Page 1 of Claimed by the Clan Chief

Chapter One

Isla Dunoon concentrated as she carried the heavy tray of ale across the bustling banquet room. Her laird, Stewart McDonald, was hosting an important Jacobite as well as family he hadn’t seen for some time. It was essential she didn’t spill the drinks the thirsty crowd were clamouring for.

She dodged a fellow maid, Diane, then scooted past a hound lying on the floor. His canine gaze was fixed on his master and he was obviously hoping for scraps. Perhaps he’d be lucky and get some. Isla, too, was eager for food. There was a plate of liver and onions in the kitchen, which she hoped had been set aside for the servants.

“More ale to wet your whistles.” She set the tray beside a ham hock already half demolished and a bowl of tatties with several heavy silver spoons sticking from it.

“Ah, that’s good of ye,” one of the visitors said, giving her a toothless, leery smile and leaning in close.

She stepped away. He smelled of damp earth and stagnant water. She hoped he’d make the most of a tub, or at least the stream and wash himself up. In fact it wouldn’t do most of the men in the room any harm to freshen themselves and get a change of clothes.

Apart from the laird, his important guest, and the two men who’d arrived with the woman, what was her name? Lady Moira Campbell. Aye. She seemed nice. Quiet, and with a soft smile. Both the laird’s nephew, Kendal McDonald, and his friend appeared smitten with her and Isla wouldn’t have wagered which one she was with, it could be either.

Or both.

Perhaps itwasboth.

She studied them, noting the ease at which they interacted. The expressions on the fierce Highlanders’ faces were gentle as they looked at Lady Campbell who glanced between them frequently giving neither one nor the other more or less attention.

“Isla, get to work, ye lazy wee lass.” Una jabbed her elbow into Isla’s ribs.

“Och, leave off.” Isla turned with a frown. If she had a tincture of milk thistle she’d add a few drops to Una’s toddy. That would shut her in the lavvy for a while and out of Isla’s way.

Una’s jaw clenched and her eyes flashed.

Sometimes Isla wondered if she made Una nervous, but not nervous enough for Una to stop bossing her around. She still oversaw Isla’s work from dawn till dusk each day—Isla scrubbing and cleaning until her hands were raw and her feet pained her.

Una quickly turned and then jumped with a squeal as one of the uncouth visitors slapped her rump.

There was a deep guffaw from the men at the far end of the table as Una hurried away rubbing her ass.

Isla continued to frown, hoping her surly expression would keep her safe from unwanted attention. If the men desired that sort of woman they could go into the town and find wenches who’d lie back and take cock for money. She had no intention of getting up close and personal with any of the men in this room, not for all the gold in Edinburgh.

Well, apart from one man.

The Highlander in charge—the leader of the rebel clans.

Trevor McTavish had a fierce reputation and tales of his victories travelled far and wide, earning him much admiration amongst the Jacobites. It was rumoured he’d recently taken on a hundred-strong Red Coat convoy journeying through the borders. With just five men he’d sent those who’d survived running south. He’d also been known to infiltrate English strongholds, earn trust, and then steal vital information. He was a warrior not just with his hands, but also with his brain.

Isla thought how brave he must be, to walk into enemy territory and thieve, and to charge into a battle when he was outnumbered.

He’s a true Scot and a true Highlander.

As she made her way back toward the kitchen her gaze landed on Trevor McTavish. As a fellow supporter of king and country her laird was so keen to lavish attention upon him. Nothing was too good for McTavish—the fattest pig slaughtered, the best from the vegetable garden, and only Mrs. Humphrey’s sourdough bread would do.

He was a formidable size with shoulders so wide and solid they could have been carved from the cliff face up yonder. And so tall she was sure she’d barely come up to his shoulder if stood side by side. And his hands, they were the span of the dinner plate he was eating from, his fingers thick, his forearms coated in dark hair that did nothing to hide the strength lurking there.

What muscles lay beneath his clothes?

His plaid was flipped over his left shoulder and his tunic tied about his waist with a leather strap. His kilt hid more fascination for her. She’d never been with a man but knew from friends’ tittle-tattle what they liked to do with their cocks.

What would it be like… with him? With McTavish’s big cock inside her? Because she was sure it would be big, huge in fact.

He glanced upward and his attention landed directly on Isla.

Her knees weakened and her stomach flipped. Her steps faltered.

Trevor McTavish had one blue eye and one green eye. A witch had touched him when he was a bairn. He had the power to see into souls, see what a person really wanted from him. No wonder he was the leader of clans and could dare to be so bold in battle.

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