Her Enemy Highlander. Nicole Locke

lunged, but the murderer wasn’t planning escape. He had the dagger in his hand and he swung it around. Moving his sword and body to the side, Caird pounded his great fist on the man’s head.

      The murderer teetered on the edge of the stairs. Caird clutched the man’s shredded tunic. It tore and the murderer tumbled down the stairs like wet clothes in a river.

      A door opened behind them and a tall lean man stepped out. His short dark hair was tousled, and a lock fell over his forehead. A recently healed scar ran the length of his left cheek and down across his bare chest. He looked menacing even as he carelessly leaned against the doorframe and looked pointedly at Caird, Mairead, then the man crumpled at the bottom of the stairs.

      His lips quirked before he burst out laughing. When he was done, he pretended to wipe his very green eyes and asked, ‘Need any help?’

      ‘You took your sweet time, Malcolm,’ Caird said.

      Malcolm shrugged. ‘I was occupied. You left me with two of them.’ He pointed to Mairead. ‘Who’s this?’

      Caird frowned.

      Malcolm laughed again. ‘How about that down there?’

      ‘I doona know about that either.’

      ‘Well, you’ve certainly kept yourself entertained.’

      Giggling floated out of Malcolm’s room and he closed the door.

      Mairead desperately wanted to run down the stairs, grab the dagger and escape. But now there were two of them. She must keep lying.

      Trying her best to look worried for the murderer, she asked, ‘Shouldn’t we see if he is dead?’

      Caird’s eyes narrowed on her. To avoid his stare, she looked down the stairs and bit her lip.

      ‘I’ll go.’ Malcolm’s mouth lifted at the corners. ‘Out of the three of us, it seems I’m the only one decently clothed.’

      Mairead snatched her hands to her breasts again. She’d forgotten about her gown.

      Malcolm went down the steps and checked the inert body. ‘Not dead,’ he whispered up.

      Her immediate relief surprised her. She’d thought she wanted him dead.

      Malcolm ripped the torn tunic and tied the murderer’s arms behind him. He then searched the man’s pouch and boots before he ran up the stairs. ‘His pouch held a few coins, but nae seal or any identification.’ He pulled his hand from behind his back. ‘He did have this in his hand.’

      Malcolm held Mairead’s dagger. The rubies winked.

      She tried not to gasp, but part of the sound escaped. Caird’s eyes went to hers briefly and she quickly lowered her gaze. Now what was she supposed to do? Say the dagger was hers, and that she’d be on her way? They wouldn’t believe her. She’d have to stay quiet.

      Caird took the dagger, his fingers caressing the decorative handle. When he looked again at Mairead, his eyes were no longer soft from desire or drink. Instead, they were as cold as the dagger in his hands.

      ‘The man’s clothes are too poor for such a fine piece,’ he said.

      ‘I agree,’ Malcolm replied. ‘Most likely it is stolen.’

      Caird nodded. ‘Aye, a thief.’

      Was it her imagination, or did Caird emphasise the word thief? Feigning nonchalance, she fiddled with her bodice.

      ‘Doona harm the man,’ Caird said. ‘Leave him his coins and sword, and take him outside the town’s gates. Preferably further than that.’

      ‘Off the land?’

      ‘I wouldn’t burden you that distance.’

      Malcolm nodded his head towards his room. ‘I’ll grieve enough for leaving those two.’

      Caird shook his head. ‘Do you think of anything else?’

      ‘Aye, food.’

      Caird hesitated, looking as if he wanted to say something more.

      Malcolm lifted his eyebrow. ‘Worried for me again, Brother?’

      Caird huffed and shook his head. ‘I’ll keep this dagger. I must think. See that he continues away from our land.’

      A groan and movement from below caught their attention.

      Malcolm ran down the steps and roughly pulled the murderer to his feet. The man stumbled, clearly not ready to rise.

      ‘’Ere, now, where’s my sword?’

      ‘You’ll get it soon enough,’ Malcolm replied.

      The man acted resigned, but then in a struggle, he wrenched his arm free. ‘The dagger. Where is it?’

      ‘Here,’ Caird called out.

      Malcolm resumed his hold and the man struggled to remain upright. ‘The dagger’s mine,’ he argued. ‘Surely you wouldn’t take that. A man’s got to have some defence.’

      Mairead stayed silent and dug her fingers into her bodice. She glared all her hatred at him. She’d never forgive or forget what he did.

      ‘You have the sword,’ Caird replied. ‘The dagger’s not yours.’

      The man tugged uselessly to free his arm. ‘I’ve got to have the dagger. Take my pouch, take my sword, but the dagger holds sentimental value to me.’

      ‘Nae.’

      The man stopped his pleading, his movements frantic now. Anger and fear flashed in his eyes as he pierced them on Mairead.

      ‘You stupid wench. It wasn’t me who did it. If you—’ The man tried to butt his head against Malcolm, but Malcolm cuffed him on the jaw and the man slumped heavily in his arms.

      ‘I may have wanted to hear the end of that sentence,’ Caird said drily.

      Malcolm shrugged. ‘His head must have still been ringing.’

      Caird looked at the dagger again. Mairead did, too.

      ‘Take him away,’ Caird demanded.

      ‘Nae, wait!’ Mairead said. ‘Shouldn’t we wait until he wakes to see what he was going to say?’

      ‘Too late. I’m missing my sleep,’ Caird said.

      Oh, but she needed to hear what the man was going to say. It had all happened so fast when Ailbert was killed. She had only seen the one man running away. This man. Had there been another? If this man was only a thief, then who was the murderer?

      ‘But he should at least be awake for his journey,’ she argued.

      ‘I think not,’ Caird replied. ‘I ask my brother too much as it is. An unconscious burden will be easier for him.’

      Malcolm’s door flew open and two dishevelled women came out. They clutched one piece of bed linen and each other with equal amounts of clumsiness. ‘Malcolm,’ one of them trilled. ‘Malcolm, come back. Where are you?’

      ‘Oh!’ The brunette stopped so suddenly the red-haired one stumbled and lost her share of the linen covering her naked body.

      ‘Look at this one here, Annie.’ The brunette pointed to Caird.

      ‘Oooh, now he’s a triumph,’ slurred the redhead, trying in vain to reach for the corner of the linen. She curled her lips at Caird. ‘Come with us, pretty.’

      Caird, clothed only in his tunic, lightly held his sword to his side. He was covered, but barely. Mairead’s anger switched from Malcolm for hitting the thief to Caird for having no modesty. Did he intend to parade around for all the women of Scotland and why did she even care?

      ‘The man you want is downstairs,’ Caird began, ‘and, as you can see, I’m