When Highland Lightning Strikes

by Willa Blair

  “I’m Christina,” she offered. “And ye are new here. I saw ye by the wall a little while ago.”

  “I’m Shona.” She took a breath to steady her nerves. She shouldn’t let the confrontation with her admirer make her jump at shadows. Christina’s comment seemed friendly, rather than prying, but to deflect attention away from herself, she asked, “What do ye think of the candidates?”

  “Angus has earned the job, but Colin may win it.” Christina lowered her voice and leaned closer. “Some say he has several of the Council under his thumb.” Then she shrugged, as if dismissing the rumors. “Have ye met either of them?”

  Shona shook her head. “I dinna believe so.” She glanced aside. Christina might be shocked to learn how she dreaded her eventual meeting with one of them.

  “Ye’d recall Angus if ye had. He’s a braw lad. A doer. And, I must say,” she declared with a grin, “a pleasure to look upon. Why some lass hasna snatched him up e’er now…well, ’tis beyond my ken. Colin is older and given to blather.” She rolled her eyes and laughed, adding, “Which might also be a useful trait in a laird.”

  “Do ye favor one of them?” Though tempted to ask Christina to point out Angus, she hesitated, fearing the braw, comely candidate might be the man she’d already met…with disastrous results. What would she do if he won?

  Christina didn’t get a chance to answer. The elder raised his voice to announce the vote would be taken. The conversational rumble stilled. Shona made herself small and listened. The elder called two names in turn. Tucked behind the group of women, she could no longer see the front of the crowd or whether the men named joined the elder on his rocky platform. Hands went up and down and the crowd around her grumbled or cheered at the showing for each. After the elder spoke again, cheering erupted. She still did not know which of the men were the candidates, much less who had won. Frustrated, Shona resisted the urge to rise onto her toes to better see what had happened. She’d be too visible.

  Her attempt to remain unnoticed hadn’t mattered. Her uncle spotted her and headed her way. In a moment, he reached her.

  “Come along, lass.” He grabbed her arm. “’Tis time to meet the new laird.”

  He seemed more brusque than usual. Could he have found out what she’d done? Nay, he’d have plenty to say if he knew. Perhaps he was anxious about making this introduction.

  She gave Christina an apologetic shrug and got a nod in return. Seamus dragged her forward just as the clan elder invited the new laird up to speak to the clan. She stumbled and nearly fell when she saw the man who stepped onto the flat-topped stone. Her uncle’s grip on her arm kept her upright and he swore at her, a low, vicious sound.

  “Now is no’ the time for ye to become clumsy as a newborn lamb! He can see ye.”

  Indeed, he could. Shona quailed, wishing she could slip into the crowd and disappear. At least for now, the new laird was busy. Her introduction, and her uncle’s plans, would have to wait.

  ****

  “Ye’re a free man, my friend,” Brodric said, slapping Angus on the back.

  At least his back had dried some in the breeze and wasn’t sopping as it had been when Murdo slapped him there before the vote. Brodric didn’t cringe. He simply stepped aside for James and Donald to offer their condolences.

  “Stay sharp, lad,” Donald told him with a sniff as he offered his hand. “Yer time will come.” With a laugh, he added, “I hope ye’ll be sober by then.”

  Angus grimaced and accepted the teasing, knowing he should at least be disappointed, or even angry, at the result, but deep down, relief made him numb to more negative emotions. Brodric was right. He was free! Disappointed. Embarrassed. Reeking of ale and angry the clan had rejected him after his leadership over the last several months. But free.

  “I didna expect the vote to go against ye,” Brodric continued when the crowd around them thinned, his voice filling the space left by Angus’s silence. He rolled his eyes as the breeze blew from Angus to him. “Did ye have to drink enough to drown yerself, then?”

  “Nor I,” Angus finally answered, ignoring Brodic’s well-placed barb. He had his gaze on the well-wishers now gathered around Colin, the new Laird MacAnalen. “It seems I’ve spent the last six months making enemies.”

