Emma frowned. “Is that how our story ends?”
Lucian brought his lips scandalously close to her ear. “It could end with a betrothal announcement if you’d accept me. I love you, Emma. That night at the Stockholms’ ball, I was dancing with Lady Francine because Nathaniel had avoided doing so. She was embarrassed and upset.” He pulled back to look into her eyes. “There is no one for me but you. And I vow on my honor I would never have continued to court you simply to stop Nathaniel from doing so. You are perfect for me. You make me more than a duke. You make me human. Please say you’ll forgive me and that you’ll marry me.”
“I’ll marry you on two conditions.” Her heart was bursting with joy.
“Name them, darling.”
“First, you must promise to make amends with your brother. I cannot bear to think you two are not speaking because of me.”
“I’ve already spoken with him. He came to me actually, and he was surprisingly not foxed and very regretful when he realized my feelings for you.”
Emma exhaled with relief. “I’m so glad!”
Lucian smiled and brushed a finger down her cheekbone that left her shivering. “What is your other condition, darling?”
“You must promise never to utter the phrase dukes don’t do that ever again.”
“That’s an easy promise,” he replied with a touch of smugness. “There is nothing this duke doesn’t want to do with you. Only you. Forever you.”
Just Released
Wicked Highland Wishes, Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts, Book 2
Prologue
Isle of Mull, Scotland
Duart Castle
1354
Bridgette MacLean was beginning to suspect that God had erred when he had made her a girl. Standing in the courtyard of her home, she tapped her foot as she watched her brother, Alex, laird of the MacLean Clan, ride out of the keep. A dozen of his men followed, including the MacLeod laird and his three younger brothers.
“This is a girl’s fate in life,” she grumbled. “Staying behind while the men have all the merriment. They leave to hunt while we”—she poked herself in the chest—“are ordered to remain at the castle because clot-heid men suppose all girls are helpless creatures. Oh, but men are so braw,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I’m a better shot at sixteen than half the men out there hunting!” She kicked the ground in frustration. A puff of dirt rose up, causing a cloud of dust to swirl around her feet.
“Ye’re nae usually in the habit of talking to yerself, lass,” came the jovial voice of Father Ferguson from behind her.
A blush heated her cheeks as she turned to face the portly, older man. Amused, faded blue eyes met her stare. Father Ferguson raised his bushy gray eyebrows expectantly, and Bridgette cleared her throat.
“I’m nae, ’tis true enough,” she admitted. She inclined her head the direction in which Alex had ridden off. “Alex refused to listen to me any longer, so I was left to grumble to myself.”
Father Ferguson chuckled a deep belly laugh that made Bridgette smile despite her ire. “What’s vexing ye, lass?”
She quirked her mouth, unsure if she should tell him. She didn’t particularly feel like being lectured, and Father Ferguson truly loved to lecture. Yet, the priest was the best man to help her resolve her doubts about God. “I fear God dunnae ken what he was doing when he made me.”
Father Ferguson’s mouth dropped open.
“Never ye mind,” Bridgette rushed out. “I’m being a clot-heid.”
“Nay, lass. Ye surprised me, ’tis all. What’s put such a thought in yer head?”
She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Alex will nae let me hunt with him and the men. He says I’m a woman, and God dunnae fashion women to do such things.” When the priest looked as though he was going to agree with her brother, she went on. “Ye always say God has a divine purpose for each of us,” she said, her tone accusatory.
Father Ferguson gave her a wary look. “Aye, I do.”
“Well God gave me perfect aim with an arrow.” An excited grin pulled at her lips. Why had she not thought of this argument sooner? It was brilliant, and she was fairly certain it was true. “At only fifteen years, he’s made me—a mere woman—a better shot than most grown men.” Father Ferguson backed up a step, as if her words might cause them both to be struck by a bolt of lightning, but she continued. “If God has given me this gift, is it nae a sin nae to use it? Who am I, or even my brother, the great, mighty laird that he is”—she struggled to keep the sarcasm out of her voice—“to refute our Creator’s intention for me?” She was panting with the newfound righteous indignation coursing through her.
