The Highland Laird's Bride. Nicole Locke

      

       ‘Aye, I was expecting you,’ she said, painting the words with as much scorn as she could. ‘Expecting you as one does a plague or a pestilence. And I welcome you just as much.’

      She shifted her stance, getting ready to throw the dagger in her hand.

      ‘You need to leave. I’ve warned you.’

      ‘We haven’t begun, Lioslath. Why would I leave?’

      He was so arrogant. Vibrant. Too full of life. She made another signal and Dog, with a noise deep in his throat, came to her heels.

      The sound always raised the hairs on her neck, and she had no doubt it did the same to Bram. But he did not take his eyes from hers, did not see Dog as a threat, and so he forced her hand.

      ‘You need to leave because I was expecting you, Bram, Laird of Colquhoun.’

      Lioslath stepped into the light and lifted the dagger, making sure it glinted so he’d know what she intended.

      NICOLE LOCKE discovered her first romance novels in her grandmother’s closet, where they were secretly hidden. Convinced that books hidden must be better than those that weren’t, Nicole greedily read them. It was only natural for her to start writing them (but now not so secretly). She lives in London with her two children and her husband—her happily-ever-after.

      The Highland Laird’s Bride

      Nicole Locke

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      To my friends, for your chiding encouragement and constant bewilderment that I’ve survived this long. Here’s my secret: I wouldn’t have made it without you.

      Renee, it is infinitely precious to me that we can still be five years old together.

      Anita, I know you thought I’d never grow up and, as always, you were right.

      Corrie, full of grace, love and life. Your vivaciousness and unheard-of-before cocktails are my sunshine.

      Sue, I’d be lost without your meticulous brain and lists, but even more so without your laugh.

      Karen, I know you didn’t want your name in the acknowledgements but, alas, you can’t edit this sentence as you have all the others. I want you to know how much I cherish our friendship.

      Contents

       Cover

       Introduction

       Title Page

       About the Author

       Dedication

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Chapter Twenty-One

       Chapter Twenty-Two

       Chapter Twenty-Three

       Epilogue

       Extract

       Copyright

       Chapter One

      Scotland—1296

      ‘You were expecting me.’

      Lioslath of Clan Fergusson stopped pacing the darkness of her bedroom and adjusted the knife in her hand. From years of training, she knew simply on the utterance of his four words where Bram, Laird Colquhoun, stood in the room, and the precise location of his beating heart.

      She knew it, even though her back was to him and she’d been caught pacing. Defenceless. Or so he thought.

      The laird was right; she had been expecting him. Expecting him as one views a storm on the horizon. Ever since he and his clansmen, like black clouds, crested a nearby hill. Since he alerted her young brothers, who raced to the keep, giving them precious moments to lock the gates. All the while the storm of Laird Colquhoun and his clansmen gathered strength and lined up outside the keep with arrows and swords like lightning about to strike.

      But they hadn’t struck. And it had been almost a month. Which meant weeks of her climbing the haphazardly rebuilt platform to look over the gates; weeks of hearing the Colquhoun men below her even before she climbed the rickety steps.

      It had been almost a month, and still they didn’t strike. Although she barred the gates, though the villagers shunned him, Laird Colquhoun hadn’t struck like the harshest of Scottish storms. Rather, he and his clansmen enclosed the keep. Surrounded, she felt choked by his stormy presence, suffocated by the battering wait.

      But this morning, she knew the wait was over when she spied the carefully placed food at the outside entrance of the secret passage. Her captor had discovered her tunnel. She knew, despite the fact she locked the gates, the storm would get inside.

      When he hadn’t come during the day, Lioslath expected Bram of Clan Colquhoun this night. She was no fool.

      But she hadn’t been expecting his