  After all he had done for them, he’d thought most would be happy to see him confirmed as the clan’s chief. He pressed his lips together, determined to hold back the denial filling his belly and threatening to erupt in a string of curses he knew he’d regret. He would not sully his reputation, or his dead brother’s, with such dishonorable conduct. He’d done too much good to throw it all away today, no matter the provocation.

  When the ragtag lowlander army occupied MacAnalen land last autumn, he’d helped Toran, the visiting Lathan laird, escape. They’d freed the MacAnalen captives, then Angus had led them to safety. He’d taken on the laird’s duties for his missing brother. He’d set aside his grief to work with the council elders when Gregor had been found nearly dead, and the Lathan healer had been unable to save him. He’d worked tirelessly for the good of the clan, leading the effort to rebuild what the invaders had razed before they’d moved on to lay siege to the Lathans’ Aerie. The clan had survived, even prospered, during the long winter.

  And what had Colin done during that time? Angus snorted. Colin had done as little as possible except nurse his long-standing grudge against Gregor for winning the lairdship instead of him. He’d quietly pointed out every delay, every mistake, every fault he could find to paint Angus as too young and too inexperienced to take over his dead brother’s duties. How any in the clan, in the face of what Angus had accomplished, could accept Colin’s twisted version of events and vote for him, Angus failed to understand. Even worse, Angus heard Colin was behind the slanderous rumor that Gregor had been found by the lake because he’d fled there to avoid capture while his people fought and died. Angus clenched his fists against the useless fury that aroused, then forced his hands open, feigning indifference. People watched his every move today. He could not prove Colin’s perfidy, so he was forced to accept the will of the clan. And swallow his own outrage.

  “Nay, laddie,” Brodric objected. “I think the manner of Gregor’s passing did ye a great disservice. Ye shouldha been chosen to replace him. I expect the rumors took just enough support away from ye…”

  “And if I could prove Colin started the rumors, things would be different now. But ye ken I canna. Worse, Colin kens I canna. He laughed in my face when I confronted him, weeks ago, and warned him to stop.”

  “Ye’re lucky he only laughed. He’s a lazy sod, but he’s good with a dirk.” Brodric glanced around, then added, “And he’s cunning as hell. I’d wager he’s got a few of the Council under his control, especially if he caught them doin’ anythin’ they’d rather no’ confess.”

  Angus looked around him, struggling to put Colin out of his mind. If he could focus on the clan’s accomplishments, he might yet get through this day. They’d made a great deal of progress, thanks in part to a lowlander mason who’d remained with them once the army’s defeat sent most of the survivors running south. Most families now had their own dwellings, and the smiths had places to work. The great hall, built in the style of a Viking longhouse, was the last structure still unfinished. But with the advent of spring, the elders insisted it was time to confirm a new laird, even though the structure that should have been their meeting-place was only half done. They’d gone long enough without the decision being made.

  “What’s done is done.” Angus pressed his lips into a thin white line, then shrugged and blew out a breath. “I did what I could to pull the clan together and rebuild. I’ll no’ fight Colin for the job, no matter how he got it. The Council has decided, so the clan has decided.” Aye, he was angry and disappointed—or his pride was—but he’d get over that, eventually.

  “Bugger them. We’ll split another bottle once this ceilidh is over. Whisky will improve yer outlook.”

  Angus was about to reply when se
veral more men approached. Their condolences and expressions of support helped soothe his ravaged pride…somewhat. Brodric stood by, arms folded over his chest, keeping an eye on the crowd as Angus responded to teasing and sincere comments alike. He’d stood by Angus since the lowlander invasion—working, drinking, and fighting just as fiercely as Angus to get the clan through the winter. Angus appreciated the way Brodric still stood with him, even in his defeat.

  But this time, his suggestion of more whisky would not help. Angus wanted a different distraction from this setback. One with blazing hair, deep brown eyes, and lips he longed to taste. He spotted Shona in the crowd. Her uncle seemed to be urging, nay, pulling her toward Colin, and Angus suddenly realized what she’d meant when she said he would not suit her uncle’s plans for her.

  Seamus meant to marry her off to the new laird. He hadn’t cared who got the job.

