby would be safe. Her desire to have a little more time with Adaira had resulted in a terrible nightmare.

  She couldn’t even work with her glass any more. Though it had once been an escape, she’d lost her desire to create. Laren spent the first day inside the keep, going through the motions of her duties. When she sat at the wooden trestle table, blue and gold lights shone upon her hands. She looked up and saw that Ross had arranged for one of her windows to be mounted within the keep. The image of the Madonna and Child rested high above them, the sunlight spilling through the colours. The emptiness was sinking deeper, the despair shadowing every aspect of her life.

  Nairna came to spend time with her later that morning, and from the happiness on her face, Laren guessed what the woman was going to say. It made her more determined not to upset her by revealing where Bram and Alex were. Better to let Nairna think they were still negotiating with the MacLachors.

  ‘It’s been nearly two months,’ Nairna said, her voice holding excitement. She rested a hand over her middle, the fervent hope giving her smile a warm glow. ‘But I haven’t been sick at all. Do you think I could be wrong?’

  ‘Some women aren’t ill,’ Laren said. ‘You may be one of the fortunate ones.’ She rested her hand upon her own swelling womb, understanding Nairna’s joy. ‘But I think, yes, you’ll be holding a bairn in your arms, come the winter.’

  Nairna burst into tears and hugged her. Laren moved over on the bench, unable to stand up to return the embrace. ‘It’s all right. I know you’ve wanted this for a long time.’

  ‘I can’t seem to stop crying,’ Nairna wailed. ‘And I know I
should be happy.’

  ‘It doesn’t take much to make a pregnant woman cry.’ Her own eyes dimmed with tears, the worry rising up. She wanted to be with Alex right now, despite the danger. Though he had men of his own and the MacLachors, it wasn’t enough. He’d known it when he’d spent their last night together.

  Something snapped inside of her. Why was she sitting here, waiting for them to die? She’d always hung back, letting others make decisions for her. And if she did nothing, they weren’t going to come back.

  A sudden fire pushed through her. She didn’t have to stay here. They did have other allies. And though she didn’t know the other clans that well, she had silver pieces left over from the window she’d sold.

  She could hire men to help Alex and the others. A surge of energy pushed through her and she rose to her feet. She would start by travelling to speak with Kameron MacKinnon, Lord of Locharr. He’d been a friend and ally in the past. Surely he could grant her a dozen men to help Alex.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Nairna asked. ‘Are you feeling all right?

  Laren ventured a smile. ‘Aye.’ She had a purpose now, to secure defences for the men and help them. All she had to do was assume her true role as Lady of Glen Arrin, lifting her courage to do what had to be done.

  ‘I need to speak with Grizel.’ The older matron had a special friendship with Kameron MacKinnon. It was likely that she would go with Laren to speak with the Baron.

  Nairna sent her a worried look. ‘If you’re wanting to speak with Grizel, then clearly you’re not feeling well at all.’

  Laren only smiled.

  Four days later

  The Baron of Harkirk had added to his holdings, but the fortress was still constructed primarily of wood. With a high tower house and several outbuildings surrounded by a wooden palisade, it would be difficult to infiltrate.

  They had made their camp at the top of a large hill, allowing them to look down inside the fortress. Groups of soldiers trained within the walls while smoke rose from outdoor fires.

  Bram had gone to recruit help from Nairna’s father, Hamish MacPherson, while Callum stared at the walls, his thoughts unreadable.

  ‘Did they cut out his tongue?’ Brochain MacLachor asked. ‘Can’t he tell us anything about their defences?’

  Callum said nothing, but his fingers curled over his bow. Alex made no demands, but he knew his brother understood their words. He put up a hand, shaking his head at the others as he approached his brother. Callum had turned his back and Alex walked up beside him. ‘How many soldiers did Harkirk have, when you were a captive? Two dozen?’

  Callum held up four fingers. Nearly fifty, then.

  ‘How many dozens of slaves?’

  His brother held up only one finger, then signalled a little more.

  Alex rested his hand on Callum’s shoulder, in silent thanks for the information. Callum sat down, adjusting some of his arrows. The black-feathered tips were distinctive and he checked to be sure that his weapons were ready.

  But was it reasonable to ask his brother to return to the fortress where he’d been held prisoner? He didn’t believe it was a good idea at all.

  ‘I want you to stay behind with your bow,’ he said. Callum stiffened, his face transforming with anger. ‘Not because I don’t think you’re capable of fighting,’ he amended. ‘But I don’t trust Harkirk. If we’re taken captive, we need someone on the outside to get us out again.’

  When Callum shook his head in refusal, Alex continued, ‘You need that distance for your arrows.’

  In reply, Callum reached out and seized Alex’s sword, unsheathing it. Though his arms were thin, there was a tight strength there. Alex saw the ruthless determination, the blood vengeance on his brother’s face.

  ‘If I were in your place, I’d feel the same,’ Alex said. He held out his palm for his sword hilt. Callum held the weapon a moment longer before returning it. ‘But unless you can speak to us, you can’t come.’

  A furious resentment lined Callum’s face, his eyes filled with rage, but still he didn’t speak.

  ‘If you were in trouble, you couldn’t call out to us,’ Alex pointed out. ‘And you can’t tell me what I need to know about the fortress and its defences.’