“Well I—” Father Ferguson started, but she was far too incensed to allow him to continue.
Words the priest had once proclaimed came to her in a flash. “Ye said we must always abide by what the Lord wants for us.”
Father Ferguson’s shoulders slumped. “Aye, lass,” he grumbled. “I did.”
Triumph flared in her chest. Setting her hands on her hips, she swooped in to finish her argument. “Then, unless ye mean to tell me now that God made an error when he gave me my gift, I should do all in my power to use it.”
The priest gave her a beleaguered look. “God dunnae make errors.”
Impulsively, she rose up on her tiptoes and kissed the priest’s warm, chubby cheek. “Excellent!” she exclaimed and turned away to run to her bedchamber and fetch her bow and arrows.
“Where are ye going, lass?”
She had one foot inside the castle door, but she turned around and looked at the priest. “To hunt, of course!”
Father Ferguson’s eyes grew wide, and he shook his head. “The laird will nae like that.”
“The laird,” she retorted boldly, “will be committing a sin if he denies me my right to do as God wishes me to do. I may be a great many things, but I’m nae a sinner.”
Father Ferguson looked at her dubiously.
“Nae much of one, anyway,” she corrected, her cheeks flaming.
The priest threw up his hands in defeat, and a giggle escaped her as she dashed into the castle, to her bedchamber, and back outside. She was relieved to find Father Ferguson had not stayed to try to stop her. Knowing the priest as she did, he’d probably gone to fetch one of the councilmen to convince her to stay, but the stout priest was slow, and she’d be well away before he returned.
She grinned as she strode across the courtyard, nodding dismissively to the guards. One opened his mouth to speak—likely to try to stop her—but she narrowed her eyes and shook her head at him. His face turned red as he clamped his mouth shut and turned his head away. Emboldened by her second triumph of the day, she straightened her shoulders and marched through the entrance between the high walls that enclosed the courtyard like the future warrior maiden she knew she was.
She carefully picked her way down the steep embankment upon which her home sat, and she hummed to herself. It was nice to have confirmation that she did not need to change, despite her brother demanding she do so last night. Her steps faltered a bit when she imagined how angry Alex would be that she had disobeyed him. Not only had he plainly denied her request to hunt but with the fighting between their clan and the MacKinnon clan these last few months, Alex had given strict orders that no women were to leave castle grounds without a male escort.
She made a derisive noise from deep in her throat as she strode across the grassy, rolling land that led to the woods in the distance.
Let some MacKinnon try to put his hands on me. I’ll shoot him straight between the eyes.
Today she would prove to her brother that she could take care of herself as well as any of his men could. Once she did that, surely he’d finally allow her to go on hunts and train with his archers. Maybe he would even teach her how to wield a sword. It wasn’t as if she was asking to be an archer—not yet, anyway. She knew well it would be difficult, if possible at all, to convince her brother she was truly equal to his men and that he should let
her fight in battles, but she could train with them. She could teach others to be better archers and become a contributing member of the clan. No longer would she be the burden her brother was left to watch over since their parents had died.
The best way she knew to show her brother and his men that she was capable was to track and kill her own wild boar, just as Alex, his men, and the MacLeods were out trying to do now. For six winters she’d been begging to participate in the Winter Wild Boar Hunt, and for six years she’d been unreasonably denied. This was going to be the winter that she won the hunt. Then let her brother try to tell her that her place was in the kitchens.
Pulling the hood of her cloak up to cut the wind, she hastened her steps over the sharp rocks. As she moved down the old familiar paths, she pushed branches out of the way while also scanning the area for signs of the wild boar. She knew her brother and his party were headed for the shores of Loch na Keal. He was certain he would find one of the beasts there. Though the triangular loch gave way to the sea, it was surrounded on two sides by steep cliffs, while leading into the loch was a great plain of flatland. Many crofters had been built there, and Alex was certain it was where the boar had come from and where it would return. If her brother had listened to her, however, he would know that she’d spotted a boar last week in the woods near their castle. But Alex had refused to heed her.