  Of course, she could not have known then who Angus was…or might have become.

  He kept cutting his gaze to her even as he acknowledged his well-wishers’ greetings. He would not let his dismay show. Not over the election, nor over losing Shona before he had a chance to win her, if Seamus had his way.

  A swirl of breeze carried the tang that reminded him how he’d embarrassed himself. He kept up a brave face, certain his people must be relieved Colin had won. He would carry the smell of the puddle Shona had pitched him into until he stripped and jumped in the loch. Not that he hadn’t deserved getting flattened—he just couldn’t fathom how she’d accomplished that feat. He had to outweigh her by several stone. The puddle lay a number of feet behind where he’d stood. For him to stumble back so far, the whisky and ale he’d consumed must have made his head swim, even if only for a moment.

  So here he stood, with a host of disappointments. Not the laird. That hurt the most. Reeking from ale he had not consumed, eyeing a lass he’d not kissed, outside a structure he had not finished. Six months of hard work, and he had nothing to show for it.

  Not the way he expected this day to go, not at all.

  On the other hand, the lass’s arrival might yet become a boon he’d not foreseen. He might be able to forgive Seamus’s lack of support for his candidacy if, he reminded himself, only if Seamus’s plan to betroth her to Colin fell apart. Thoughts of stealing the lass ran through his mind, and he nearly chuckled aloud. Bride stealing was usually accomplished by carrying off a lass from another clan, not one’s own. He shook his head at the impracticality of hiding a bride from the very people they both lived among. He hoped he’d have a chance to pursue her before her uncle betrothed her to Colin, or to some other crony. But to do so, he’d better sober up. And quickly.

  Colin climbed onto the stone old Luthais had used as a platform, and started his acceptance speech. Angus ignored him, suddenly aware Shona and her uncle had moved—where? He had no chance to look before he heard Colin mentioning his name. He straightened his spine, cleared his throat, and stood his ground. Despite wanting to put a good face on his loss, he could not climb the rock to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Colin. Not yet. Maybe never. Using Shona’s way with an economy of words, he managed to choke out a brief concession speech. Not quite three words, like her initial replies to his questions, but he couldn’t manage many more than that. He’d been certain he would win.

  When he finished, he searched the crowd, not to see the effect of his words, but to find the lass, counting on the sight of her face to remind him some good might yet come of this day. Ah, there. He spotted her as Colin resumed droning on. Seamus loomed over her, making short, terse gestures, his expression fierce. Shona’s seemed equally determined as she backed away from him. Clearly, she was not interested in whatever her uncle wanted her to do. But Seamus was not touching her, and their disagreement had not come to blows, so Angus had no excuse to intervene.

  Given the chance, he’d probably berate her, too, for pushing him, arsy-versy, into a puddle of ale just before the most important moment of his life—and his biggest disappointment. Given what followed, she might as well have shoved him into a loch full of the stuff. How many smelled the ale on him, saw him being teased for it, decided Colin was right—he was too immature and out of control, and so voted against him?

  Nay, his indignation was unwarranted. He should not have indulged himself as he had, tossing back both ale and whisky offered by well-meaning supporters. Nor should he have indulged himself with Shona. He’d given her every reason to push him away. It was his bad luck he’d landed as he had…where he had. Added to the credence many gave to Colin’s half-truths about Gregor…Angus had lost the election as much as Colin had won it.

  Besides, there were other things he’d rather do than shout at Shona. Like kiss her senseless, which had been his first inclination, one that remained with him. He couldn’t explain why, but he’d craved her the moment he first saw her.

  She caught Angus’s gaze on her and paled.

  He saluted her with a brief nod, promising much with his smile, then fought back a wider grin when she turned and ran into the woods. Aye, she was worried, as well she should be. Not that he had any plans to harm her. Quite the opposite. He would enjoy pursuing her. And he would figure out how she’d pitched him into a puddle of ale several feet behind him.

  Angus sympathized with her uncle, who stared after her, hands on hips, obviously exasperated. She promised to be an exasperating, fascinating challenge.

