Page 4 of Only a Highlander Will Do

“Please,” she tried one last time.

His features turned to stone. “This discussion is at an end. Go pack your things.”

“I am to leave on a Sunday? Before we are even married?”

“You are betrothed. What more is there beside a few pretty words?” He did not wait for a response. “Go upstairs. Ginny is already there preparing your trunk.”

Fiona couldn’t move. Her feet seemed rooted to the floor. “Where am I to go?”

“Monkstadt House. Your future husband left five guards who will escort you there. I’ll go tell them you will be ready within the hour.” He walked past her and down the hallway.

A fist of fear closed around Fiona’s heart while all her dreams shattered. In her misery, she bent down and gently retrieved the wilting wild flowers. If she put them in water quickly, she might yet save them. She sat back on her heels. If only it were so easy to save herself.

Fiona stood and slowly walked up the stairs, but her knees were shaking so violently, she had to stop several times to gather herself before proceeding. Instead of thinking about what would happen to her later this day, she looked down at the flowers in her hand. There was a vase in her room. She would place the bouquet there to enjoy while she packed. And, then she would leave them behind to wither and die. They would be the perfect reflection of what her father had done today to her dreams of her future.

Chapter Two

Sunday morning while Alastair and the rest of the residents of Dunvegan Castle attended church, Tormod and a battalion of men left the castle without the laird’s consent. It had been two days since the attack on the villagers. Tormod was tired of waiting for Alastair to act. He knew his brother wanted to create a new peace between the clans, but the lives of twenty-one men, women, and children demanded vengeance.

Today, Tormod would deliver the punishment the MacDonalds deserved for their heinous crime, regardless of the fact that Sunday was supposed to be a day of peace.

Once he and his men were through the castle gates, Tormod guided them to the north-east, towards Monkstadt House, the MacDonald clan seat. The fortified country house, even with all of the MacDonald warriors, would be easy enough to breach and destroy. Tormod wasn’t as interested in taking lives as he was in making the MacDonalds suffer. If he set fire to Monkstadt House, then the MacDonald clan would have no residence in which to dwell as the season turned cool. They would be forced to leave Skye for their other estates on the mainland. Then the MacLeods would finally be free at least for a winter of the other clan’s machinations for the first time in nearly three hundred years.

Tormod’s gaze surveyed the land before him. To the north lay the sea. To the north-east lay his prize. He had to keep alert, for the MacDonalds often sent out scouting parties in order to stay informed of clan movements within the isle territory.

Tormod’s muscles tensed, sensing possible danger as his gaze swept to the left and right, along the lines of his men, then closer, to the man riding beside him.

“Are you expecting trouble?” Graeme Duff, the castle’s captain of the guard, asked from his white steed.

“I can’t be certain, but better to be careful than sorry.”

“Agreed.”

Tormod led his men down a rise in the pastoral countryside. Black-faced sheep roamed freely, barely looking up from their grazing as the company of men rode past. Despite his wariness, he didn’t push the men to any great speed. He wanted to save the horses for when they finally did engage their enemy.

The sound of hooves thudding on the peaty moorlands and the breeze ruffling through the grass serenaded the men as they progressed up another rise then crested it.

Tormod’s gaze caught movement towards the east. Five horsemen. He held up his hand, stopping the battalion behind him.

“Scouts?” Graeme asked in hushed tones, drawing Tormod’s gaze.

“There are four warriors in the MacDonald tartan. But it looks like the fifth rider is wearing a skirt. A female?” Tormod frowned as he returned his gaze to the small contingent of riders.

With his next heartbeat, one of the MacDonald warriors spotted them. His shout of alarm could be heard in the distance as he and the others pressed their horses into a faster pace, heading towards a grove of trees.

Tormod signalled his men to pursue. In no time at all, they reached the treeline and gave chase. There was no undergrowth to hide the enemy, but the trees would make overtaking the riders more difficult. They were just ahead. Four riders surrounding the female. She must be someone important to the MacDonalds. And if so, she was important to Tormod.

Tormod inhaled the earthy scent of the soil upturned by the horses’ hooves as he pressed his own horse to surge forward, towards the female. A long red plait hung down her back, catching in the breeze as she raced away from him. With each breath he drew in the faint scents of sweet peas, rosemary, and heather.

He shook his head, clearing his senses. Now was not the time for such fanciful reflections. Once she was his prisoner, he could figure out why she smelled so unusual. In a final desperate attempt at capture, he pressed his heels into his black charger and leaned forward, urging Midnight into even greater speeds as he carefully jumped over fallen trees and root buttresses that jutted up from the soft soil. Finally the ground levelled out and in a burst of speed, Tormod caught the female by the arm and snatched her from the back of her horse. He meant to take her onto his own animal, but she twisted, and punched him in the chest with her free hand.

The unexpected jab forced the breath from his chest and his grip on the female slipped. She fell to the ground and rolled out of the way of the oncoming horses. Finding momentary shelter behind the trunk of a tree, she didn’t hesitate long before racing deeper into the trees.

As his men surrounded the four MacDonald men, Tormod drew in a ragged breath then dismounted. “Find out who she is, and where these men were taking her,” Tormod called back as he pursued her on foot. “I have a feeling she is important.”

*

The scene before Fiona was that of total chaos. Forty men on horses and armed with swords surrounded four of the guards who had been tasked with taking her to her bridegroom.