Highlander's Guardian (Highlander Heat #4)

The girl bobbed her head and left.

The night would grow colder, but for now, the fire spread its delicious warmth throughout the stone chamber. She crawled under the covers and snuggled as thoughts of Colin flittered through her mind. Outside under the tree, he’d touched her so intimately. What did it all mean when he’d insisted he thought of her as a cousin and no more? Had he lied?

It might pay to speak to Elizabeth about things. Her aunt was as understanding as her mother had always been, and she and Elizabeth had become so close of late. Aye, she missed her mother, the woman who’d shown her how wonderful love could be. She and her father had married to bring their two clans closer together, MacLeod and MacLean, but in doing so they’d fallen in love and known such happiness in their years together. That’s what she wanted, to do the best by her clan but also to strike the right match.

If only there wasn’t such unrest in the Highlands. When the clans denied the king what he wished, they soon found disfavor and bounties on their heads and so many warriors had lost their lands once cast out. Those warriors then took what they wanted, where they wanted, and it had been just such a band of highly trained men who’d attacked her parents’ party as they’d traveled on a short trip north from Dunvegan to the tip of Skye. That day, her father had died protecting her and Mother.

Her gaze misted and she shoved back the unwanted tears. Mother had fought her captor and hit her head on a low tree branch as the brigands had marched them through the forest, and during the week they’d been held for ransom in the leader’s camp awaiting Rory’s payment, the woman she’d loved with all her heart had never fully woken from the blow.

Rory though had not waited for the exchange of coin. He and Colin had broken the messenger, discovered their location and stormed into camp. That day would be forever etched in her mind. Colin had slashed his way through the outlaws to reach her while Rory had gone berserk and killed every single warrior in his path. Not one of the men in camp had been granted leniency for slaying her father, and ’twas a strong message Rory had sent that day, that none would ever attack his clan so again.

If only Rory and Colin had come in time for Mother. She’d held Mother’s hand as she lay unresponsive on her dusty plaid, and when she’d kissed her mother’s cheek and told her Colin had come, her mother’s fingers had fluttered over hers and she’d breathed her last. Losing both her parents within days of each other had near torn her heart in two. She’d only survived the ordeal because of Colin.

In the weeks that had followed, he’d held her each night and mourned with her as she’d cried herself to sleep. How was ever supposed to live without him when she wed? Certainly if she gave James’s proposal the due consideration it required, any marriage with him would take her away from Colin and Rory.

She closed her eyes and a tear escaped.

As much as she adored Arthur for his proposal, it had been made for one reason only, to force Colin’s hand. That she couldn’t do.



Colin strode into the tower after waiting until midnight for the guards to finally allow him clear passage through. With his weapons removed and stored in the guards’ antechamber, an edgy frustration sizzled through him.

The guardsman led the way up the winding stairwell. The walls were tight and Colin’s shoulders brushed the blackened stone either side of him. So too he had to duck his head or else knock it on the low rafters above. The tactical design would certainly ensure a man couldn’t swing his sword in this area during an attack.

On each darkened landing he passed, a little more room allowed him added movement, although with the narrow windows boarded shut, barely a trace of light passed through. Odorous, musty air clogged his throat. Lachlan had been living in these conditions for weeks and that sent his anger soaring. The king treated Lachlan like the worst scourge instead of the great chief he was.

“This way.” The warrior, his hand firm on his belted side sword, strode down the darkened corridor then halted at a heavily barred door. He turned the lock and pushed the rusty door open with a teeth-grinding screech. “I’ll return soon.”

“My thanks, but take your time.” He entered the stone cell lit by a single candle burning in an iron wall sconce.

“You have ten minutes.” The door scraped shut and the lock clunked back into place behind him.

Ahead, Lachlan sat on a dusty pallet, his wrists manacled and chained to the wall. His ragged tunic and trews hung off him.

Kneeling at his chief’s feet, he grasped Lachlan’s forearms in a firm warrior’s hold. “You look terrible.”

“’Tis good to see you too, Colin.” He cleared his raspy throat. “How is my wife?”