The Bride Chooses a Highlander

by Adrienne Basso

  “Flowers!” he cried, bending low to run his arms over the tight white buds.

  “Och, well, as long as we are here, there’s no harm in gathering a few before we return,” Katherine decided.

  With a cry of delight, Cameron dropped to his knees and started yanking on the flower stems. Appreciating his excitement—if not his finesse—Katherine delicately snapped the stems of a few buds before spying a cluster of perfectly formed blooms several yards away.

  “Ye start on yer way back to the keep,” Katherine instructed the lad. “I’ll follow in a moment.”

  Crouching low, Katherine picked a few more buds, shifting the bounty in her arms to hold it all. ’Twas then that she noticed an unusual quiet in the field, accompanied by an equally strong sense that someone was watching her.

  The hair on the back of her neck rose and a tingle went up her spine. Her head turned swiftly, rapidly in several directions.

  There was nothing.

  Insisting to herself that she was being fanciful, Katherine attempted to shake off the odd feeling of foreboding. Yet it persisted, intensifying until a warning sounded in her head.

  Run! Hurry!

  Heart pounding, she squinted at the dense forest ahead. Suddenly, there was movement. Panic seized her.

  Could it be a wild boar? Cameron had said that he had seen one.

  Boars were unpredictable animals; if one charged her, there would be no place to run for cover here in this open field. The boar’s large tusks and sharp teeth would easily tear through her flesh, causing her considerable, possibly fatal, injury.

  Her eyes traveled anxiously along the tree line. There was movement again, this time accompanied by a rustling noise. She caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure among the pines and then astonishingly a lone rider on a magnificent white horse emerged from the trees.

  Man and beast stood silently at the edge of the forest. Katherine blinked, uncertain if she could believe her eyes, wondering if she had somehow imagined such a splendid sight.

  The horse and rider moved forward. A moment of confusion froze Katherine in place before she was able to catch a clear glimpse of the rider’s features.

  Archibald Fraser!

  Knots of fear rose in her throat. She could see no other Fraser warriors in the woods, yet even if he rode alone, Archibald presented a huge threat. Dismay filled her as she glanced back at the keep and realized how far she had strayed from the protection of its gates. Her only comfort was that Cameron was no longer visible; the child had made it safely back inside.

  Hoping the rider wouldn’t immediately notice her, Katherine slowly began inching her way backward. Her throat trembled with the need to call for help, but there were only a few guards stationed on the ramparts and none were currently looking in her direction.

  Better to stay silent and move a few yards closer to safety. The horse whined, then stomped its hoof restlessly on the hard ground. Archibald’s eyes caught hers and the menace and determination shining in their depths set Katherine’s heart thundering in her ears.

  He must know who I am. He must know that I’m the McKenna’s daughter.

  Her arms opened. She dropped the flowers she held, scattering them at her feet, turned, and ran. Archibald’s cry of anger split the air. Within moments the pounding hooves of his horse sounded behind her, spurring Katherine to run as fast as her legs could carry her.

  As the gates of MacTavish Keep loomed closer, Katherine began screaming for help, wasting precious breath on the hope that someone would hear her and sound the alarm.

  I must reach the keep! Holding her skirts high to avoid tripping over them, Katherine sprinted across the open terrain. She could hear Archibald’s angry blasphemy as he bore down on her, could imagine the feel of his horse’s hot breath on her neck.

  He reached for her, but Katherine twisted away at the last moment, miraculously avoiding his grasp. Terrified, she continued running, her lungs burning as she pushed her legs to move faster.

  Suddenly, the gates opened and a warrior mounted on horseback came charging forward. Sword drawn and raised, his bloodthirsty war cry sent a chill down her spine.

  Lachlan!

  Katherine’s relief was so great that she nearly stopped, but then prudence prevailed and she ran past Lachlan. At the sound of clashing steel, she pivoted, watching in terror as the contact tilted each man sideways in his saddle.

  Lachlan succeeded in knocking Archibald from his horse. The Fraser laird hit the ground hard, rolled, and quickly regained his feet. Sword in hand, he charged the mounted Lachlan, aiming for the horse’s chest.

