Page 48 of Wicked Kilted Highlander

CHAPTERNINETEEN

Darragh descended the staircase, his muscles tense. There at the bottom, wrapped in a handsome stranger's embrace, stood Lara. His gut twisted into knots at the sight, bile rising in his throat. Who dared touch what was his?

Darragh quickened his pace, boots thudding heavily against the stone steps. By the time he reached the bottom, the man had released Lara--but not quickly enough.

"And who might ye be?" Darragh growled, eyes raking over the tall, dark-haired man. So, this is the fiancé Lara spoke of, is it? Gregor Campbell.

The name left a foul taste in Darragh's mouth.

Gregor smiled, extending a hand in greeting. "Gregor Campbell. A pleasure tae meet… Lara's husband. Ye appeared out of nowhere, did ye nae?"

Husband. The word was but a formality, a lie to keep prying eyes from the truth. Darragh ignored the proffered hand, folding his arms across his chest.

"I cannae say the same when I see yer arm around my bride, forgive me," he bit out. Lara sighed at his side, a frown marring her pretty face. He cared not. She was his, and he'd not have another man's hands upon her, propriety be damned.

Gregor's smile faded, eyes narrowing. "Come now, I meant nae offense."

"And I'll give ye none in return," Darragh growled. "So long as ye keep yer distance."

Lara bristled at that, blue eyes flashing. "Darragh, this is Elsie’s fiancé!"

He ignored her protest, staring Gregor down. "Have I made myself clear?"

Gregor studied him for a long moment, jaw clenching. But he nodded, gaze sliding away from Darragh's at last.

"Aye," he muttered. "Clear as crystal, I dinnae want hostility between our families. We’re marrying two sisters after all, are we nae?"

Satisfied, Darragh looped an arm around Lara's waist and pulled her close against his side without answering the man.

Let the bastard look—but not touch.

Gregor's eyes followed them as Darragh led Lara away, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Damn the man and his meddling.

"That was entirely unnecessary," Lara said, wrenching from his grasp. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright with anger. "Must ye behave so crudely?"

"Crudely?" Darragh scoffed. "I but claimed what is mine."

"I am nae a possession to be claimed, Darragh!" She shoved at his chest, though he barely felt it. "How dare ye speak tae me in such a way. I'll nae have it, dae ye hear?"

He grabbed her waist tighter before she could shove him again, grip tightening when she struggled.

His gaze cut to Gregor, who was watching them with unveiled suspicion. Darragh sneered, the expression twisting his scarred lips, and sauntered off in the opposite direction. The Campbell bastard could suspect all he liked.

He'd never uncover the truth.

Gregor continued to watch Darragh with a hawkish gaze, as he wandered over to peer out a narrow window at the rolling green hills beyond a casual air. But his fingers curled into fists at his sides.

The Campbell man seemed too clever by half. Darragh didn't trust him, not for a moment. Gregor would not rest until he'd pried into every crevice of their farce of a marriage, searching for weaknesses to exploit, he was sure of it.

A floorboard creaked behind him. Darragh tensed, shoulders bunching, and glanced over his shoulder.

It was Laird MacLean. Darragh realized the man had likely heard everything. The old man frowned at him, his craggy face creasing into disapproval. "Yer behavior is unacceptable," he said stiffly.

Darragh twisted his lips, keeping a lid on his anger. "As much as I respect that ye care fer yer daughter, sir, she’s my wife, and it is between us both how we treat each other, is it nae?"

The laird couldn't deny the truth in those words, as much as it obviously pained him, and he looked away with a sigh, his gaze skittering over the flagstone floor. Shame flickered in Darragh's chest, but he tamped it down. He owed the man no apologies.

A delicate hand touched his arm. Darragh started, gaze flying to Lara who looked up at him with those damned guileless blue eyes, soft and pleading.