Page 2 of Highlander’s Sweet Poison

“Gemma. Elizabeth,” she said hoarsely.

“They are safe. Theo is here. He and his men are cutting through the mercenaries as we speak. They wilnae take the loch.”

If they were fighting, then what was he doing in the woods? “Why are ye here?”

A faint smile spread over his face, and he stopped and looked down at her. “I came looking for ye, Jillian. Ye wilnae get away from me so easily.”

His words had the strangest effect on her body, sending a shiver up her spine and not from dread. It sounded like a threat and coming from Graeme, it probably was, but that didn’t seem to stop the flutter of her heart.

Thankfully, before she could think too much about it, she passed out in his arms.

1

Four months later

Fletcher MacSeaver was dead. For decades, he’d been the leader of the MacSeaver clan, and for most of Graeme’s life, he’d been a respected and influential laird. Then his wife had died, and after a dark and painful mourning time, Fletcher had become the butt end of so many jokes for his lecherous ways. When Fulton died, he’d abruptly married to try and rid himself of the pain, and when her treachery left the most powerful highland clans in shock, he withdrew.

And now it seemed he had passed in his sleep. As Graeme watched the coffin lowered to the ground, he wondered if the man he’d once admired was now at peace.

Was there any peace for a man after he’d been ripped apart by the claws of love?

As the priest droned on about Fletcher’s many accomplishments and feats, Graeme looked over the crowd that had assembled by his gravesite. Despite Fletcher’s sins, most of the MacSeaver clan still loved and respected him, and they had turned out for his funeral. Standing off to the side were the four other lairds in the alliance that Fletcher had signed. Connor Sinclair, laird of the largest highlander clan, had arrived with his wife, Moira. Next to him stood his brother, Alec MacKay, and his wife, Cora. Fletcher had tried to seduce both of those lasses, Moira before her marriage and Cora after. Next to them, looking uncomfortable, was Creighton Armstrong. It was a wonder that he’d shown up at all, considering that Fletcher’s previous wife had seduced Creighton’s brother and turned him so that he slew the eldest Armstrong brother. Creighton had very little time to come to terms with the fact that both his brothers were dead before he’d been thrust into the position of power, but reports had claimed that he was faring well. Hamish Hamilton and his wife, Grace, were next to him, and finally, there was Theo MacDougal and his new wife, Gemma.

Graeme gritted his teeth as he watched Theo. Ever since Theo had taken over Loch Moran, stolen it right under Fletcher as far as Graeme was concerned, the two men had an unusual relationship. When Fletcher had demanded that he travel to Sinclair lands and find himself a bride, he instead went to Loch Moran intending to find proof that Theo was squandering the loch so he could take it back.

Instead, he’d ended up fighting side by side with Theo as the man risked his life to save it.

They weren’t friends by any stretch of the imagination, but he didn’t feel threatened. No, Creighton was the only one that Graeme needed to keep an eye on. He was the only unknown here.

The priest finished, and Graeme nodded to the men by the grave. They started tossing the dirt over it, and slowly, the people headed back. All the lairds waited until after the people had filtered out before they started back together.

“Armstrong,” Graeme greeted Creighton in a low voice. “I didnae have a chance to speak to ye before the procession. Welcome.”

“Thank ye,” Creighton said shortly.

Graeme decided to get right to the point. “I am surprised to see that ye are here.”

“I am a laird now, and I am bound by the treaty,” he said shortly before he sighed. “I had no issues with Fletcher, and I have no issues with ye. I come to pay my respects and nothing more. I plan to leave in the morning.”

“Vera well, but ye are welcome to stay longer. My land is open to ye.”

Creighton nodded, and Graeme dropped back. The rest of the group had sectioned themselves off. Theo and Hamish were speaking quietly, and Alec and Connor were chuckling at their wives. Since Cora and Gemma were both English, the other ladies were peppering them with questions.

None of them, it seemed, mourned Fletcher’s death.

Just as Graeme wondered if he was intruding on the group, Connor and Alec noticed him. “Graeme,” Connor said, “I am sorry for yer loss. Fletcher and I werenae close, obviously, but he was yer family, and ‘tis not easy losing a mentor.”

“He wasnae an easy man to love in his later years, but there was a time when he was an impressive laird. These people will miss him so.”

“And they will accept ye as their laird?” Alec asked.

“Aye. I have been the heir for several years now, and no one has challenged me for it.”

“I heard ye were to find a bride from among my people,” Connor said wryly.

Instantly, the women behind him quieted, and he knew why. Gemma was probably straining to hear what he said next. She was also the one who no doubt ratted him out.

“‘Twas my uncle’s wish that I marry to strengthen an alliance, but he is gone now, and a bride is not at the top of my list.”