  Somehow, Lachlan was able to turn the beast before a death blow was struck. However, the sudden movement caused the animal to rear up on its hind legs. Katherine watched in horror as Lachlan struggled to get the frightened horse under control.

  Pressing his advantage, Archibald charged.

  “Lachlan, watch out!” Katherine cried.

  Lachlan jumped from the horse. He landed on his feet, gracefully ducking beneath Archibald’s blow. Swords poised, the two combatants warily circled each other. Archibald struck first, the deadly sound of steel against steel reverberating through every nerve in Katherine’s body. The pair were well matched, as every strike was met with a returning one.

  “Ye spun a pretty tale about the lass, but I know ’twas a lie. She’s the McKenna’s daughter and I’ll pay ye well if ye give her to me,” Archibald proposed, his breath coming in rasping pants.

  “She’s not fer sale,” Lachlan answered. “Now get off my land.”

  “I’m not leaving until I get what I came fer,” Archibald shouted.

  In a burst of strength, Archibald attacked with renewed vigor. With two hands tightly gripping the sword handle, he swung the heavy claymore in a deadly arc, bringing it down with savage force. Lachlan somehow managed to block the blow and counter with one of his own. A spark flared between the metal blades as they met and pressed against each other.

  Standing above Lachlan, Archibald leveraged the advantage to slowly lower his sword until it inched closer to Lachlan’s head. Gritting his teeth, Lachlan fought hard to keep the blade from his neck.

  Katherine glanced frantically toward the keep. Why did no one else come?

  Suddenly, Lachlan lowered his shoulder, dropped his sword, and fell to the ground, knocking Archibald off balance. Katherine screamed in alarm, but in a blur, Lachlan rose to his feet and lunged at Archibald, knife in hand. He raised his leg, kicking Archibald square in the stomach and sending him sprawling onto his back.

  “It will give me no small pleasure to send ye to hell, Fraser,” he snarled, placing his boot on the man’s heaving chest and pressing the tip of his blade against his throat.

  “Lachlan, hold!” Katherine screamed, frightened at the blood lust gleaming in his eyes. “If ye kill him, ye’ll start a war with the Frasers.”

  “He deserves to die,” Lachlan insisted, digging the tip of his knife into Archibald’s windpipe until a trickle of blood cascaded down the Fraser laird’s neck.

  “Aye,” Katherine agreed. “But not today. And not like this.”

  Lachlan shoved Archibald. Hard. “Ye live only by the mercy of Lady Katherine,” he grunted, reluctantly standing, his blade still pointed at his enemy.

  Placing a hand against his wounded neck, Archibald slowly gained his feet. He shook the dirt from his clothes, then lowered his hand and stared at the blood on his palm. “Ye’ll rue this day, MacTavish,” Archibald promised, glaring at him.

  “Aye,” Lachlan agreed. “I’ll regret not killing ye. Go quickly, Fraser, before I change my mind.”

  “Fool!” Archibald bent and reached for his sword, but Lachlan swiftly placed his foot on the blade.

  “Leave it.”

  “That sword has been in my family fer generations,” Archibald protested. “My father carried it into battle at Bannockburn, alongside the Bruce.”

  Katherine gasped at the implied insult to Lachlan and his clan, as their famil
y had unfortunately chosen to side against the king during that conflict.

  Lachlan spit on the ground. “The sword is now mine. Be grateful that I’m allowing ye to take yer horse.”

  For a moment it appeared that Archibald would again challenge Lachlan, but the gates of the keep opened and a group of MacTavish warriors spilled out. Sniffing loudly, Archibald stormed toward his horse.

  Katherine could hear him groan as he swung himself into the saddle, a testament to the force of Lachlan’s blows. With a final growl of anger, the Fraser laird turned his mount and rode away, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

  * * *

  Sobbing with relief, Katherine threw herself into Lachlan’s arms. His senses jolted, his pulse pounded, and he shockingly realized that his body was aching with pent-up desire. The heat of battle, so recently consuming him, had changed to a totally different sort of heat. One that was on the verge of exploding with a clawing need so strong it nearly overpowered his common sense.

  “Ye’re injured,” Katherine cried, pulling away.

