The Highland Chief Read online

  His attention was trained onto her mother even as he moved into the warm candlelight. Shifting his body slightly to the side, his visage came into view. For a split second her breath caught in her throat as she stared at his rugged male beauty. But before any noise escaped, she clapped a hand over her mouth.

  She shook her head. This was not an opportune time to gawk at the comely interloper. His lips continued to move, and he waved a hand in a languid gesture as if he was conducting a normal, everyday conversation in the great hall. Except he was in her mother’s bed chamber — in the dead of the night.

  Darra inched along the wall, her fingers skimming against the rough stone as she attempted to get close enough to overhear them. She needed to know his identity, and what he wanted from her mother.

  The drapes around the bed were parted, but it was too dark to discern how her mother fared. Her poor, gentle mother was likely paralyzed with terror.

  As she got closer, his Scottish lilt reached her ears, the sound almost like a gentle song. But then the meaning of his words penetrated her consciousness, and her heart lurched in alarm.

  “I’m nae giving ye a choice, milady,” he was saying to her mother. “Ye can come quietly or nae.”

  “I would rather kill myself than go with you,” Lady Venora hissed.

  Fear rose immediately to Darra’s throat, threatening to choke her. Though her mother spoke quietly, there was deadly conviction in her tone. Her mother was in a fragile state. Would this intruder disrupt the fine thread that held her sanity intact?

  She balled her hands into fists, wishing that she could clobber the large Highlander. How dare he come here and disturb her peace? Her father was already dead. She was not willing to see her mother die as well.

  Searching frantically around for a weapon, her panicked mind also raced to formulate a plan to rescue her mother. Her eyes alighted on the ornamental broadswords that hung above the mantel a few paces from where she stood. The old swords hung on the wall with the blade edges crossing over one another. Right beneath the two swords, the shield with the family crest was proudly displayed.

  The weapons had belonged to her father, but upon his death, Lady Venora insisted on showcasing them in her bed chamber. For many hours she sat at the chair near the hearth, staring at the swords as if they somehow provided a link to her dead husband. It was during these moments, that Darra despised the old swords, and she yearned to tear them down and throw them into the fire. But now, she realized, the ugly, hateful weapons would become useful.

  All instincts urged her to dash across to the hearth and pull a sword off the wall. But she forced herself to bide her time and move at a slower, more careful pace. Even she could see that the sword was too distant, and the bold Highlander would seize her before she pulled the weapon free.

  She flattened herself against the cold stone wall, intently watching the strapping Highlander as she sidled along, getting closer and closer to her target.

  Darra was almost at the fireplace when her mother sat up suddenly and stared straight at her, a shocked expression etched upon her countenance. Darra gave a frantic shake to her head, silently entreating her not to betray her.

  But it was already too late. The perceptive intruder noticed Lady Venora’s momentary shock and pivoted to follow her line of sight. And then he saw Darra.

  Get the sword! her mind screamed. Her internal instincts catapulted her into motion. The blanket on her shoulders dropped to the ground as she tore across the chamber to the hearth. Scrambling up on the chair, she grunted as she wrenched the sword from the wall. The resonance of metal sliding against stone reverberated across the room.

  Exhilaration consumed her as she held the dangerous weapon in her hand. But that excitement soon waned when she staggered underneath its weight. She had seen the castle guards easily wield their swords, but she was ignorant over how heavy the weapons were in reality.

  She jumped off the chair, the impact jarring her teeth. But she was determined not to show her terror, so she brought both hands to the grip. With her legs spread far apart and the heavy broadsword held in front of her, she found her balance.

  “Move away from the bed,” she said, pointing the sword tip at the large intruder.

  “Who are ye?” Rory asked, studying the fierce angel that suddenly appeared out of no where.

  The soft candlelight reflected off her golden tresses, while the flickering light cast shadows on her linen chemise, outlining her sweet, lush curves. A sudden desire seized him, and he wanted to pull off the shift and view her glorious nakedness.

