Her Enemy Highlander. Nicole Locke

Or his breadth. Or his muscles and sun-warmed skin. Not when she rode on the same horse in front of him, with his arms brushing against her sides and his legs pressing hers against the horse.

      She’d already elbowed him several times, but he didn’t miss a breath when she did.

      Her elbows were her second-best weapon next to lying. When Ailbert teased too much, and words weren’t enough, she’d hit him. If he tackled her, she could dig her elbows in until he agreed to whatever she wanted, or pretend to give her what she wanted.

      He was a good brother. Ailbert.

      She squeezed her eyes together, but tears sprang forth. It was too much. She was even remembering him in the past now. It was all past.

      She wouldn’t cry. Not here, not in daylight, not while in the arms of the man taking her further away from her brother, from his burial, from her family.

      Keep her anger; get the dagger. She had no other choice. Pretending to sweep her hair to one side, she brushed her sleeved arms against her cheeks and wiped away any evidence of sorrow.

      There wasn’t time to grieve for Ailbert.

      If only this arrogant Colquhoun would give her the dagger. She adjusted in the seat, pulled her elbow forward. If only he’d Let. Her. Go.

      ‘Your elbows in my ribs will not change your circumstances.’

      ‘You’re kidnapping me.’

      ‘Not kidnapping.’

      ‘Malcolm said the games are on Graham land. ’Tis days away! How can there be celebrations there after Dunbar? Didn’t they have a loss?’

      ‘Doesn’t concern you.’

      Trying in vain to distance herself, she leaned forward. Even then he was everywhere. His feel, his heat, his smell. She was all too aware of him.

      Even when her mind tried to comprehend what had happened to her, her body constantly remembered last night. His presence kept her in a constant battle between her want of the dagger and...want. For a Colquhoun, who was kidnapping her, no less!

      ‘It is too far!’ She didn’t want, couldn’t want, to stay. ‘I’m too far from home.’

      Her mother and sisters might even be looking for her. Everything had happened so quickly when Ailbert was stabbed. Rage, fear and desperation had driven her to follow the thief. She hadn’t rushed to Ailbert as her mother and sisters had; she hadn’t told them that she was leaving. Shock had drowned out the marketplace, her mother’s cries and Ailbert collapsing on the ground. Her only thought was to chase after the dagger.

      Now she was further away from the dagger than she had ever been and she had been gone too long.

      Her mother would be overwrought. Her family didn’t deserve any more fear and worry.

      ‘Your own actions brought you here,’ he answered.

      ‘It’s not fair,’ she whispered. ‘Why are you even taking me?’

      ‘A Buchanan has nae right to speak of fairness.’ He leaned closer to her ear, making the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. ‘Your leaning away from me defeats our ruse. Thanks to your act on the stairs, my cousins believe you’re wanting to be with me.’

      ‘As what? What am I to be to you?’ She might have pretended on the stairs, but she had no experience in these matters.

      She felt the satisfaction rolling off him as he answered, ‘As my whore.’

      She tried to turn around. ‘You...’

      ‘What else did you think? My intended? My dear?’ He lowered his voice, contempt thickening his words. ‘My betrothed?’

      What had she thought? She had spent the night in his room and his cousins knew it; there was no other explanation. Yet it was unjust he expected her to play such a role. Regardless of her starting the ruse, this was going too far.

      ‘I won’t do it. We doona need to continue the farce.’

      ‘You are a farce, Buchanan. Do you not like the bed you made? Do you think I like it? I can barely touch you without feeling the need to clean. But there is nae other explanation for your travelling. ’Tis safer.’

      Despite her anger, his words stung. ‘Since when does your clan care for the safety of mine?’

      ‘Never,’ he said. ‘I’m not talking about your safety.’

      Of course he wasn’t. Why would he? A Colquhoun would never tolerate a Buchanan. Just as every right-minded Buchanan would never tolerate a restrictive and oppressive Colquhoun. Their families had always fought. She’d been raised with this knowledge, but Caird’s hatred towards her seemed...excessive. His reaction, after their kiss, hurt.

      Was he embarrassed about their kissing now he knew she was a Buchanan? Or was it only the dagger and the gem making him angry? Pulling the reins to the left, his arm brushed her chest and instantly heat coiled inside her. Her breath changed. His stopped.

      He said he couldn’t stand touching her, yet he left her body wanting his touch. She didn’t understand her reactions since he hated her.

      She didn’t deserve his hatred and she couldn’t be expected to endure his company for days. She refused to continue this farce for that long. She wasn’t that accomplished a liar. Despite her freedom, she’d never been with a man; she didn’t know how to act as a whore. Surely his cousins would realise she lied. Then what would happen?

      More questions in need of answers, and she’d be even further away from returning home.

      She couldn’t have that. This had to be finished and soon. At least there was still a chance to escape. It wasn’t nighttime. They could yet spy the thief, or at least find his trail. If so, they’d get the answers they sought and end this charade.

      Then she wouldn’t have to think of Ailbert or her grieving mother and sisters. She wouldn’t have to think about the gambling debt still owed and the catastrophe that would occur if she couldn’t obtain the money to pay it.

      They’d find the thief, and this would end. Then she could do her own grieving, in her own time and away from hate-filled Colquhouns.

      In the meantime, all she had to do was not think of Ailbert’s death. His blood spreading across his stomach.

      How it was all her fault...

      To contain her helpless guilt and to still her thoughts, she smiled at Hamilton. He’d been friendly to her since they’d left the inn and she welcomed the distraction. When Hamilton slowed his horse, her smile became genuine.

      * * *

      Caird needed quiet. Fortunately, Hamilton kept Mairead entertained with conversation and Malcolm, used to his silences, left him alone.

      It allowed him to think and to plan.

      The dagger and jewel buried in a pouch around his waist burned into his side. It was like holding a flame that could instantly torch a village, destroy lives and entire clans.

      But just like that flame, as with any fire, it could do miraculous things as well. The Jewel of Kings.

      He held the Jewel of Kings. He was certain of it.

      Shock and doubt had washed over him when he first held it at the inn.

      Recognition dawned on him at the same time as he tried to rationalise that it couldn’t possibly be true. It was a legend and not supposed to be real.

      But it was too exact. There could be no other jewel shaped like it, no other jewel coloured like it and it had been purposely hidden inside a dagger’s hilt.

      A Buchanan said it was her brother’s? Impossible. He would rather believe he held the legend long before he’d ever believe that clan owned it.

      But what was he to do with it? It belonged to Scotland, but Scotland barely