Page 57 of The Ruthless Highlander's Hellion
She kissed him back instantly, her hand fisting in the front of his cloak, her lips warm despite the chill. All the words they hadn’t said, all the nights they hadn’t shared, bled into that kiss. When they parted, her breath came fast.
“Return to me, Laird O’Donnell,” she said fiercely. “That’s an order.”
A slow smirk curved his lips as he stepped back. “Aye, me lady. That’s one order I’ll obey.”
He gave her one last look—long, burning, final—then brushed his hand over Charlie's hair, then turned and mounted his horse once more. This time, he didn’t look back as he rode through the gate, the sound of hooves echoing behind him like thunder. But her kiss still lingered on his lips, and her voice—her command—rang louder than any war drum in his chest.
Nicholas led the men through the dark, their movements precise, measured, and ghostlike. The sliver of moon offeredlittle light, but that suited him just fine. This needed to be done without drawing attention.
He kept his eyes ahead, his mind sharp, though the memory of Alexandra’s kiss still burned on his lips. He forced himself to push it aside.
The mission had to come first—Erica’s life, the safety of his men, and the knowledge that Leo Rankin would not stop until more harm was done and was preparing to attack O'Donnell castle. He clenched his jaw, reminding himself there would be time for feeling—later.
Marcus appeared beside him like a shadow and whispered low, “What’s the plan, then?”
Nicholas didn’t pause. “We hide the men in the forest. Ye and I will go on foot, scout the camp’s edge, get a read on their numbers and state of rest. Once I give the signal—an arrow —the assassins move in quiet and knock out the watchmen first. Our men will then fan out, hover close while the bastards sleep, and when the moment comes—we strike.”
Marcus nodded, his eyes gleaming. “Sounds like a good plan, laird.”
An hour passed as they quietly made their way to their stopping point. The soft rustle of hooves faded as the men dismounted, securing their horses to the low branches. They moved into the woods with barely a sound, the years of discipline and trainingshowing in every step. Nicholas felt pride swell in his chest. Not a single twig snapped underfoot.
He and Marcus advanced ahead of the others, weaving between thick trees until the clearing came into view. Leo’s camp lay just beyond the tree line; a ring of tents and wagons surrounded a dimming fire. Men were strewn in bedrolls, snoring softly, and two guards sat near the perimeter, more interested in gnawing on roasted meat than keeping watch.
Nicholas crouched and motioned toward the guards. “Slack fools,” he mouthed, and Marcus gave a short nod in return.
He was just about to creep closer when a voice cut through the stillness. “Erica, are ye awake?”
Nicholas froze. He and Marcus turned their heads slowly toward the fire. An old man, his white hair gleaming faintly in the firelight, was making his way toward a wagon. There, tied to one of the wheels, was Erica, slumped but alert.
“Aye, I’m awake, Councilman James,” Erica answered, lifting her head. “What do ye want?”
Relief poured through Nicholas’s chest at the sound of her voice. She was alive. Not only would Alexandra be relieved—he felt a weight lift off his own heart.
James knelt beside her, glancing over his shoulder as if to be sure no one else was nearby. “I have a secret, lass. One I should’ve told ye long ago.”
Erica tensed. “What kind of secret?”
“I was yer parents’ most trusted advisor,” he said, his voice hushed and gravelly. “And I ken why Leo killed them.”
Nicholas inched closer, keeping low and hidden. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, but he dared not miss a word.
Erica sat up straight, her eyes wide despite the flickering shadows. “Tell me.”
“Yer parents had plans,” James whispered. “Leo thought he was to be Laird—but they never intended that. They saw the darkness in him from a young age. Instead, they meant for ye to take the mantle yerself. To be the Lady, but to marry a man of power from the southern clans, unite the clans. They had been thinkin’ of a child of a powerful laird. He was just a child at the time, like ye."
Erica gasped, her whole body tense with shock. “Me? They wanted me to be the Lady?”
“Aye, lass,” James said, voice breaking in a soft whisper. “That’s why Leo killed them. He feared if word got out, nay one would accept him as Laird. He destroyed the truth to build a lie.”
Nicholas’s fists clenched around the hilt of his dagger. He felt the rage boil in his chest, not only for what Erica had lost, but for the wickedness Leo had wrought to secure power. Marcus glanced at him, his jaw tight. He’d heard it too.
Erica’s voice wavered. “Why are ye tellin’ me this now?”
“Because,” James said, placing a frail hand over hers, “I cannae stand it any longer. I watched him twist everythin’ that was good, and now ye are sufferin’ for it. We council thought ye dead lass. I feel so much guilt for nae searchin’ for ye and upholdin’ yer parents wish."
Nicholas leaned back, breath shallow. Everything made sense now—Leo’s madness, his ruthlessness, his hatred. He’d stolen not just a lairdship, but a legacy.
He turned to Marcus and whispered, “This changes everythin’.”
