Highland Heartbreakers

by Quinn, Paula

  “I would like the fish.”

  He gave her a piece of cloth filled with meat. “Keep it with you on the horse,” he suggested. “Unless you are more comfortable with me.”

  She’d never ridden at night before. And there did seem to be an advantage to staying with Petro. She felt safe. But she said, “I will ride my own horse.”

  “Very well,” he said. “We should go then, I do not like staying in one place too long.”

  She’d travel all night if he wished it. The sooner she completed her business with the earl, the quicker she could return home. As long as Alex would take her back.

  *

  After a long night of drinking too much ale and arguing with his father-in-law, Alex stumbled up the stairs to his bedchamber. He welcomed a good night’s sleep. Keely had grown weary of the feast and retired early. Smart lass. It had taken a great amount of patience to entertain Laird Oliphant. Even his sons had abandoned them eventually.

  The two guards posted in the passageway bowed, and Alex grunted as he opened the door. Not wanting to wake his wife, he unlaced and kicked off his boots. The warmth from the fire beckoned him, and he crossed the space as quietly as he could and sat in one of the padded chairs in front of the hearth. He folded his arms over his broad chest, rethinking everything he’d spoken to Laird Oliphant about. The one good thing to come out of their drunken revelry? A renewed treaty. The MacKays and Oliphants would stay allies.

  Joining forces with the Gunns, Sinclairs, MacLeods, and if God willed it, the Keiths, the Sutherlands would have a difficult time attacking any of them again. It had been Alex’s idea to organize mixed patrols. An equal number of soldiers from each clan working together to keep their borders secure. The men would work on two-month long shifts. Laird Oliphant would host a meeting with all the lairds at his keep as soon as it could be arranged.

  “Damn the bastard,” he said aloud, “he still hasna blessed my marriage.”

  Would his father-in-law ever accept it? Or maybe he simply liked keeping Alex guessing, for the man had a twisted sense of humor. And as for the payment he demanded, Alex would simply offer Keely’s dowry back, though he hated to part with the land she brought with her to Clan MacKay.

  He yawned and scrubbed his chin, his eyes as dry as the desert. The days and nights were bleeding together, lately. There had been so much to do, and still was. Enough men had been hired to construct the walls for the west villages, and several dozen new recruits had arrived in the last week. Good men, from what Alex had seen. Jamie would be leaving tomorrow. There could be no regrets about sending his cousin. He loved and respected him more than he had his own brother, John.

  “And ye can rot,” he said with a single tear rolling down his cheek. Aye, old feelings had resurfaced for his brother lately. Emotions he’d never admit to anyone but couldna deny himself. He blamed the ale.

  Thirsty, he stood and walked to the table where a pitcher of water and cups were always kept. As he poured himself a drink, he gazed at the bed. He loved to see Keely’s dark hair fanned out across the pillows when she slept. He liked to tangle his fingers in her silky tresses and get lost in her sweet scent while he thrust inside of her and made her sigh with pleasure. Maybe he should wake her up after all…

  The bed was empty! He dropped his cup on the floor and rushed to the bedside.

  “Fook!”

  The guards banged on the door.

  Alex hadna barred it yet.

  “Graham. Neil. Get in here!”

  The men stormed inside, took one look at him and the empty bed and knew immediately what to do.

  “She takes the air sometimes,” Neil offered.

  “Likes to sit by the loch, too,” Graham added.

  “Where is Leah?” Alex seethed.

  “I doona know, milord,” Graham answered.

  “Find her. Find my bloody wife!”

  The soldiers departed, leaving Alex alone.

  The ale-induced fog in his mind was clearing quickly as anger took hold. The lass had done it again. Aye, she’d fooled him, and tricked her own sire, too. She wasna taking the air at the loch. Not at this time of night. The guards at the gates wouldna let her through. His instructions had been the same since the day of her arrival. His wife must have an escort at all times.

  Glad he hadna undressed yet, he grabbed his boots, shoved his feet inside, and laced them up. Keely MacKay would regret the day she was born—the day she showed her face to him again. Damn him for falling for it, for believing she’d changed, for allowing himself to care about her.