  Lachlan glanced down at his side, surprised to see a streak of red blood spreading over his tunic. He hadn’t known that Fraser’s blade had struck so deep until Katherine mentioned the wound, which now stung like hellfire.

  Lachlan paused and took a shallow breath, waiting for the pain to pass.

  “Dinnae look so worried,” he joked. “I’m not that easily killed.”

  “Oh, Lachlan.” Her eyes clouded with concern.

  He could not tear his gaze from her. She was so lovely, so appealing. Lachlan raised his arm, then quickly lowered it, resisting the urge to run his fingers over her quivering lower lip.

  “What of ye, Katherine? Are ye injured?” he asked gruffly.

  “Nay. I’m fine.” She shuddered. “And grateful that ye saved me from that beast.”

  Swords drawn, Aiden and several other retainers arrived. Three of the men pressed forward to the edge of the forest, but Archibald had wisely disappeared.

  “What happened?” Aiden asked. “The watch guards said that ye crossed swords with another.”

  “Aye.” Lachlan pulled in a steadying breath. “Archibald Fraser. He tried to snatch Katherine. I ruined his plan.”

  “How the hell did he breach our defenses and take her away?” Aiden asked.

  “He dinnae.” Katherine’s eyes lowered remorsefully. “I was beyond the wall.”

  “What? Why?” Aiden glared at Katherine with reproachful eyes.

  She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “I came to pick a few flowers. I dinnae realize that I had strayed so far from the gates.”

  “Flowers! Are ye daft, woman?” Features tense, Aiden turned away in disgust.

  Katherine lowered her head. “Fergive me. I dinnae intend fer my impulsive action to put anyone in danger.”

  “Well, it did,” Aiden retorted.

  “Calm down, Aiden,” Lachlan said wearily. “Katherine was in plain view from the ramparts of the keep. She should have been safe.”

  “Did ye give her permission to leave the bailey?” Aiden asked, his gaze darting from Lachlan to Katherine.

  “She’s not a prisoner,” Lachlan replied curtly.

  Katherine’s cheeks bloomed with color. “Please, let’s go inside. Lachlan’s wound needs tending.”

  Lachlan nodded. The pain in his side hadn’t dulled. If anything, it had grown stronger.

  Several men and women rushed forward when they entered the bailey, wanting to assure themselves that the laird was not seriously wounded. Knowing how important it was to appear invincible, Lachlan kept insisting it was merely a scratch. Yet by the time they finally entered the great hall, his entire body was shaking with the effort to stand straight, walk with an unaffected stride, and smile.

  With each step, he could feel the warm blood trickling down his side and he was relieved that his dark tunic managed to hide most of the stain. As they entered the great hall, Katherine beckoned a servant, calling for hot water, clean cloths, and a medicine basket.

  “Dinnae fuss,” Lachlan insisted, cautiously lowering himself into his chair.

  “I need to bind yer wound before ye start dripping blood onto the rushes,” she replied.

  Lachlan flinched when she lifted his tunic and pressed a warm compress against the cut, sucking in a sharp breath between clenched teeth. Their gazes collided and she murmured an apology before bending closer. Lifting his eyes to the rafters, Lachlan took another deep breath.

  Och, she is a bonny lass! He could feel the tension gripping his entire body and knew it wasn’t from the stabbing, stinging pain in his side. Nay, it was caused by the throbbing in his loins, the direct result of Katherine’s touch.

  Sitting across from him, Aiden was oblivious to Lachlan’s discomfort. Indeed, his brother had lapsed into a sullen silence, scrutinizing Katherine’s every move.

  “Will ye sear or stitch it closed?” Aiden asked.

  “Stitch,” she answered, her face paling.

  “I’ll fetch the whiskey,” Aiden said.

  When his brother returned, Lachlan took several long swallows, then nodded to Katherine. He drew in a sharp breath as the needle pierced his flesh, yet somehow Lachlan held himself steady.

  A stitch, a swig, a stitch, a swig. ’Twas an inspired idea and Lachlan followed the pattern religiously twelve times, preferring the feel of the whiskey sliding down his throat far more than the sharp stabs of the needle and the pull of the thread through his bruised flesh.

