Page 3 of The Highlander's Auctioned Wife
He had only just made it out of the saddle, determined not to fall, when that same figure barreled into him. Even in hisweakened state, he didn’t lose his footing, as slender arms wrapped tightly around him, hugging him with all their might.
“I kenned ye’d come home safe,” his cousin, Sophia, gasped, doing her best to squeeze what little breath he had left out of his lungs. “While everyone around me was doubtin’ it, I kenned ye’d come home. I kenned there wasnae anythin’ in this world that could keep ye from us.”
Gordon hugged her back, having no words to say.
“Papa has held yer place,” Sophia continued urgently. “The council were tryin’ to demand a new Laird, certain ye were dead, but he wouldnae let them. He insisted they had to wait ‘til the month’s end. And here ye are—a week early.”
As if summoned, Gordon’s uncle, Matthew Shaw, came haring across the courtyard, shoving aside anyone who got in his way.
“Och, Gordon, ye’re a sight for sore eyes and nay mistake!” Matthew crowed, pulling his own daughter out of the way so he could embrace his nephew.
Gordon allowed his uncle to hug him briefly, though he didn’t return the gesture. It was different with Sophia; she was like a sister to Gordon, but he didn’t need his clan seeing him be coddled like a hapless boy who’d gotten himself into some kind of mischief.
Matthew pulled back, taking a closer look at Gordon. The older man’s eyes narrowed in concern as he observed the bloodied cloth that had been tied across Gordon’s left eye.
“It’s nothin’,” Gordon said, stepping away from his uncle. “I mean to bathe, eat, rest for an hour or so, then I’ll meet with the council. Get ‘em to remember, without question, who their Laird is.”
He moved to leave, but Matthew caught hold of his arm, whispering in a harsh voice, “Who did this to ye?”
Gordon paused, whispering back, “Whoever it was, I’ll be waitin’ for him. But I daenae intend to waste another hour of me time because of him.” He drew in a breath. “All I ken is, we cut a few heads off the hydra, but it dinnae die.”
“What do ye mean?” Matthew asked, frowning.
“The thieves we thought responsible for the death of me faither and braither…” Gordon glanced at his uncle with his good eye “… they were nae actin’ alone.”
In that far-off keep, he’d lopped off a few more heads, but the wicked serpent at the heart of it, who had given the orders, had not been among them. Still, Gordon meant what he had said: when that snake emerged again, he would be waiting to end it, once and for all.
One Month Later…
Rain pattered against the windows of the Sea Hall, where the household gathered for breakfast each morning. It was set to be a dismal day, a storm rolling in across the churning North Sea, another gathering in Gordon’s chest. He finished off his third bowl of salted porridge, his appetite restored after weeks of forcing food down, and looked around the table.
“Ye want another helpin’, M’Laird?” his Man-at-Arms, David, asked, his hand already half raised to summon a servant.
Gordon shook his head, and David’s hand fell.
Everyone fell silent, pausing in the eating of their own breakfasts as they waited for him to speak. He had never been particularly verbose but, of late, he had used his voice even less than normal.
Gordon cleared his throat. “I have decided to marry.”
His cousin, Sophia, clasped her hands together, a fond smile creeping onto her lips. His uncle, Matthew, frowned a little, while his Man-at-Arms raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“And soon,” Gordon continued. “I need an heir. Quickly.”
Matthew raised a hand to speak, but it was David who cut in first, wearing a pleased grin as he said, “Well then, M’Laird, it seems ye’re in luck…”
CHAPTER 2
“What am I—a cow at market?”Anna Lane snapped irritably, her breakfast ruined by the unexpected conversation.
“Anna…” her mother, Louisa, warned in a gentle tone across the table in the Great Hall of Castle MacTorrach.
“Aye, that’s me name,” Anna retorted, gulping down a mouthful of hot medicinal tea to steady her nerves and to give herself a moment to cool her temper. “But it seems Faither would prefer it if I just wore a sign about me neck that reads “For Sale.” I refuse, Faither, so ye can just… think again.”
Her father, Thomas, sighed into his cup of weak ale. “Ye havenae left me with any choice, lass.”
“Interestin’ that ye’d use the word ‘choice’ when ye’re givin’ me none,” Anna remarked, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. “I’ve told ye time and time again thatIwill decide who I marry. Ye’re nae holdin’ any bloody auction for me hand.”
She knew she shouldn’t push her father, but she couldn’t help it. In a few weeks’ time, it would be three years since Elinor, the middle sister of the trio, had been snatched in the night by Laird Dalmorglen: as wicked and cruel a man as any Anna had ever heard of.