  Alex left his bedchamber and went to his mother’s old suite. He kicked the bloody door open, knowing already that he wouldna find his wife within. Empty. He turned and started banging on every door, including Laird Oliphant’s chamber. It took several moments, but the drunk laird threw the door open, his sword in hand.

  “What is it, MacKay?”

  Rage boiled over inside Alex as he stared at his wife’s sire—a reminder of who and what she was. Without thinking twice about it, Alex punched the man in the face.

  Built as thick as a tree trunk, the force of the blow only made Laird Oliphant angry. He rubbed his jaw and narrowed his eyes. “Are ye mad, MacKay?”

  “Aye—a raving lunatic.”

  Keely’s sire grinned and came at Alex. His meaty fist connected with Alex’s gut.

  Alex grunted and retaliated with a combination of punches. But Laird Oliphant was just as strong; he popped Alex in the mouth. Alex tasted blood, which only made him more determined to knock the fool out. This was his fault. Laird Oliphant had ruined his life by taking his daughter away from him the first time.

  “Father! Alex! What are ye doing?” Broc wedged himself between them. “What is this about?”

  Out of breath and shaking uncontrollably, Alex reached around Broc and boxed Laird Oliphant’s ear.

  “Bod an Donais!” the laird hissed.

  “Ye’re drunk idiots,” Broc said.

  Jamie and several of the Oliphant guards finally pulled them apart.

  Alex fought to get loose, but Jamie and Broc held on tight.

  “What happened here?” Mathe asked. “Did Laird Oliphant attack ye?”

  “Nay.”

  “The bastard knocked on my door and struck me when I opened it,” his father-in-law explained.

  “Is that the truth?” Mathe eyed his laird. “Tell me it isna, please.”

  “Get yer fooking hands off me,” Alex demanded, able to jerk himself free. “My wife is missing. Organize search parties. Find her.”

  The MacKay and Oliphant guards dispersed.

  “Do ye have a hand in this?” Alex asked scathingly.

  Laird Oliphant snorted. “If I wanted my daughter to leave this place, I’d not do it in the middle of the night like a coward. We’d walk out the front doors in the morning.”

  Alex clenched his hands, the urge to hit the laird growing.

  “My father is telling the truth, Alex,” Broc said.

  “And why should I believe ye?”

  “Will ye walk with me?” Broc asked.

  Alex swallowed the bile in his throat and wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Aye.”

  “Father?” Broc gazed at his da. “I think ye should get dressed. We need to find Keely.”

  The old man threw Alex a disgusted look before he retreated back to his room and slammed the door.

  “Never strike my sire again without cause.”

  Alex sized his brother-in-law up. The man had earned his respect and had every right to defend his father. Though Alex wouldna directly apologize, he nodded.

  It was enough to satisfy Broc. “I know my sire is difficult enough to make anyone want to punch him. But he fully intends to bless your union with my sister.”

  “Then why has he waited so long?”

  Broc shrugged. “He drinks enough ale to ferment his own mind. I canna give ye a reasonable answer.”

  They could finish this conversation lat
er. Alex wanted to find his wife. “Ride with me.”

  Broc gripped Alex’s upper arm. “Aye.”

  They hurried belowstairs where a number of the guards had gathered in the main hall. Jamie and Mathe were busy organizing the search parties. There was nothing for Alex to do. He gestured at Broc.

  “We can cover more ground alone.”

  Broc agreed and crossed himself. “May the Lord have mercy on us and my sister. Because unless she’s been kidnapped, I’ll throttle her myself.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  They had crossed into Sutherland territory an hour ago. Keely knew her way to Dunrobin Castle, but in case she forgot, Petro had brought a map with him. It would take three days of hard riding to reach their destination. Though she was comfortable astride a horse, she dinna have the physical strength required to gallop over the unforgiving terrain without stopping often. The weather had deteriorated – the sun was hidden behind thick, gray clouds and a steady rain pelted her already soaked clothes.

