Forbidden Night With The Highlander. Michelle Willingham
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while his kinsmen laughed and mounted their horses. A flock of crows flew over their heads, and a premonition passed over her. If they attack, they’re going to die.
She knew better than to think that she could stop them from whatever they planned, but perhaps her father could. Lianna hurried back to the house, not knowing what would happen.
But Sían had to be stopped.
* * *
Rhys de Laurent sat among his men by the fire, watching the golden flames flare amid the peat. Although the clan chief, Alastair MacKinnon, had offered them shelter at his home, he’d wanted to bide his time a little longer. He knew better than to think the Highlanders would welcome Norman soldiers among their clan. But now that he had decided to go through with the betrothal, they would travel to Eiloch in the morning.
He was glad to have these last few hours to clear his head. His mind was caught up with a thousand questions he could not answer. He had gone to meet with Lianna MacKinnon to see what sort of woman she was. He’d predicted that she would be soft-spoken and timid, obeying her father’s bidding. Instead, she had met his gaze with her own courage. There was something about her that intrigued him—and now that he’d had a taste of her, he wanted more.
Once, he’d thought about switching places with his brother, allowing Warrick to wed Lianna in his stead. Yet, now that he’d tasted her lips, he wouldn’t even consider it. He had kissed her to satisfy a curiosity, to see if there was a woman of fiery spirit to match her red hair. Instead, he had found that she was innocent, confused and scared. Her kiss had been sweetly unknowing, as if it were her first. But in time, she had warmed to his touch, and he now believed that she would make a good wife for him.
God in Heaven, it had aroused him beyond all imaginings. Her palms had rested upon his chest, and she had opened to him, offering him her own yearning. When she had straddled his leg, allowing him to stroke her mouth with his tongue, he’d nearly lost himself. He had become a different man, one caught up beneath her spell.
He would indeed accept this woman as his bride. And although he had once imagined leaving her behind in Scotland, now he was reconsidering. It might be best to take her back to England with him.
And more than all else, he was looking forward to claiming her as his own.
‘You look besotted,’ his friend Ailric remarked. ‘Was she fair of face?’
If fair of face meant hair like a sunset, and skin that resembled the petals of a rose, then yes.
‘She was,’ Rhys agreed. ‘In the morning, we will go to Eiloch and you can see her for yourself.’
Ailric poked at the fire until a shower of sparks scattered across the air. ‘I hope that your marriage will be as good as mine is, my friend.’ There was a fleeting glimpse of longing on his face. His friend had been wedded for only a year, but already his wife Elia was expecting their first child.
‘You shouldn’t have come with us,’ Rhys said. ‘Better to have stayed home with your wife. This journey to Scotland is too far. What if Elia gives birth while you are away?’
‘With another mouth to feed, I will do what I must. Better that I can earn silver from service to you, my lord. We will need more, soon enough.’ He leaned back against a log, a gleam of joy in his eyes. ‘I hope that one day you will know the happiness I’ve known. To see love in your wife’s eyes and know that hers is the first face you’ll see in the morning. To touch her belly and feel the faint kick of your son beneath her skin.’ He shook his head as if he could not believe his good fortune. ‘’Tis a wonder, indeed.’
‘You will see her soon,’ Rhys promised. ‘God willing, I hope to return to England within a fortnight. I must bring Lianna back to Montbrooke so that the betrothal document may be signed and witnessed.’
‘Was that not already done when she was born?’
‘It was, but our fathers demanded that both of us must give our consent to the marriage.’ Rhys shrugged. ‘It will not take long, and we will be wedded after that.’
He wondered if Lianna would be glad to marry him, once she learned the truth. It didn’t sit well with him to lie to her, but perhaps she would understand his reasons. He hadn’t wanted her to judge him on his Norman heritage before she had known him as a man. And he had found her more desirable than he’d imagined.
‘God grant that you both are happy,’ Ailric said. He stood in the darkness, and there came the sound of horses approaching.
They were not expecting visitors at this hour, and Rhys signalled for his men to be on alert. Instinctively, he reached for his sword. It might be Alastair and his kinsmen, or it might be a threat.
The hoofbeats ceased, and silence descended over their camp. Footsteps approached, and Rhys turned towards the sound, his hand upon his sword hilt.
Only seconds later, he heard a cry from his friend. Horror washed over him when he turned back and saw an arrow embedded in Ailric’s chest. His friend crumpled to the ground, and God help him, Rhys knew it was over.
He seized Ailric’s shield, releasing a battle roar of anguish. Then he charged into the darkness, his rage and grief swelling like a tide. He didn’t know who had dared to attack, but their assailants would pay the price with their lives.
A tightness filled up his chest as Rhys kept his shield up, barking commands at his men to raise their shields and form a circle. It was difficult to see more than shadows in the night sky, but he caught a blur of motion and used the moment to attack. Fury poured through him with the need for vengeance.
As he slashed out at a faceless enemy, his rage mingled with grief. No longer would Ailric see his wife’s smile in the morning, and his friend would never hold his newborn son.
Rhys’s sword cut through human flesh, and he heard a man cry out as he was struck down. He ended his enemy’s life, and his men held their positions, waiting for the Highland raiders to approach.
So, they had asked him to wed the chief’s daughter, only to attempt a slaughter in the middle of the night? They would soon learn the strength and power of his forces.
One stepped into the light, clearly one of the MacKinnons, given his clothing. Damn them for this. Rhys had deliberately stayed back from the clan, not wanting to bring fear and war among them. But now that they had attacked like cowards in the night, they would see no mercy.
In the Norman tongue, he ordered his men to keep their shields up and pursue the Highlanders. His heart hardened, his emotions turning to stone. He had no idea how many there were, but any man who dared to attack would feel the edge of his blade.
For Ailric.
Another raider emerged, but he was no match for six trained Norman warriors. One by one, they defended themselves against the remaining raiders—but there was still the unknown archer. None of these men had a bow among them.
Rhys sent out three men to scout the number of horses. ‘How many are left?’ he asked, when they returned.
‘There were four horses,’ one answered. ‘So at least one raider is still out there.’
The archer, Rhys guessed. And if his horse was still here, then so was the man. ‘Spread out,’ he ordered them, in the Norman language. ‘Keep your shields raised and find that archer.’ He would not rest until they had found them all. And if Alastair MacKinnon was responsible for ordering this raid, then Rhys would see every last member of the clan driven out of Eiloch.
His men obeyed the command, leaving Rhys by the fire. He deliberately remained behind, wanting the light to guide him. He kept his shield raised, listening for the sound of the last Highlander.
‘I know you’re there,’ he called out to the man, using the Gaelic language. ‘And I know you have to hide in the shadows. Because you know that you are no match for Norman fighters.’
He sensed a ripple of motion and lifted his shield, just as an arrow struck the wood. It came from the