Page 5 of Abducted By the Highlander
It wasn’t even as though they spent much time together. She was invariably surrounded by her sisters, or with Lady Helga, but whenever their gazes meshed across the great hall or in the courtyard, the fierce certainty consumed him that she belonged with him.
God only knew how he’d win her. She was a noblewoman, and he was merely the second son of a laird, but he was determined to make his mark and prove himself worthy of seeking her hand.
On the rare occasions she escaped her relatives, and they spent some cherished moments together amidst the bustling hall or in the courtyard, his conviction strengthened. He would return to Eigg and make her his, if it was the last thing he did.
The wedding went without a hitch and as William and his bride made their farewells to her kin, he and Lady Roisin retreated to a shadowed corner of the great hall.
“I’m sorry we are leaving so soon.” He doubted she would ever understand how sincerely he meant those words.
“As am I,” she whispered, and she gazed at him so tenderly, it took every shred of willpower he possessed not to cradle her face and kiss her until the madness within him was quenched. Except he knew full well a kiss would never be enough and would merely stoke the flames that tortured him night and day whenever he thought of her.
Belatedly, he realized she was offering him something and he glanced at her hand where she held an exquisitely embroidered handkerchief.
“For me?” A note of awe threaded through his voice. No one had ever offered him such a precious gift before.
“Aye.” Her shy response touched something deep inside, and primal protectiveness surged through him. “To remember me by.”
As he took her handkerchief their fingertips touched, a fleeting, feather-light touch that seared his veins and thickened his cock.Somehow, he kept his frustrated groan locked in his throat.
“I shall treasure it always.” He pressed his lips against the lace. Lady Roisin’s delicate fragrance of crushed rose petals spiced the air and sank into his blood more potent than any aphrodisiac. “And I shall never forget ye. We will see each other again, my lady.” It was an unspoken pledge that he would one day return.
And claim her for his bride.
Chapter One
Eire, December 1566
Hugh Campbell graspedthe lantern as he strode across the dark courtyard of O’Grady’s manor towards the stables. The rain lashed at him, chilling him to the very marrow of his bones, but he scarcely felt the discomfort anymore.
It was hard to recall how life had once been, a mere eight months ago, before the Earl of Argyll had ordered him to join the redshanks assigned to defend the chieftain O’Grady’s land against the damn sassenach.
It had been eight months since he’d last set foot on his homeland or heard from any of his friends. But the earl’s order had been absolute.
Hugh needed to forsake his former life, inveigle himself with MacGregor redshanks, and discover what the hell his missing older brother Douglas was planning.
He wiped his drenched hair from his eyes as he reached the stables and pushed open the door. The familiar scent of horse and hay eased his weary senses and for a few precious moments he imagined he was back at Balfour Castle, his childhood home. With the horses at least he didn’t need to keep up any pretense of having turned his back on his own kinsmen or feign loyalty to Clan MacGregor.
Sometimes he wondered if he’d ever be able to wipe the stain from the last eight months of pretending to be someone he wasn’t from his soul.
And sometimes the fear gripped him that he’d never be permitted to return to his former life at all.
“Hugh.” Symon MacGregor emerged from the shadows, and Hugh’s anticipation of a welcome respite fled. He forced a smile. Symon was barely a year younger than himself, and the two of them had arrived at O’Grady’s the same day. It was hardly a recommendation to become friends, but Symon apparently believed it was and so here he was, reluctantly forging a friendship with a man from Clan MacGregor, the Campbells’ sworn enemies.
“I thought ye’d turned in for the night.” Hugh hung the lantern on a hook and shook his head in a vain effort to dry his hair.
“No, man. The manor walls stifle me.” With a grin, Symon produced a jug of ale and two tankards. “I’ve been waiting here for ye to celebrate yer promotion. Sergeant.”
Hugh grunted, and despite himself a flicker of pride heated him. He’d not expected the promotion. The life of a mercenary wasn’t, after all, one he’d chosen for himself. But it was gratifying that their captain had acknowledged his efforts.
He took a tankard, and Symon filled it with ale. “Don’t let it go to yer head, Hugh,” he said. “I’d still best ye in a fight.”
“The hell ye would.” Hugh downed the ale and for a fleeting moment peace flowed through him, as though he shared a drink with a real friend, and not one in whom he could never confide the truth. The sense of peace shattered, and he exhaled a long sigh.
“The extra coin will come in handy,” Symon remarked as he refilled their tankards. “See, I told ye ’twas in our best interests to stay with O’Grady throughout the winter.”
Hugh eyed him. “I believe I told ye that.”
Since he’d received no word from the earl to return to Argyll after his three-month contract in Eire had ended, he’d remained with O’Grady, and the chieftain had been appreciative. Extra men were always needed to defend against the intermittent raids of the sassenachqueen’s men. Three months had turned into six, and when winter approached, he’d been glad to accept the chieftain’s invitation to remain until the following spring.