  Thankfully, Katherine made quick work of her task, knotting the thread when she was finished and snipping away the excess. She next gently cleansed the wound, placed a clean cloth over the gash, and wrapped a long binding tightly around his waist to hold it in place.

  “I fear it will leave a rather nasty scar,” she said regretfully.

  “One that all the maidens shall admire,” Aiden said with a laugh.

  “Perhaps the bloodthirsty ones,” Katherine replied dubiously.

  Lachlan glanced down at his side. “Did yer mother teach ye the healing arts?” he asked, admiring her handiwork.

  Katherine smiled. “I learned from my mother what not to do when tending the wounded and infirmed.” She bent low and whispered in his ear. “Her healing potions are legendary among the McKennas and pointedly avoided by all she tries to heal. ’Tis bad enough when she makes a salve fer yer wounds—worse still when she conjures medicine ye have to drink.”

  “That hardly inspires my confidence in ye, lass.”

  “Aye, but it distracts ye from yer pain.”

  Lachlan grinned. She had succeeded in easing his discomfort—or mayhap ’twas the twelve shots of whiskey he had drunk. Either way, the sharp, stinging pain in his side had lessened to a dull throb.

  Though he protested the attention, it had felt good to have a woman fuss over him with such gentleness and concern. For too long he had attended to his battle wounds himself or relied on the assistance of one of his men.

  “I shudder to think what might have happened to ye if Fraser had succeeded in his abduction,” Lachlan said, a ball of emotion tightening his chest.

  Katherine blanched. “He is a cruel, brutal man. My sister-in-law, Joan, bears the scars of his abuse.”

  Aiden’s eyes narrowed. “I heard that she was a willful, spoiled, disrespectful wife, unable to learn her proper place.”

  “’Tis true that Joan has a strong will and knows her own mind,” Katherine said. “But that cannae excuse how she was treated by that brute.”

  “A man must be obeyed without question in his own household,” Aiden countered.

  “Och, so when a man cannae control and dominate a woman through logic and reason, he must resort to using his fists on her?” Katherine asked, her voice growing thick with emotion.

  “Nay. A man who beats a woman is a swine.” Lachlan’s temper flared. “A man must be confident and decisive and do what he believes to be right. But physical abuse of someone ye have vowed to protect and cherish is
disgusting.”

  “And dishonorable.” Aiden bowed his head. “I beg yer pardon, Lady Katherine, fer speaking without considering my words.”

  Katherine appeared startled at the unexpected apology, but she recovered quickly and acknowledged Aiden with a cautious nod. Lachlan was equally surprised. Aiden’s attitude toward Katherine had always bordered on belligerence. Why the sudden change?

  Lachlan tried to make sense of it, but his head was swimming in whiskey. Nay, there was something, more pressing, more important that he needed to focus upon.

  “We should give thanks Fraser’s plan was thwarted, yet we must find the answer to the more important question.” Lachlan coughed, then took a swig of the whiskey Aiden poured for him.

  Katherine raised a brow. “More important?”

  “Fraser knew who ye were, Katherine,” Lachlan said quietly. “How? How did he come by that information?”

  The three exchanged looks. Aiden scrubbed a hand across his face. Katherine shrugged.

  “The answer is obvious.” Lachlan slowly placed his empty goblet on the table. “Someone told him.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The quiet in the chamber grew to an uncomfortable stillness. Katherine shivered, knowing that Lachlan was right. Archibald must have been informed of her true identity by a clan member. But who?

  She glanced anxiously around the room, realizing it could have been anyone. A shiver of fear rumbled through her as those with whom she had felt so comfortable suddenly seemed threatening.

  “This is not only a betrayal of Lady Katherine, but a betrayal of our clan,” Lachlan said. He winced as he rearranged his position on the chair. “I want this person found, Aiden.”

  Aiden’s head jerked toward his brother. “Ye want me to take charge of this problem?”

  “Aye. Ye know our people better than I do. It should not take ye long to discover who committed this act of treachery.”

  Aiden sniffed in annoyance and took a swallow of whiskey, looking none too pleased at the prospect of routing out the informant.