The Highland Laird's Bride. Nicole Locke

talked of the different strategies they should employ if the gates were opened, but something in Finlay’s voice made Bram’s heart thud. ‘Preparing for what?’ he asked, but he had his answer as he walked towards the gates. His men were preparing for battle.

      Their weaponry was already in their hands. Their camp’s spiked fence was now raised and angled menacingly outward.

      His men knew of Gaira’s marriage and alliance to this clan. When his best-trained men and carpenters followed him, they were as surprised as he by the lack of welcome. Since they now laid siege, for all they knew he could be preparing to take the Fergusson clan for his own. In these turbulent times, he was surprised no other clan had tried.

      ‘They have barred us for weeks and there was nae call out of greeting,’ Finlay said. ‘They cannot be friendly.’

      He could see the villagers gathering in the few winding streets behind him. Most had their hands full of some form of weaponry.

      He should have told Lioslath to wait. If the first sight Lioslath saw was his men prepared to fight, she would think he betrayed their understanding.

      Understanding. They didn’t have an understanding and he didn’t need one either. He only needed her to cooperate and he expected his men to as well.

      ‘Have the men stand down,’ he ordered. ‘Immediately.’

      ‘The gates are opening. The villagers—’

      ‘Are only reacting to what we have done. It’s not the time for weapons, it’s the time for the other plan we discussed.’

      ‘There’s been nae indication of why they are opening the gates now.’

      ‘When those gates are fully open, I’ll not have these people see fully armed men. I want them to see a feast and the full extent of our generous offerings we began yesterday. The boar’s ready?’

      ‘Aye, but as to the other?’

      ‘I know it is short notice, but it must be done.’

      Knowing Finlay would implement his orders, Bram strode through his men. There was little confusion when he told them to stand down. One benefit to idleness, his men were well-prepared. He did, however, order the spiked fence to remain up. He might have been careless when not asking for time, but he wouldn’t be so when it came to the safety of his men.

      When he got to the gates, they were fully opened. As he suspected, the men inside held bows. No, not only men.

      Lioslath stood in front with a bow and arrow in her hands. Two more arrows were strapped to her belt. She’d also changed her clothing. No longer was she in a gown, but in a tunic and hose.

      He’d never seen a woman with weaponry and certainly none with her beauty. His instinct was to dismiss it, but it surprised him how natural she looked. She’d held a blade to him the first night as well. He didn’t know what to make of it.

      Regardless of her abilities, the men, including Aindreas, were also armed. Weeks of treading softly with this clan and it had all been for naught.

      He looked behind him. Many of his men put their weapons down, but they did not give up their strategic positions inside the camp or their narrowed focus on the keep and the village. No hope for a bloodless solution unless he defused this situation and fast.

      * * *

      Bram’s men were armed and facing the gates. He talked of tricks and of play, yet it was him all this time.

      ‘Stand ready,’ Lioslath cried.

      She hid her quivering voice, knowing Aindreas would hear it and the others standing behind her would notice her unease.

      Now, of all times, she must remain calm. Dog at her heels helped. His familiar warmth comforted her. Unfortunately, he was the only thing familiar to her now.

      Certainly, standing in front of her father’s clansmen with weaponry wasn’t familiar. Men who expected her to give orders, who had been looking to her for leadership since her father’s death. Like everything, it continued to surprise her.

      The Colquhoun men were shifting and Lioslath eased her stance to take advantage of the arrows at her waist. Their sole advantage was the narrow opening in the gates. If they were forced to engage Bram’s men outside, they would not survive. Even as she thought that, she felt the familiar heat of a hunt flow through her.

      When she’d requested Aindreas to prepare the men to open the gates, her friend hadn’t been surprised that that was the result of her conversation with Bram. He had, however, been angry about Bram being in her bedroom.

      Aindreas hadn’t known of the empty storage room under her bedroom, nor of the derelict tunnel. When he’d argued further, she’d promised to tell him everything later. He hadn’t liked that, but there had been no more time.

      Now Aindreas stood behind her and she felt his tumultuous thoughts. She was in turmoil, too.

      Suddenly, the Colquhoun men lowered their weapons. Walking amongst his men, Bram emerged. His hair and fine clothing were filthy from the tunnel. He carried no weapon and hadn’t prepared for battle. As he swept through the men, a few swiftly left their positions, but with the narrowness of the gates, she could not see where they went.

      When Bram faced her, she took a step forward. As if he didn’t have arrows pointed at him, he strode through the gates like a conqueror.

      So she notched the arrow to her bow. It was pointed at the ground, but her position was clear. Bram slowed and appeared surprised. Did he think her tamed? He knew that he’d forced her to open the gates, but her clansmen did not.

      When he reached her, she called out for all to hear, ‘Welcome, Laird Colquhoun.’ She knew her frosty tone did not match her words.

      Bram gave a small bow, a quirk to his lips that only she could see. As he looked around at the arrows aimed at his heart, he answered, ‘I feel most welcome, Lioslath of Clan Fergusson. Thank you for opening the gates and allowing my men respite within your dear keep.’

      Her fingers flexed to draw the bow tighter. How cunning this Colquhoun was with his courtly ways and booming voice. This wasn’t the man who’d stolen into her room armed only with smiles and coaxing ways. Nonetheless, his formality was equally unwelcome. She might have been forced to open her gates to him, but she didn’t have to be gracious.

      ‘I’m afraid you’ll find nae respite here,’ she said. ‘Or did you know we have been recently ill-treated?’

      He smiled then. That easy, carefree smile she hated and in reflex her arm drew back on the string.

      Never lowering his eyes nor his voice, Bram said, ‘Then perhaps you’ll accept our humble offerings.’

      With another courtly gesture, he turned towards the gates. Within moments, Colquhoun clansmen ceremoniously carried upon their shoulders planks of wood laden with food.

      A whine in his throat, Dog restlessly lifted his front paw at the overwhelming smells and sights. Roasted boar, turnips, onions, parsnips, glazed over with...butter. All from the supplies Bram brought.

      Her own men held on to their weapons, but their arrows now pointed down. None of them looked to her, their eyes were wide on the feast being carried into the keep; it would all need to be set down on—

      She stopped short. Her Hall. The planks of wood would never fit. Then there was the filth and damp. She couldn’t be in there today of all days. She’d conceded too much of her position to the Colquhoun today. She wouldn’t give in any more.

      She was just about to order them to stop when more Colquhoun men brought in trestles to support the heavily laden planks of wood. As if at her request, they set them down in the centre of the courtyard. They couldn’t have travelled from the Colquhoun land with them.

      So his men hadn’t been idle these past weeks. She’d watched as they made the spiked fence and crafted additional arrows, watched as they trained and