  Chapter Two

  Shona spent the rest of the day with Christina and the other women, avoiding Seamus, and listening to them talk about the new laird and the man who had lost. Angus. Her admirer. Despite their encounter, he’d charmed her. He was handsome enough, with his dark hair and dark eyes. His tipsy grin. He’d been earnest in his efforts to get to know her. She’d be flattered if she didn’t suspect the whisky had a great deal to do with how eager he’d been. Still, she might enjoy getting to know him when he wasn’t prematurely celebrating. And since he had not been elected laird, being with him would not place her under the intense scrutiny the laird’s wife would have to bear, which added to his attractiveness.

  She’d seen no sign of her uncle for hours. Then, just as she began to relax her vigilance, he arrived.

  “Come with me,” he demanded, giving her no explanation.

  But she knew why the moment she saw the new laird standing with the group she’d already begun to think of as his men. She hadn’t seen any of them do anything but talk and drink. Added to the time Colin now spent in consultation with the clan elders, the other women said he did no useful labor at all. Shona decided if his greatest skill was conversation, that might explain how he got elected. She didn’t understand how the clan could pick him over Angus, but she was new here, and there was much she’d yet to learn.

  Uncle Seamus brought her forward, one hand gripping her upper arm, making it clear he would not allow her to run from this encounter. In moments, they stood before the new laird, and Seamus made the introductions. Shona did not like the gleam in Colin’s eye as he studied her, no doubt already contemplating taking his pleasure with her. His breath smelled of whisky and something sour. Revulsion made her stomach twist. She maintained her downcast eyes and stiff posture, trying to ensure he understood she was a good deal less enthusiastic about this proposed match than her uncle’s swagger suggested.

  “Seamus, what is this?”

  His question startled and unsettled her, making her blood run cold. What is this? Not who?

  “Ye may have seen my niece, Shona, around the village in the last few days,” Seamus answered. “I thought it fitting to introduce her quickly to the new laird. A comely lass, is she no’?”

  Colin’s gaze lingered, and Shona fought back a shudder.

  “Sadly,” Seamus continued, “she’s an orphan. Her village suffered a great deal of destruction under the invaders, as did ours. I’m her last living relative. Her guardian.”

  Shona didn’t miss the implication. Nor did Colin.

  “Well, then,” Colin said with a sm
ile bordering on a leer, “ye’ll be charged with finding her a suitable husband.” He took her chin in one hand, tilting her head from side to side.

  Shona tried to step out of his grip, but her uncle held her firmly in place, forcing her to suffer Colin’s inspection. She suddenly had a sense of how a brood mare must feel. Though his touch was not truly improper, she felt violated. Angry heat started to simmer low in her belly, and she had no doubt her cheeks were stained red with it. She desperately wanted to escape his manipulation, but she dared not expose her ability. And her uncle’s tight grip warned her to keep her silence. She settled for breathing through her nose, nostrils flared, and narrowing her eyes at the new MacAnalen laird.

  “Oh ho!” he exclaimed, raising an eyebrow, then turning his attention to Seamus. “The lass has spirit. I like that.”

  He released her chin, and Shona turned her scowl on her uncle, but he ignored her.

  “Were I no’ laird,” Colin continued, “I might snatch this pretty piece for myself. Of course, the laird still could…”

  Shona enjoyed the look of consternation that flitted across Seamus’s face, so quickly smoothed away, she doubted Colin had noticed it. Ruined, she’d be no use to her uncle. Married to the laird was one thing. The laird’s leman, quite another.

  “But,” Colin continued, taking in his gawking companions with a glance, “my responsibilities lie in another direction. My marriage must form an alliance with a nearby clan. If ye wish to see yer niece settled, I’ll arrange a match with one of them, in the course of arranging mine. She’s quite alluring to look at, so despite her spirit, she should fetch a good bride price.”

  What? Nay! Colin’s apparent concern that his companions would censure him for considering taking her as his mistress had given her a moment of relief. Yet now, he proposed to send her to another set of strangers? She’d only just arrived here. Shona wanted to bolt, but she was still reined in by her uncle’s grip. Besides, where would she go?