Page 79 of Desire of a Highlander

The path wound between ancient oaks whose branches knitted together overhead, turning the evening light green. Moss carpeted fallen trunks, and ferns brushed against Ronan’s legs as they hurried after the dogs. Everything about this felt wrong. He loosened the flintlock in his belt and rested one hand on the weapon.

Up ahead, Bran barked suddenly and went racing off, Skye just behind. Ronan froze, put out a hand to halt Elodie, and tightened his grip on the pistol. A chorus of barking broke out somewhere ahead, but it wasn’t the sound of warning. It was the excited yip of greeting.

A second later, he heard a child’s laughter.

Elodie gasped. “Morag!”

She was off and running before he could stop her. Ronan swore beneath his breath and sprinted after her, vegetation and low-hanging branches whipping his face as he ran. He stuttered to a halt beside Elodie in a broad, grassy clearing. He blinked in surprise, unable to quite figure out what he’d stumbled into.

Morag sat cross-legged in the grass, giggling as an elegantly dressed woman with chestnut hair wove tiny white flowers into a chain around the little girl’s wrist. Nearby stood a tall man dressed in riding clothes of exceptional quality, one gloved hand resting lightly on the head of a magnificent gray horse.

The man looked up as Ronan emerged from the trees and smiled. “Ah. Good evening.”

Elodie took a couple of steps forward, breathing hard. “Morag!”

The little girl looked up and grinned. “Elodie! Look! I’ve been making a daisy chain.”

The elegant woman smiled warmly at Morag. “Such a delightful child.”

Ronan’s gaze swept the edges of the clearing. His every instinct was screaming at him of danger despite the apparently harmless scene before him. He stepped between Elodie and the strangers. “Who are ye?”

Bran suddenly growled, a deep, rumbling sound. Skye’s hackles rose. And armed men stepped silently from the trees that surrounded the glade. Ronan turned, drawing his pistol in one fluid movement. He counted three. Five. Eight. Ten in all, including the man and woman.

Most of the men carried muskets. Those who didn’t had swords. They didn’t look like common brigands. Their movements were too disciplined, their weapons too well-maintained for that. Soldiers, then. Or something close to it.

Elodie gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Ronan placed his left hand on her shoulder to steady her, but fixed his gaze on the well-dressed couple.

“I asked ye a question,” he growled.

The elegantly dressed woman rose gracefully to her feet. Her skirts were traveling clothes rather than court dress, but the fabric was rich enough to betray noble birth.

Her eyes settled thoughtfully on Ronan. She cocked her head. “I dinna see the resemblance. Still, ye are clearly the one we’ve been looking for.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

The man laughed and gave a small bow. “Ye are forgetting yer manners, my love. We should introduce ourselves. I’m Lord Henry Murdoch. And this is my wife, Lady Alana.”

A shot of something cold went through Ronan as though he’d been stabbed with an icicle. Lord and Lady Murdoch. These were the people responsible for the attack on Thomas. Of almost killing David. Anger replaced the cold, hot and stinging, and he struggled to keep it under control. He couldn’t let his emotions rule him, not when Morag and Elodie’s safety was at stake.

He fixed his gaze on Henry Murdoch. “What do ye want?”

“I would have thought that obvious, Ronan Campbell,” Lord Murdoch replied with a smile. “We want ye. And ye’ve forced us to go to quite the lengths to find ye.”

The use of his name hit him like a slap in the face. How did they know who he was? When they’d sent their people sniffing around the Steading, he’d assumed they were just opportunists looking for easy prey. But had they been looking for him from the start?

“How do ye know my name?” he demanded.

Henry chuckled softly. “Yer name is very well known in certain circles, my friend. The brother of the Earl of Newborough disappears after his family’s unfortunate disagreements. And after almost killing his brother. Ye were the subject of much gossip at the time. Everyone thought ye’d fled to the continent, then years later rumors began circulating of a hidden settlement somewhere in the northern hills and of a man leading it who looks remarkably like the lost brother of the Earl of Newborough.” His eyes twinkled. “Ye can see why we were interested.”

Ronan realized that none of this was chance. Morag being enticed away. Himself and Elodie following. Every piece had been arranged, like a snare closing. These people had been unable to find the Steading and so they’d waited, lying in ambush until he came out into the open. Thinking they were just opportunistic land-grabbers, he’d underestimated them. That, he realized, had been a grave mistake.

Bran gave another low growl, and Lady Alana watched the dogs with interest. “They’re beautiful animals,” she observed.

Ronan cocked his head. “They’re also excellent judges of character.”

Her smile became thinner, brittle.

For several long moments, no one spoke, and Ronan felt the tension go up a notch. Elodie looked around warily, the armed men shifted uneasily, and Morag’s eyes had gone wide, sensing at last that something was wrong.