Forbidden Night With The Highlander. Michelle Willingham

but she would not give up so easily.

      ‘When Rhys de Laurent hears my proposal, he will gladly return to England without me. My father will remain the chief of Eiloch, and everything will return to the way it was.’ Lianna clung to that idea, for it was the only future she wanted to imagine. She wanted her life to remain steady, in an ordered pattern, without straying from its path.

      Then she squared her shoulders and informed Orna, ‘It is time for my daily ride.’

      Today, more than ever, she needed to travel along the coast. The speed of the horse and the wind upon her face would help her to forget about the future pressing her into a corner.

      ‘And what if the chief summons you to meet your husband?’ Orna asked. ‘You must be here if he does.’

      Lianna shuddered at the thought of being displayed before the Norman like a prized sheep. ‘I am not married yet.’ She reached for her shoes that lay against the far wall, walking barefoot across her clean floor. ‘I must go.’

      ‘Please, don’t be making trouble for your father, Lianna. You must marry Rhys de Laurent and bear a son. Only then can we stay here, God willing.’ Her maid risked a glance at the door. ‘If you make him angry, the Norman lord will send us away, and we’ll have nowhere to live.’

      Lianna opened the door and paused. ‘Don’t be afraid, Orna. I will find a way to avoid this marriage and keep Eiloch in my father’s hands. No one will take over our lands, I promise you.’ Even if it took every last coin she possessed, she would bribe the man.

      Her maid eyed Lianna as if she were uncertain. ‘Should you not try to be the wife he wants?’

      No. She would not even consider such a thing. With a half-smile, she admitted, ‘Orna, I ken what I am. No man finds me appealing, and if my own kinsmen do not care for me, why should this one be any different?’

      She adjusted her woollen brat to cover her fiery red hair. It was difficult to tame, but she combed it seventy-seven times every morn. And she would do the same when she returned from her ride. ‘I will be back by this afternoon.’

      Her maid’s expression held doubt, but she said nothing. Lianna strode past the woman, carrying her shoes. She walked barefoot through the large gathering space, past her older brother and his men. Sían’s face curved in a knowing smile, and he lifted his hand in greeting. She nodded to her brother, feeling her cheeks redden as she overheard one of the men mutter, Thanks be, none of us has to wed her now.

      She didn’t know which of them had spoken but pretended that she hadn’t heard the barb. Holding her shoulders back, she glanced up at her brother, only to see him cuff Eachann MacKinnon. Though she appreciated his defence, Lianna was well aware that the men were laughing at her. She ignored them and put on her shoes before she walked down the stairs outside and stepped into the mud.

      They thought it strange that she kept to her habits, leaving every day at the same hour to go riding. Each day, always the same. But she liked having the same pattern. It was comforting to know what she would do every day.

      Sían lived his life from one hour to the next, never thinking beyond what happened today. His confident manner sometimes bordered on arrogance, but Lianna found that it was easier to quietly clean up the disorder her brother left behind than to defy him.

      Her father’s house was larger than the others, a tower fortification built of wood and stone. The dwelling could hold twenty men, with three smaller chambers on the second floor. Beyond that, several crofters lived in thatched homes set in a semicircle.

      Lianna spied her horse already waiting for her near the stables, and a kitchen boy hurried out to meet her. He held out the wrapped bundle of food, and she took it, knowing what was inside. One piece of bread, one hunk of cheese, and a small jug of ale—just as always. She thanked him and secured the bundle beside her saddle before mounting her mare.

      As she rode past the crofters’ homes, she studied each one carefully for signs of neglect. Though Sían did not want her to interfere in the people’s lives, it was a necessary means of occupying her time. She knew which families had enough food stored for the winter and which crofters would face hardship. She prided herself in knowing the women who would give birth to new babies, and the names of the elderly folk who had died. Then she told Sían, and her brother made arrangements for the families. It gave her a sense of pride to know that she could take care of the others—even if they believed Sían was responsible for their welfare. She needed no accolades for her work, so it mattered not what others thought.

      Once she reached the open valley, Lianna urged her horse to go faster. The wind tore through her red hair, and she lifted her face high, revelling in the sensation. She gloried in the freedom, feeling the joy in having this moment alone.

      As they drew closer to the coast, she slowed the pace of her mare, turning in the direction of the dolmen. The stone altar had been there for hundreds of years—perhaps even a thousand—and she often wondered about the Druids who had placed it there.

      Each day, she took her noon meal at the dolmen, so she would not have to dine with the others and hear their talk. She preferred the solitude and welcomed it.

      But this morning, she saw a man standing beside the stone. Her smile faded, and a sense of unrest thrummed within her veins, for he was not supposed to be here. Who was he? For a moment, she wondered if he was Norman, but then dismissed the idea, given his attire.

      Although she knew every member of her own clan and of the MacKinloch clan who dwelled nearby, she had never seen this man before. And yet...it almost seemed that he had been waiting for her.

      She slowed her horse to a walk, wondering what to do. The man’s brown hair was cut short, and his beard held stubble, as if he had shaved it a sennight ago. But it was his eyes that drew her in. They were the dark blue of the sea, with an almost savage beauty in them.

      She nodded to him and was startled when he raised a hand in greeting. Every instinct warned her to leave, to abandon the dolmen and go back home. But instead, she drew her horse to a halt and stared at the man.

      Keep riding, her instincts warned. He is a stranger.

      ‘A good afternoon to you, lass. It’s a beautiful place here.’ Though he spoke Gaelic, his voice held an unfamiliar accent. Was he from Aberdeen or even Oban? It was difficult to tell. She frowned, wondering who he was. It bothered her so deeply, she drew her horse closer, to see if she could determine his identity from his features.

      Her heartbeat quickened at the sight of him, and her mouth grew dry. His face captivated her attention, drawing her closer. There was a faint scar upon his throat, and his expression was hardened, like a man accustomed to battle. Everything about the man spoke of a leader, for he carried his confidence like a weapon.

      He wore a saffron léine, trews, and a brat woven in the MacKinloch colours of blue and green. And yet, she knew he was not of that neighbouring clan. Curiosity roiled up within her, and she was torn about whether to return to her father’s house. That would be the sensible thing to do.

      But she didn’t dare move. The long shirt was ill-fitting, straining against his muscular chest. Beneath it, she spied powerful thighs clad in the trews.

      She couldn’t think of one single word to say. Her brain could have been filled up with straw, so empty it was.

      ‘You needn’t be afraid of me,’ he said. ‘I came at your father’s invitation.’

      Only then did she realise that she was gripping the hilt of her dagger. She eyed the Highlander, wondering if he was any threat to her. Her brother had taught her to defend herself, and she would not hesitate, if it were necessary. Yet somehow, she believed this man when he’d said she shouldn’t be afraid. He hadn’t moved at all, treating her like a wild horse, ready to bolt.

      She shook away her idle thoughts. ‘Are you a visitor, then?’

      He inclined his head. ‘I’ve come for the wedding.’

      With effort, she concealed her dismay. He was one of the