  “I know who I am.” An angry flush rose to her cheeks. “But I do not know who you are.” The broadsword in her hands lent her confidence, and she dared to walk closer to him.

  Her oval visage was bathed in the soft light, showcasing her guileless beauty. Fair brows arched over stormy blue orbs, while her plump, sweet lips enticed him. If they had met in the bonny hills of Scotland, he would have readily taken her to his bed. Except they were in England, he reminded himself. A steely determination reflected in her dark blue eyes. And it was apparent that she would rather slice his torso than spend time in his arms.

  But even so, his body reacted to her scent of sweet roses and sandalwood. It took all his willpower to refrain from reaching over to caress her soft cheek, and discovering whether or not she was a figment of his imagination.

  “I said that you need to move away from the bed.”

  “Or what will ye do, lass?” he asked, barely suppressing a smile. Aside from his siblings, no one hazarded to challenge him in a long while. It amused him that this wee lass was courageous enough to stand up to him, even though he was a head taller and much stronger.

  While there was an air of innocence that surrounded her, he sensed that a fire burned beneath the exterior. He took a small step forward, holding out his hand. “Why dinnae ye give me that broadsword before ye hurt yourself.”

  “Stay where you are!” she snarled. She gripped the sword tightly, swaying a bit before finding her footing again.

  “See?” he said, trying his best to keep the amusement out of his voice, “That sword is much too big and cumbersome for a lass like yourself. Ye can barely hold onto the grip.”

  She obviously knew that he spoke the truth, but she raised her chin in defiance. Shifting her arms slightly to the side, she raised the sword and swung it over her shoulder. “Tell me who you are, and what you are doing in my mother’s bed chamber,” she said, her tone authoritative and cold.

  “I’m Rory MacGregon, Chief of Clan MacGregon.” He held out both of his palms, facing them outward just as he took a step closer. Since she had no plans to relinquish the weapon, he needed to distract her before either of them got hurt. “And I —”

  “And I told you to stay where you are!” Her blue eyes flashed. “The guards have been alerted of your presence, and they will be here soon.”

  “Was this the lass who was supposed tae alert the guards?” a familiar voice asked at the doorway. “It looks like she cannae find them as she’s all tied up at the moment.” His brother Duncan pushed the maid further into the chamber, causing her to fall to her knees.

  “Fyfa!” Darra cried. Concern and fear twisted in her countenance, and in her distraught state, she lowered her guard. It was only a small opening, but that was all he needed. Seizing the opportunity, he lunged at her.

  “Lady Darra, watch out!” Fyfa said.

  The lass was startled by the cry, but didn’t react fast enough to her maid’s warning. Rory knocked the sword from her grip, allowing the weapon to clatter harmlessly to the floor.

  Darra blinked at it for a spit second as if in shock before bending down to reach for it.

  But he was already one step ahead of her. With his booted foot, he kicked the sword away to the far end of the chamber, the metal scraping across the stone surface. Then as she started to run across the room to retrieve the weapon, he hauled her close, pulling her tightly against his chest. She fought against him,
squirming, straining, scratching in attempt to free herself.

  But she was much smaller than him, and he forced her back until she was braced against the wall, trapped between it and his body. With one hand he grabbed a hold of her wrists and pinned them above her head.

  As his heavier frame shoved against her, her struggles slowed. But even though she was imprisoned, her breath heavy with exertion and her teeth bared, a rebellious fire burned from within her. He had never seen anything so breathtaking. And it was at that moment when she glanced up and latched onto his gaze. Something strange and alluring passed between them, and his movements ceased. An explosive awareness flared in her guileless blue orbs, an awareness that no doubt reflected in his own depths.

  Her soft feminine body molded perfectly against his hardness, and he felt an intense surge of desire rushing to his groin. He wanted to dip his head and bury it into the hollow of her neck, breathing in her pure, intoxicating scent.

