Page 59 of The Highlander's Dangerous Bride

“’Tis very worryin’,” Sofia said, her brow furrowing. “D’ye think we should send Thorsten away somewhere safe while ye and Raven’s braithers deal with MacDonald?” she asked.

“I’ve already thought of that. I dinnae think we can make any decisions until I’ve talked tae Raven’s braithers,” Arne told her.

“I think I should let Ivar ken what’s happenin’, in case we need his help at some point if we have tae move against MacDonald,” Haldor said.

“All right.” Arne nodded. Ivar would want to be there if it came to an all-out battle with MacDonald. A battle Arne already determined they would win.

“While ye and Raven are travelin’ tae MacNeil lands, I’ll gather all the intelligence I can here. Find out what the situation is with the MacNeils. We’ll keep in touch and pool our intelligence.

Castle MacDonald, the Isle of Barra, the Hebrides, Western Scotland

“Get out!” Struan MacDonald growled, violently shoving the naked girl from his bed with his foot. She landed with a thump on the rug, her eyes wide with fright, and scurried about, snatching up her scattered clothing. But she was not quite quick enough for the Laird MacDonald’s liking.

“Get out!” Struan roared at her again, levering himself up on his elbows and leaning against his pillows, his hairy, muscular naked chest with its tracery of silvery scars on show. Clutching her clothes to shield her nakedness from the two men who had just entered and were now standing waiting by the door, watching her every move, she swerved around them and slipped silently out of the room. The candles flickered from the draught a she closed the door softly behind her.

“I hope ye have a bloody good reason fer bargin’ in on me at this hour, Jethro,” Struan barked in his habitual terse manner as he turned his head to his war captain and lifetime companion. Jethro Maddox was a massive, hulking fellow with a horribly scarred face and shaved skull, a veteran of many battles.

Before Jethro could answer, Struan’s attention was caught by the man standing next to him. He was tall and rangy and looked to be in his thirties, lightly bearded, with shoulder-length, pale red hair and light-colored intelligent eyes. He wore the long dusty coat and knee boots of a man used to spending long hours in the saddle.

“Ah, so ye’re back are ye, Kirkwood? About time too. Have ye got some good news fer me this time?” Struan said, regarding the man with impatient interest in his hard, dark eyes.

“Aye, melaird. We’ve found her.”

“At last!” Struan let out long exhale along with a pleased chuckle. “Where is she then?”

“She’s with the MacLeods, just as we suspected,” Kirkwood answered.

“Are ye certain about that? Ye’ve seen her, have ye?”

“Aye, I’ve seen her.”

“Ye’re positive ’tis her?”

“Small, slender, long black hair?”

“Sounds like her,” Struan said, a grin breaking out on his darkly stubbled face. “How did she come tae be there?”

“I told ye before I had information saying she was in that shipwreck a week or so ago off the coast of Harris, after that storm, and that Laird Macleod’s braither saved her and took her back tae their castle.”

“But I thought ye said last time that ye’d been tae see the MacLeods and they told ye they kent naethin’ of Raven.” Struan’s grin turned to a frown.

“They were obviously shieldin’ her fer some reason. She’s there all right. I’ve seen her with me own eyes, melaird.”

“So, they were lyin’ when they said they hadnae seen her.” Struan said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin.

“Aye, it would seem so. And there’s somethin’ else I think ye need tae ken as well,” Kirkwood said.

“Well, come on then, man, spit it out.”

“I think she has a bairn.”

“A bairn?” Struan’s expression turned sour, his dark brows knitting as he stared at the man who had been leading the search for his runaway wife.

“Aye, a wee lad of about two-three, accordin’ tae me informant.”

There was a pregnant pause. Then, Struan wrenched himself out of the bed and pulled a robe over his stocky, powerful body, tying it at his waist as he went up to Kirkwood and stood in front of him. “What makes ye think that?” he demanded.

“Me informant says Lady Raven left the house of ill-repute on Harris about two years ago, with a bairn in her arms. And when I asked questions at the MacLeod castle, I found out that a bairn was left there outside the gates, a lad, also two-three years ago. The family took him in, and the laird’s younger braither is raisin’ the lad as his own son.”

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