She’d prove she was right.
She walked along a stream for a long spell, crossing it at one point by jumping from rock to rock. In the distance, the woods were a thick, green outline against the sky. By the time she reached the edge of the tall trees, she was warm from the walk and loosened her hold on her cloak.
The muscles of her legs burned as she climbed the gentle hills, and the wind whistled in her ear as rain drizzled down from the suddenly cloudy sky. She climbed over and around stones, scraping her hands as she went, and passed several small waterfalls that hummed in her ears. Heather swirled in the air, and every time she took a deep breath it filled her lungs and left a sweet taste in her mouth. The path she tread was worn, and it led her up a hill into a thick blanket of trees.
She followed the trail deep into the cover of the forest, where the trees blocked out the little bit of sun in the sky and caused shadows to grow around her. The temperature was cooler in the woods, and she pulled her cloak tight around her once again. The normal calls of birds talking died away, replaced with a quiet that sent a shiver down her spine.
She wasn’t easily scared, but there had been talk all her life of these woods being haunted. She glanced all around, seeing nothing suspicious, yet the sense that something was watching her blossomed in her belly and made gooseflesh rise up on her arms and legs. Though she had yet to see the boar, she withdrew her bow, almost instantly feeling better with it in her hands. Dead leaves crunched under her feet as she walked, and she paused where the path split in two. She tried to recollect which way she’d seen the boar, and she thought she heard the distinct sound of another crunch. But she was no longer moving.
She drew her bow back in the same instant that she sucked in a sharp breath. Swinging around, her entire body grew rigid at the thought of what she might face, yet the path was empty. She stared into the dancing shadows and had the oddest feeling that someone was staring back.
“Show yerself, ye coward.”
Her voice echoed around her, seeming overly loud in the utter silence. She drew in four, long, measured breaths to calm herself, yet the hairs on the back of her neck prickled, and her stomach clenched. “Quit being so scairt,” she admonished herself. “Ye’re alone, ye wee clot-heid.”
With that reproach, she swung back around and nearly screamed. A man with the height of a tree and the width of a thick trunk stared down at her. He smiled, displaying a mouth full of rotten teeth. The skin over his cheekbones and nose was stretched thin, as if there was hardly enough of it to cover his bones. His nose had a crooked twist to it, and a bone that protruded up under the tight skin, making it appear white in the spot where the sharp bone was. A wave of disgust rolled through her.
“Move out of my way,” she commanded in as firm a voice as she could manage. When he didn’t budge, she pulled back the string of her bow. “Move now, or I’ll shoot ye between yer beady brown eyes.”
“Ye can try,” he answered, his voice deep and abrasive. “But ye’ll find it hard without a bow.”
“What foolishness do ye—”
The sentence died on her lips as someone grabbed her arm from behind, jerked it upward and caused the bow to snap and the arrow to fly toward the sky. She made a grab for her bow, but it was snatched out of her hands before she could get a firm grip. The weapon left a slit in her hand as it slid away from her. Dismay filled her as the arrow landed uselessly some distance away. The realization that she had been rendered weaponless caused her heart to explode, unleashing fear in her chest. She gulped it back, swung around to face her other enemy, and felt her knees weaken when she beheld the angular, grim face of Hugh MacKinnon, cousin to the MacKinnon laird and her brother’s greatest enemy. The fool was trying to steal Alex’s land.
When Bridgette’s gaze locked with Hugh’s, he lunged for her, and she stumbled backward, barely out of his reach. Outrunning them was her only chance. She turned to dash through the thicket of trees, and just as she made it to the hill and started to climb, Hugh clasped her by the waist and yanked her down the hill again. She threw her head back, and it connected with something hard. Hugh released her, and she lurched forward, tripping and going down on her knees.
