Highlander's Guardian (Highlander Heat #4)

“Rank means little when it is what’s inside a person that counts.” She released him and tapped her chin. “Hmm, what of Arthur?”


“My second isnae looking for a wife when the last lass who took his fancy married another.” A small lie, but he’d never be able to stand aside and watch his right-hand man wed her. “He’s also here to aid me, no’ to woo the lasses.”

“Of course. I’m sorry. How long until the king approves your request for a visit with Lachlan? You said yesterday you were waiting.”

“That all depends on how accommodating the king is. With the feuds raging, he has little patience with the MacLeans.”

“Then you need to be careful and no’ aggravate him. I dinnae want you being thrown behind bars right along with your chief.”

“I’ll be careful, but should I end up in the cells, I expect you to come and visit me.”

A teasing smile lifted her lips. “I guess I could bring you your daily bread and water.”

“Imp.” He swung her into his arms and tossed her into the loch with a resounding splash.

She came up spluttering and laughing, her waist-length hair floating like a lily pad of white-blond around her. “Are you using your strength against me again, Colin MacLean?”

“You need to learn when to hold your tongue.”

“I was trained to banter at a very young age, and by the very best. You.” Her gaze traveled down his body and she gasped.

Hell. He plucked his wet shirt from his groin, but his stiffened cock was still easy to see. Just when he’d diverted her mind, now he’d gone and brought her thoughts roaring right back on him.

“Colin?” She jerked forward, swam to the ledge and held out her arms for him to lift her up. “Please.”

Why couldn’t she be like the other lasses and more reserved in her manner? An interrogation was sure to come. He hunkered down, gripped her hands and lifted her. Gently, he set her on her feet beside him as he remained standing. “I want you to forget what you just saw.”

“I should, but…” She swayed closer, grazing his chest with her hard nipples. “If you feel aught toward me then we need to speak of it.”

“Nay, I feel naught but the love of one cousin for another.” His heart ached at the mistruth, but speaking honestly on this subject would do neither of them any good, not when he’d chosen to live by his sword as the captain of his chief’s guard. She deserved far more than a warrior whose death might come at any time.

“Do you truly speak the truth? I willnae abide any lies between us.”

“Neither will I, and I’ve no reason to lie to you.” And now ’twas time to end this conversation before things between them led down an irreversible path. He strode along the ledge toward the bank. “’Twill be dark soon and we need to return afore you’re missed. Should Rory discover you’ve left the palace on your own, he’ll send out a search party.”

“Nay, he’ll know I’m with you.” She chased after him. “I’m no’ done talking with you, Colin.”

“What we need to do is to find you a man who can handle your constant need to talk.” He bounded onto the grassy bank and held out his hands. “Jump.”

She did and he caught and swung her down next to him. “Stop jesting with me.”

“I’ll aid you this eve in finding the right man.” He led her to her clothes then dressed as quickly as he could. “It willnae be an easy task, but I’ll manage it, somehow.”

“You are a stubborn man, third cousin of mine.” She wrung her hem then donned her burgundy gown and jacket over top of her wet underclothes.

“Thank you.” He ran his fingers through her long locks, tidying her hair as best he could.

“That wasnae a compliment, you dolt.” She grasped her skirts and tramped back down the thin forest trail toward the palace.

Hell, he desperately wanted to drag her into his arms and see what their future could possibly hold, but instead he allowed her to walk ahead until they emerged from the woods and the thick stone walls of Holyrood House rose like an impenetrable fortress in the descending dark.

Ahead of him, Annie hastened toward the two-story gatehouse where battlements topped fortified walls and guardsmen patrolled the barbican. Beyond the arch, the north-west tower housing King James VI’s apartments rose high and overlooked all. The king who’d imprisoned his chief, and the king he sought an audience with.

He caught Annie up, and with a hand on her lower back, steered her across the inner courtyard toward the side entrance near the service quarters. ’Twas best they bypassed the great hall and surrounding rooms which would be abuzz with people so close to the dinner hour. The less people who saw their damp hair and clothing, the better.