  He hooded his eyes and nudged her legs apart, settling himself at her center. Taking in a deep breath, he savored the sweet sensation of being cradled between her rounded hips. There was not much material between them and his cock swelled at that knowledge.

  A rosy flush that started at the neckline of her chemise began to spread like wildfire across her smooth, velvety skin. With every breath she took, her chest heaved, but slowly her breathing changed into pants. She was a mixture of fear, confusion and curiosity.

  His gaze swept down and settled on her lush, moist lips, and he wondered how she would taste. It had been far too long since he last bedded a lass, and that part of him stirred, fully acknowledging his observation.

  Rory was so mesmerized by the soft woman crushed against him that he didn’t notice that someone sneaked behind him. And that was when he felt a sudden intense pain radiating across his back. He arched his spine and gasped. Whipping his head around, he angled to see who attacked him.

  “Get off my daughter, you bastard!” Venora hissed.

  The captivating lass trapped against him leaned her head to the side, studying her mother. Her shocked expression suggested that even she didn’t recognize the witch wielding the iron poker.

  Venora lifted the poker over her head, ready to strike again, but Duncan fortunately intervened, and pulled the offending item from her grip.

  The lady of the castle let out a cry of outrage, and directed her attack on Duncan. Unfortunately for her, the only weapons she possessed were her small fists, and they easily glanced off Rory’s brother.

  “Bastards,” she hissed.

  Duncan caught the woman and restrained her hands behind her back.

  “I thought ye said this would be a simple task,” he said.

  “So I was wrong,” Rory let out a groan. “Tie her up before she permanently maims me.”

  He turned his attention back to the delectable lass who was still pinned against him.

  “If only ye were nae an English lass,” he murmured regretfully. Taking a piece of rope from his sporran, he quickly bounded her wrists. As soon as he was finished, he pulled away from her.

  “Put her with the others,” he grunted to Duncan.

  Placing a forearm against the wall, he leaned his head on it, waiting for the stabbing pain to subside. He groaned a little when he twisted around to watch Duncan guide the lass over to where her mother and maid huddled together.

  Darra stared at Rory, her expressive eyes filled with contempt. In fact, she regarded him as if he ate wee bairns for dinner. But what did he care about what an English lass thought of him? He shook off the unsettling question. This vixen who appeared out of nowhere was single-handedly complicating things. Dawn was a few hours away, yet they were still here.

  He turned to his brother. “Have ye checked if there are any others lurking about?”

  “Aye,” Duncan said, “I searched before I returned tae this bed chamber and found nay one else.”

  Darra watched distractedly as the formidable men moved away from them. They spoke in low tones and she could barely make out what they said. Truthfully though, she wasn’t concentrating on their conversation. Her mind was in the past, playing over and over again the moment that she was compressed against Rory’s hard planes. She had tried her best to fight him off, but her attempts were futile. The Highlander was easily over six feet tall, and he was much more powerful than she.

  There was also that curious energy that passed between them. It made her knees unsteady. If he hadn’t supported her with his weight, she would have likely collapsed into a mushy heap on the ground.

  She couldn’t understand what came over her. The feelings were foreign, scary and thrilling all at once. When he glanced down at her, a part of her wondered how it would feel to have his firm, masculine lips pressed to hers. And as she thought that, time seemed to stop, and she even forgot the reason why she entered her mother’s bed chamber in the first place. It was fortunate that her mother struck the Highlander when she did, for that attack broke the spell that held her captive.

  Aye, it was a spell that he casted over her and nothing more. She was a level-headed woman, and didn’t have time to entertain wanton thoughts. Darra directed her attention back to the men. But her thoughts froze suddenly when the words Scotland and dangerous reached her ears.

  She glanced over at her mother, a streak of fear running down her spine. The Highlanders were intent on taking her away from here.