  Petro slowed his mount and waited for her to catch up. “Tis time to rest, Lady Keely.”

  “Not yet,” she said.

  The scholar gazed heavenward. “If I am a fair judge of the signs in the sky, this light rain is only the beginning. We should seek shelter.”

  Villages were located between there and Dunrobin, but the closest was still half a day’s ride away. Caves and the occasional hut could also be found, but Keely dinna want to waste their precious time finding one. If the scholar could brave the elements, she too must try.

  “I am willing to keep riding, Petro.”

  He refused and dismounted. “Your safety is my first priority. If anything happened to you, Alex would never forgive me, and I surely would not be able to live with myself.”

  His caring touched her heart.

  “Climb down,” he directed. “I will build a fire and we can eat.”

  She did as he asked, and followed him inside a copse where they’d take cover from the storm. She tied her horse to one of the trees and waited for Petro to build a fire. Keely liked to travel. The raw beauty of the Highlands had always called to her. Could any place be more blessed by the Almighty?

  “Ye said the Highlands remind ye of home?”

  “Aye,” Petro said. “Not Rome, but my family’s estate in the countryside. There’s fields of grapes and figs. Vegetable gardens and fragrant flowers. The women go barefoot and bathe in the golden sunshine. The men wear sandals in the field at harvest time, their baskets overflowing with the bounty of the earth.”

  Keely tried to picture the place in her mind. “It sounds like paradise.”

  “Perhaps for another man.”

  “The memory of yer wife and son keeps ye from going back?”

  “Aye,” he said. “I buried them on our property behind the cottage and erected a monument stone with their names on it. I planted her favorite blooms… jasmine, crocuses, and violets, so she would always remember the happiness we shared. I spent months sitting by their graves, wondering what to do with my life. If I should remarry and start a new family. But my heart wasn’t ready. And I refuse to wed a woman I do not love.”

  The man should be a poet, not a secretary. She swiped the tears from her eyes. “What I would give for that kind of love.”

  Petro finished building the fire, wiped his hands on his breeches, and settled beside her on the ground. “You are closer to it than you think.”

  “Are all Italians so optimistic?”

  He grinned. “We are a passionate people.”

  “After years of war with England and constant clashes between the clans, the Scots have grown cynical and disappointingly practical when it comes to love.”

  “You are mistaken, Lady Keely.”

  “How so?”

  “I do not know of another place that allows handfasting.”

  Keely shrugged. “There is nothing special about it. In the absence of a priest, a man and woman can declare themselves as married. It is an old tradition that many clans rely upon to secure treaties and preserve their bloodlines. There are those that take advantage and seduce maidens on the promise of holy wedlock.”

  “Nay,” he disagreed. “In the heat of passion when a man desires a woman so fiercely and knows he cannot have her without making her his wife first – this is the sole purpose of handfasting, to preserve honor, to make the marriage bed holy.”

  Once again, his words astounded her. “I doona think ye’re Italian, Petro.”

  “Nay?”

  “I believe ye came from a faerie mound.”

  He chuckled. “I am too dark and ugly to be a magical creature.”

  “Ugly?” Toads were ugly. Insects were ugly. “Ye are a striking man.”

  Petro snorted. “And you are blind.”

  “Glenna likes ye.”

  “Aye,” he confirmed. “I said I was ugly, not a bad lover.”

  He handed her a wineskin and she gladly took a drink—it warmed her insides. Then she ate a handful of venison and a piece of bread. As Petro had predicted, it started to rain harder and the winds picked up. She shivered and pulled her cloak tight around her shoulders.

  “You are cold and tired.” Petro unhooked his own cloak and offered it to her. “Sleep. I will keep watch.”

  “Thank ye.” She could use a short nap. With the added warmth of his cloak, she curled into a ball and rested her cheek on her hands. She wondered if Alex had discovered her missing yet—if he believed she abandoned him again. If the man would only take the time to talk to her, to think about how easily she married him, that she’d opened up her arms on their wedding night and gave her body freely to him, he’d realize she’d actually chosen him as her husband.

