Page 1 of Taken By the Devilish Highlander
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Feya flipped over in the overstuffed bed and threw her fist into the pillow. The bed was too soft, far more luxurious than the sensible pallet she slept on at home. She found it far too impractical, an extravagance that made her blood boil as she thought of how many children slept on the floor back in her hometown.
But it wasn’t only this ostentatious four-poster that kept the twenty-two-year-old awake. Thoughts of her sister kept floating into her mind, making it impossible to sleep.
Feya threw the covers aside and dropped her bare feet to the floor, careful not to wake her younger sister. Eloise was just eleven years old, the baby of the family, though just barely. She had a twin sister, Poppy, who slept in the room next door, where Feya’s brothers, Ronnie and Tormond were probably tossing and turning just as Feya was.
Why did she have to marry him?
They were in McKenzie Castle, the intimidating home of their Laird. For so long, the place had only been a shadow in their lives, a building on the hill that reminded them who they served. Feya never imagined she would find herself spending the night in the place, let alone celebrating Morgana’s wedding here.
“Feya?”
Eloise sat up in bed and peered through the darkness, her auburn hair sticking up at odd angles as she rubbed her eyes.
“Go to sleep, wee one,” Feya said. “I’m only closing the window.”
She waited until Eloise obeyed and then stepped to the balcony, feeling the cool breeze of the evening through her nightgown. How could Feya lie in bed knowing where Morgana was right now? Knowing that she had to share a bed with that cruel, ill-mannered man?
She squeezed her hands around the cool iron of the balcony and imagined she was squeezing Laird McKenzie’s neck. If only the old man hadn’t seen Morgana in town on that fateful day. If only she hadn’t been so beautiful. McKenzie claimed Morgana for his bride, refusing to take no for an answer. Of course, Morgana’s selflessness had taken over, immediately willing to sacrifice herself for the good of her siblings, just as she had always done.
Feya’s breath came fast as she remembered the old man’s behavior at the wedding feast, the way he wrapped his whole hand around Morgana’s wrist and pulled him from one spot tothe next. She remembered the way he leered at her, so openly eager to claim her as his own.
“I can’t stay here,” Feya whispered to the wind, and she turned on her heel. She made sure Eloise was fast asleep, and then she grabbed her shawl and pushed her way into the hallway. She needed to check on Morgana, make sure this horrible night would be as bearable as possible.
I won’t let him be rough with her. There are limits to what she should endure.
Of course, she knew it was a foolish mission. She wasn’t about to burst into a Laird’s bedchamber and supervise his wedding night. She was liable to get herself killed with that sort of behavior. But Feya needed to check. Even if it meant just walking by his room to make sure she didn’t hear anything alarming.
A flash of movement caught her eye, and Feya froze, looking down the candle-lit hallway.
Nothing.
She took a breath and put one foot in front of the other. She would walk by Laird McKenzie’s chamber and then turn back. Just so her sister wouldn’t be alone…
Or so you won’t feel so alone.
The sound of a door slamming made her jump, and Feya pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Such an ordinary sound shouldn’t make her nervous, but she walked faster, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. Muffled voices came to her, a grunt that sounded dangerous.
“Leave her alone,” Feya said under her breath, and she took off at a run, her bare feet cold on the stone floor.
Laird McKenzie’s door was open, and there was no mistaking the sound of a struggle. The old man was breathing hard, grunting. Feya could imagine Morgana in front of him, her small frame no match for the man.
“I’ll kill ye,” McKenzie screamed, hatred in his voice. And then there was a slam, as if he had thrown Morgana into the wall. Feya’s blood boiled, and she moved without thinking, without any regard for her own safety.
“Leave her alone,” she cried as she rushed into the room, shoving the bedchamber door open. But she didn’t see her older sister in front of her. Instead, she saw the outline of two men through the sheer curtains of the balcony, blowing so gently in the breeze. Moonlight glinted off a dagger just before it plunged into Laird McKenzie’s abdomen.
McKenzie cried out, a sound of anguish and the recognition of defeat, before he crumpled to the floor. Then the scowling, red-headed man glared at her, hatred in his eyes. He had seen her.
Move. Run. Get out of here.
But she was frozen. Her brain couldn’t make sense of what was in front of her. Her eyes were locked on the pool of blood growing larger as it poured out of her sister’s new husband.
Ex-husband.
The realization hit her like a hard fall from a horse. Laird McKenzie was dead, and Feya had just witnessed his murder.
“Bad timing, lass,” the man growled, his voice low and gravelly. He reached down and pulled his dirk from the Laird’s stomach, turning to point it at Feya.