  But the crazed bravado Lady Venora demonstrated moments ago had transformed her. She wasn’t watching Darra but stared intently at the Highlanders. Who was this woman? She certainly wasn’t the gentle mother that Darra knew. Her hair was in disarray, and there was a wild, caged look in her eyes. Was the shock at witnessing barbarians in her chamber too much for her to handle, and was she now losing her faculties? If the intruders dragged Lady Venora away from Lancullin Castle, then Darra worried that her mother would find a way to end her own life…

  “You cannot take my mother to Scotland,” Darra said loudly, causing both men to assess her. She stared at the rugged chief, knowing full well that she was at a disadvantage. After all she was the one that was tied up and on the ground. Still, it was her duty to protect her mother and keep her safe.

  “Be nae concerned,” Rory said, a sympathetic look reflected briefly in his green depths. Then as if suddenly remembering that she was his enemy, his expression changed and his brows slanted down with irritation. “Lady Venora will come back tae ye once her purpose is finished.”

  “What purpose?” Darra glanced from Rory to her mother. She was missing something here. For some reason he seemed to know Lady Venora, however from her recollection, she had never heard of the MacGregons. But then again, her mother neglected to speak much about her Scottish heritage.

  “He means to take me to heal the dying Eanruing MacGregon, Darra,” she said, her voice tight with anger. “But I would kill myself rather than heal that — that devil.”

  Darra’s eyes widened as she watched her mother. Hearing the unwavering conviction behind her mother’s words confirmed her worst suspicions. And that fear took a hold of her, curling in her belly, expanding and contracting in time to the erratic thudding of her heart.

  Rory frowned at Lady Venora as if he heard the finality in her voice as well. “Nay, ye willnae kill yourself, milady. We’ve come all this way tae get ye, sae we’ll nae be going back empty-handed.”

  “You would force my mother to go with you even when ‘tis clear that she is in a fragile state?” Darra asked incredulously.

  Rory’s gaze shifted to her. “Aye, if need be.”

  Her heart plummeted at hearing his ruthless honesty. The firm, sculpted line of his jaw became rigid and stubborn, and any warmth he expressed earlier was gone. No words came to mind, and all she could do was gape at him in disbelief. She had heard of these cold, unfeeling savages from the north. Little did she know that all the stories, all the rumors that she learned were true. And the man that exemplified these undesirable qualities stood before
her.

  “You heard my mother.” Darra pushed herself up from the floor and faced him, her hands still restrained. “If you take her by force, then ‘tis assured that she will end her life.” And all will be lost to me. She took in one shuddering breath before she straightened to her full height and tilted her chin in the air. “I cannot have this. You must take me instead.”

  Chapter 3

  “And why should I take ye?” Rory asked, folding his powerful arms across his chest.

  “I am a healer too,” Darra said in a rush. “My mother has taught me everything she knows. In fact people from all over come to me when they are sick.”

  “Milady!” Fyfa hissed.

  But both Rory and Darra ignored the maid. He regarded Lady Venora before shifting his focus on to Darra, his expression becoming thoughtful. “And ye have experience with fevers?”

  “Aye.” Relief flooded her as she realized that he was contemplating her offer. All she needed was to lure them out of the stronghold, and then escape them once they let down their guard. She stretched her lips into a thin smile. “I cure fevers all the time.”

  Rory gave a curt nod and untied her wrists. “I’ll accompany ye tae your bed chamber sae ye can gather your things.”

  “Wait,” Fyfa said quickly. “Milady will need me tae help her pack.”

  He shot the maid an annoyed glance, and appeared as if he was about to refuse her, but then he said, “Fine.” He turned to his brother. “Duncan, ye stay here with Lady Venora.”

  Darra could feel the blood drain from her face. “Will you give me your word that your kin will not harm my mother?”

  His eyes glittered coldly. “Nae if ye cross me.”

  Darra nodded slowly, although it wasn’t one of acquiesce. She needed to be cautious with this man.