He grabbed her by the leg and tugged her belly-first over gnarled tree roots and twigs before she was flipped over. He loomed over her, his greasy hair swinging on either side of his face. She bucked upward, but he knocked her back to the ground with one palm, then pinned her to the earth with a knee over her legs and his hands on her shoulders.
“Yer brother took land from us, and now I’m going to take from him. Yer innocence is the first thing I’ll be taking.”
As Hugh lowered his face to hers and kissed her, invading her mouth, Bridgette let out a muffled scream of pure rage and disgust. When he pulled back with a chuckle, his face still very near hers, she didn’t hesitate. She drove her forehead into his, their skulls cracking loudly and sending a stab of sharp pain down the sides of her face. Hugh fell off her and to the side, where he sat cradling his head.
She scrambled up to run, and just as she was about to make her escape, a fearful war cry rent the air. Lachlan MacLeod came charging through the woods wielding his arrow and wearing an expression of menace that stole her breath and froze her in awe.
At the terror-filled scream of a woman, Lachlan MacLeod had abandoned his hunt for the wild boar and made his way quickly toward the sounds of distress. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find, but as he charged into the thick woods and spotted Bridgette MacLean, eyes wide, with two large men closing in on her, he had to shake off his shock at finding her out of the castle.
Dismissing the surprise from his mind, he charged toward the men, raising his sword high.
He met his first opponent blade to blade, and the clash of steel echoed in his ears. He advanced swiftly, bringing his foe’s blade low and exposing his belly. Lachlan was swifter and stronger than his enemy. As the man struggled to lift his sword, Lachlan knocked it out of the man’s hands, caught it with his foot, and propelled it into the air so he could grasp it. The man gaped at Lachlan with fearful eyes.
“Away with ye,” Lachlan snarled, giving the man a slice across the chest that drew blood but was not fatal. “The next strike will fell ye if ye remain here.”
As the man scurried away, Lachlan sensed movement behind him.
“Lachlan!” Bridgette screamed.
He swung around and stilled at the sight of Hugh MacKinnon holding Bridgette, who was fighting like a rabid dog, in front of him like a human shield. Hugh’s show of cowardice surprised Lachlan, but Bridgette’s fiery resistance did not. The appearance of the scruffy g
irl he remembered from the last visit he and his brothers had made to the MacLean hold two winters ago may have been gone and replaced by a beautiful young woman, but inwardly Bridgette still appeared to be unlike any other. She had a will to match any man’s and an almost palpable dislike for her role as a woman. Lachlan searched Bridgette’s face to see if she was frightened and was pleased when rage-filled eyes met his.
“Ye’re a coward to use a lass as a shield, Hugh,” Lachlan said to draw the man’s attention as much as to give himself time to decide how to strike.
“I’m wise, nae a coward,” the man snarled.
“Dispense with yer talking, will ye?” Bridgette demanded, her blazing green gaze piercing Lachlan. With that command, she suddenly drove her foot backward and up into Hugh’s groin, causing him to howl in pain and release her.
Lachlan admired the expertly placed maneuver for one brief moment before he darted to Hugh’s side and sent his sword down into the burly man’s foot, gave it a twist, and then jerked it out. Hugh drew his own sword upward, and when he did, Lachlan rammed the hilt of his dagger into the man’s nose. A crack resounded in the air, and Hugh let out a howl as he doubled over in pain, dropping his sword. Lachlan quickly knocked him over the head with the hilt of his sword and watched with pleasure as Hugh crumpled to the ground in a forced sleep.
Bridgette stepped to Lachlan’s side, staring at Hugh for a long spell. Clucking her tongue, she bent down, picked up the man’s sword with some effort, and dragged it away from him. When she turned back to Lachlan, he was surprised at the accusatory, angry look she gave him. “Ye should have let me gut him. ’Twas my right. But I kinnae gut a defenseless man.”
“Is it nae traditional to thank a man who saves yer life?” Lachlan asked, half-amused at her anger and half-curious at her reaction.
It's In The Duke's Kiss: A Danby Regency Novella Page 13