  She yawned and closed her eyes. There was time to worry about Alex tomorrow, after she settled things with the earl and Struan.

  *

  Sutherland territory

  The bad weather dinna dissuade Struan Sutherland from wanting to accomplish what he’d set out to do. Failure wasna an option. He’d been tracking the MacKays for over a week and keeping watch for any sign of Keely. His men were wet and tired, but there was time for comfort after they completed their task. They stayed in a camp just over the Sutherland border, a day’s ride from the MacKay keep.

  Just a mile away from his own camp, he’d spotted a fire while out on patrol. Many traveled this way and went unnoticed. And since the last attack on the MacKays, tensions were high on both sides. Struan knew the new laird would strike back at any time.

  “I will ride ahead,” he told his captain. “If they are MacKays, I will ride back and get ye.”

  As Struan cautiously advanced, he recalled the exchange he’d had with his sire before he left Dunrobin Castle. The earl dinna love him, and Struan dinna love his father, but he respected him for the powerful man he was. And his future depended on his actions now.

  “Ye’re a worthless bastard,” the earl thundered at his son.

  Aye, Struan thought as he waited for his sire to calm down, I am that. A bloody bastard who had high ambitions, especially when it came to Keely Oliphant. She’d all but promised to marry him—spending hours with him—laughing at his jokes—sitting next to him at supper—dancing with him on feast days—always smiling whenever she saw him. Either the lady had been stringing Struan along to secure her place in his sire’s home or she cared for him. If the latter, he would do whatever he must to claim her as his bride.

  The earl shook the parchment in his hand. “We are expected to wait on the lady. She will visit us at her earliest convenience. And the missive doesna even bear her mark, it is the signature of the MacKay secretary.”

  Struan snatched the letter from his father’s hand and read it.

  The news of her marriage to Laird Alexander MacKay twisted his stomach with hatred. He’d never met the man before, but had heard enough stories to know him as a dishonorable sort. The kind of man Struan wouldna think twice about killing.

  “Her dowry,” his father continued,
“more specifically, that fertile stretch of land between the Oliphant holdings and Clan Gunn, would have been tactically useful. More than ye know.”

  “I will bring her back.”

  “Oh, aye?” His father moved closer. “How?”

  “Instead of waiting on Keely to come to us, give me a retinue and I will ride for the MacKay keep.”

  “Do ye plan on walking through the gates and demanding her back?”

  “If that’s what it takes.”

  The earl grabbed a fistful of his son’s tunic and gave him a violent shake. “Fool. Do ye not know who Alex MacKay is? Where he’s been?”

  “Constantinople.”

  “Aye—fighting for the bloodthirsty barbarians. He’s hard as steel, lad. Not pampered like ye.”

  Struan adjusted his collar. “If not a direct confrontation, allow me to spy on the MacKays, to get a feel for their daily routine. If I can take the lass, I will. And once she’s back here…”

  “She’s been plucked and eaten,” the earl said. “No longer a maiden.”

  Struan thought virgins were overvalued. Give him a lass who knew what she wanted, who could ride him, aye, he’d die a happy man. “I care little for such things. If anything, Laird MacKay has done me a favor by breaking her in.”

  His father frowned. “Do what ye must, Struan. And if ye fail, so help me, I’ll regret the day I took mercy on yer life and claimed ye as my own.”

  Struan bowed and backed out of his sire’s solar.

  Though his father ruled his clan with an iron fist, he couldna control everything. The Sutherland holdings were vast, and not all of his tenants were as dedicated as they should be. Gold bought loyalty in the Highlands. And Struan had successfully organized a band of highwaymen three years ago. Robbing unsuspecting travelers was easy enough, and Struan had amassed a small fortune.

  Politics hadn’t inspired Struan to become a notorious thief. Nay, pure boredom had driven him to such extremes. Aye, he trained in the bailey every morning and could swing a sword and shoot an arrow as straight as any man. But he wanted more—needed more. Though his father’s noble blood tamed him some, twas his mother’s inferior family line that defined him. His maternal grandfather had been hung for piracy in Ireland twenty years ago.