  Callum pointed in the direction where Bram had travelled, to the MacPherson holdings. And he understood what his brother meant. Nairna’s father would know about Harkirk’s weaknesses, well enough.

  His brother turned his attention back to his arrows, refusal evident from his posture. There wasn’t any argument Alex could make that would convince Callum to remain behind. With no other choice, he returned to their camp and sat down.

  Brochain came close and sat across from him. ‘When do you want to confront Harkirk?’

  ‘When it’s dark, we’ll go below into the valley and spread out around the fortress. We need to know if Adaira and Finian are there.’

  ‘What about Iliana?’ Brochain pointed out.

  ‘If she’s alive, we’ll do what we can to get her out,’ Alex said. ‘But if your chief tries to sacrifice my daughter for his, rest assured, I will find him. And he won’t come back alive.’

  Alex adjusted the conical helm and gripped his spear as he entered Harkirk’s fortress. Brochain MacLachor’s men had killed an English soldier who had spied them and Alex had stripped the dead man of his armour. The disguise would allow him to infiltrate the fortress without being recognised, as long as he kept his head down and behaved like one of the others.

  Bram had returned with a few of the MacPherson men and they formed a perimeter around Harkirk’s fortress, searching for Adaira. Alex moved inside, his eyes adjusting to the light from the torches.

  It was nearing midnight, he guessed, from the moon’s position in the sky. There were about a dozen men patrolling the walls, while inside he saw a large tower that likely housed Harkirk’s quarters. Had the MacLachor chief brought Adaira here? Or had he turned back?

  Alex silently walked through the grounds, keeping to the shadows as best he could. Often he joined other soldiers, obeying orders when they sent him to patrol another section of the wall.

  When he reached the interior portion of the fortress, he heard a man gasping for air. In the shadowed corner, he saw a bound prisoner, bleeding upon the stones. His back was raw with lash marks and he was shivering from the winter cold.

  It was the chief, Finian MacLachor. Alex recognised the man who had disguised himself as Father Stephen and his first instinct was to leave the man there to bleed. He deserved death for what he’d done, but he was his best hope for answers. With reluctance, Alex came closer and dropped down on one knee. ‘MacLachor.’

  The man raised his head and recognition dawned in his eyes, before he started to lose consciousness. ‘She’s dead.’

  Alex’s hand tightened on MacLachor’s throat, a rush of fear and fury filling up inside. ‘Adaira?’

  ‘No. My daughter, Iliana. Harkirk has your child,’ the chief said.

  Alex didn’t know whether to be thankful Adaira was still alive or furious that she was now Harkirk’s prisoner. ‘Where is she?’

  Finian’s eyes raised up to the tower, where a lone window overlooked the fortress. ‘Lady Harkirk has her.’ Alex hadn’t known that Harkirk had brought a woman here. It meant that the English intended to settle in Scotland, not as an outpost, but as a permanent location.

  The window was shuttered tight and Alex could see no parapets or battlements nearby to reach the tower. The only way was through the keep…or by climbing up. He dismissed the latter idea, for it would only make him an easy, visible target.

  Alex walked past MacLachor, leaving him there. When he reached the tower, he listened hard, but there came no sound. He knew the other clansmen had surrounded the fortress, but he didn’t dare go inside the tower. Not unless an opportunity presented itself.

  He spent the next few hours patrolling the fortress with the other soldiers, listening and hoping to catch a glimpse of Adaira. It occurred to him that, wi
thout seeing her for himself, he didn’t know if she was truly here. The chief might have been lying, trying to lure him into staying. But then, if it was true he would have alerted Harkirk’s men to Alex’s presence. Instead, he’d held his silence.

  Alex stared back at the man and, in Finian’s broken posture, he saw the mirrored grief he’d felt at David’s death. The chief looked as though he had no desire to live, nor did he care any more.

  Although he was going to regret this, Alex crossed the fortress and unsheathed his knife. ‘You may want to die, but I’ll not grant that wish yet. You’re going to help me get Adaira back.’ He sawed at MacLachor’s ropes, but the man didn’t move, his head hanging down.

  ‘You took an innocent child away from her family and it was all for nothing.’ Alex gripped the man’s wrist, dragging him up. ‘Your daughter may be dead, but mine isn’t. Honour her memory by righting the wrong you committed.’

  Finian’s gaze was empty. ‘There’s nothing I can do.’

  ‘Find her. And bring her back to me,’ Alex ordered.

  The chief stared up at the tower, as if trying to form a decision. ‘There’s one staircase. You’d have a better chance of getting inside than me, with your armour.’

  Before Alex could say another word, one of the captains in the distance barked out a command. ‘Get away from the prisoner and attend your duties!’

  With his face averted, Alex obeyed. MacLachor had fallen to his knees, pretending to still be bound. It was too soon to make a move, not until he’d learned more about his surroundings and the layout of the fortress. But the longer he waited, the greater his chance of being caught.

  Laren retreated into the forest, hardly able to see at all. The moon cast a faint glow, but the clouds veiled it from time to time. She’d ordered Lord Locharr’s men to remain behind until she learned what Alex’s plans were. Using her glass and the silver pieces as payment, she’d hired over three dozen soldiers to help them. She took a single escort with her, Sion MacKinnon, one of Lord Locharr’s most trusted men.