Page 73 of Her Highlander's Darkest Temptation
Lydia turned and looked at the man who had been the bane of her life since she was a child. The man who’d taken her in after her parent’s death, true, but not out of any sense of affection or love. Only out of duty, and the hope to use her to further his own ambitions. He would have sold her, without a thought, to a man who would have delighted in torturing her, all to fill his own coffers and expand his own influence.
“Perhaps he deserves to die. But… he is my uncle. My kin. And if we are to be wed, your kin as well.” She moved closer to Donall. “I would not have you bear that on your conscience.”
Donall snorted. “He’s nae kin yet, an’ I wager I’d sleep easy enough.”
“But I would not.” Lydia shook her head, then hesitated as a new thought occurred to her. “Besides, he is an English lord. Do you truly wish to chance being accused of his murder? The king might have you imprisoned, even killed, if you kill him without any attempt to bring him to justice.”
“He brought mercenaries ontae me land. ‘Tis reason enough.”
“And you had me. Even though I am yours willingly, the argument could be made that he was only coming to reclaim me. And it is an argument his friends will make. My uncle has many powerful friends. Do not let your anger at him lay a trap we may not be able to escape.” Lydia kept her voice soft and entreating.
“She’s right, me laird. Better tae tie him up an’ deliver back tae his own, with an account o’ what happened here. Let his king an’ his English fellows decide his fate.” Ewan stepped up to stand at her shoulder. “Ye dinnae want tae risk the English tellin’ tales an’ comin’ here tae demand retribution fer killin’ one o’ their own. Clan Ranald willnae ever have any peace tae rebuild that way.”
Donall considered. Lydia saw his hand clench on his sword hilt, and knew he was warring with himself, the impulse to destroy the threat Lord Wycliffe represented battling with the knowledge that their arguments were sound. Then, with a snarl and an oath, Donall shoved his blades back into their sheaths.
“Fine. Find the guardhouse manacles, bind him tight, an’ load him on a horse. We’ll take him back.” Donall paused, his jaw working. Then… “Ye’re comin’ with me.”
Lydia yelped as he swept her into his arms without another word and carried her out of the building - a watchtower, she could see now. “Donall! What are you doing?”
“Tak’ng me betrothed away from the sight o’ a dead man.” Donall stalked into the woods, following a little path. It soonopened up into a small clearing, marked with a clear-running rill that danced through the center.
Donall set her down with a grunt, then bent and dunked a cloth in the water. “Here.”
The cloth was cool, refreshing against her skin. Afterward, Donall handed her a dripping water skin, and Lydia drank. She noted that he’d taken the time to wash away the worst of the blood as well.
She drank deeply again, then started to hand the water bottle back to him, only to give a startled gasp as he dragged her into his arms, wrapping her in an almost crushing embrace.
“I thought I’d lost ye.”
Lydia exhaled and buried her face in his sash as she wrapped her arms around him in turn. “I was afraid I would never see you again either.”
Silence fell for a moment, then broke as both of them spoke at once.
“I love you.”
“I love ye. With every beat o’ me heart.” Donall’s eyes shone like emeralds and the deepest hues of moss in the rill beside them. “I dinnae ken how it happened, or when, but I dinnae care either. Iken that I love ye, Lydia Wycliffe, enough tae fight the world fer ye. Fight the world or dae whatever else it takes tae keep ye.”
Lydia blinked against the sting of tears in her eyes. Her throat felt tight, her chest aching with happiness so great it was almost painful. “And I love you, so much that I would do whatever it takes to remain with you.”
“Good.” Donall drew her closer, then bent to give her a kiss. It was sweet and tender, his arms around her like a promise, and Lydia melted against him.
Ewan found them ten minutes later, still wrapped in each other’s arms, and smiled. “Time tae go home.”
Lydia smiled back, not even bothering to pretend indignation as Donall swept her into his arms once more. Overhead, the sun was setting and the first stars were appearing. “Yes… time to go home.”
EPILOGUE
Ranald Keep, One week later…
“Has word come yet?” Donall looked up from his desk as the door opened to reveal his betrothed, and suppressed a grin. After the recent events of a seven-day or so ago, Lydia had become almost as impatient as he.
“Ye ken it hasnae, or Alex would have returned as well.” Donall rose from his seat and strode around the desk to take her into his arms and plant a teasing kiss on her brow.
Alex had arrived at Ranald Keep as soon as he had received news of the battle. He had been highly chagrined to learn that he had missed the battle entirely, and that Rory Cameron had been killed. He’d demanded a blow-by-blow account of the fight, which Donall had given him over several glasses of the best whisky he had.
In return, Alex had taken charge of the prisoner, Lord Wycliffe, and several letters, which he promised to see to their destination since he had business there to attend to anyway. Three of them were to Donall’s kin-by-marriage, informing them of the recent events: the death of Rory Cameron, and Donall’s own intention to take a bride, Lydia Wycliffe, formerly of England.
Another letter had been a full accounting of the affair between Donall, Laird Cameron, and Lord Wycliffe. Donall had left nothing out, even having Lydia scribe down her own part of the story separately. He had included proof, found in Lord Wycliffe’s belongings, of the hired mercenaries, and the alliance between Wycliffe and Cameron - an alliance he suspected the crown hadnotsanctioned, given the secrecy of Rory Cameron’s initial attempts to take Lydia back.
