Page 3 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire

And if he could choose a husband who was altogether unsuitable and would make her miserable? He would find that all the more delightful. Uncle William was that sort of man.

Time was running out. If she did not escape his trap soon, she would be shackled to someone who might be worse even than Lord Ambrose. And yet, as she shuffled to her feet and made her way to the door, the stupid feathers still flopping about her face, she had no idea what she could do about the situation.

Oh, I wish Niamh were here! She would surely think of something to aid me!

CHAPTER TWO

“Thrice-cursed English… ye’d think they could stand tae build smaller castles and less crooked roads.” Ewan MacDuff, Overseer and Potential Laird MacTavish, scowled up at the imposing structure before him.

It was a fortress, overlooking a moderate town. More importantly, it was known to the locals as the current residence of Lord William Lancaster and his only niece, Grace Lancaster. And it was Grace Lancaster he’d been sent to find.

It had taken longer than he’d expected to find where the Lancaster family lived. In the Highlands, he knew where every family was, every clan seat, and where every laird and heir was likely to be found. But English soil was foreign to him, and the lords weren’t like the Highland lairds he knew.

It was exasperating, and the encounter of the night before, along with the letter he’d received by swift messenger some three days prior, made his mood no better.

The words of the message had been short, but they were seared into his brain regardless.

A contender fer the lairdship has appeared. Gael MacTavish, o’ a cadet line originating from a bastard o’ the previous laird’s grandfaither, with a wife and a child. Ye must return swiftly, or I fear the Council shall accept his claim.

Devlin

Gael MacTavish. Why the man hadn’t stepped forward two seasons ago, when the previous Laird MacTavish had been killed by Ewan’s brother, was a mystery. But it wasn’t one he had time to put much thought into.

He had to get back to his lands, to sort the issue out. Unfortunately, he was honor bound not to return until he’d located the childhood friend of his brother’s wife and secured her agreement to return with him.

He’d thought it would be a simple matter, until he’d been told her name and that she lived across the English/Lowlands border. Now, here he was, half a moon away from his lands, and it was only yesterday that he’d learned where to find her.

Lancaster. There was a whole region of ‘Lancaster’ folk. But of course she had to be daughter - and niece - of one of the Lord Lancasters, rather than one of the simpler folk that bore the same name.

Niamh was a wonderful woman, and a perfect wife for his brother Alistair, but he did wish she’d chosen to have a proper Lowland lass as her best friend, rather than an English noblewoman.

Still, that was none of his concern. His concern was finding the lass and delivering the message Niamh had put into his hands the day he’d left.

Ewan smoothed his hair into a semblance of neatness, checked once more that he was wearing no identifiable signs of his origin - a Scotsman would never be permitted entry into a lord’s home - and that his appearance conformed to that of a border messenger, as much as it could when he was far more heavily muscled than most. Once he was satisfied that he’d not get turned away from the gate immediately, he made his way forward.

The guards had some sense, for they stopped him immediately. Had the urgency of his errand not been prickling under his skin like the touch of a stinging nettle, he would have approved of it. And if they’d been proper Scotsmen, clansmen, instead of English lackeys.

He forced himself to maintain a reasonable expression. “I’ve a message for Miss Grace Lancaster. From a friend of hers.” He held up the missive Niamh had given him. “She asked it be tak’n directly to the lady.”

It was an effort to mimic the English way of speaking, and he knew quite well that his Highland accent was noticeable despite his best efforts. Even so, he made the effort, and was rewarded with a slight relaxation in the guards.

They probably thought he was some border peasant looking to earn coppers as a messenger. Well, whatever they assumed, as long as he wasn’t chased away before meeting the lass he’d come so far to find, he would let them assume it. Perhaps one day he’d have the pleasure of proving them wrong on the battlefield.

“Who is the message from?”

“Lady… her name is Niamh.”

The guards considered, then nodded and led him into the keep, into a small antechamber. “Wait here.” One man went to, presumably, tell Lady Grace Lancaster that a messenger had arrived, while the other went to the door to keep watch.

Ewan took the time to look around the sparsely furnished chamber. It was obviously not meant for greeting guests of any note - in the Highlands, it would have been embarrassing to have a room so sparsely furnished to meet anyone, even a messenger. The walls were almost completely bare, there was only one chair, and a small table, and the fireplace was not only unlit, but looked as if it hadn’t been touched in almost a season.

It was the sort of room where you sent visitors you wanted to see the back of as soon as possible. On the one hand, he was somewhat offended by the lack of even minimal courtesy - they’d not even offered him refreshment - but on the other, he was just as glad to get out of there as soon as possible. He had no time for courtesies.

He was there to deliver a message, secure a travel companion, and leave.

The door swung open, and a young woman entered. She was slim, pretty in a delicate sort of way, with hair the color of sun-ripened wheat, which fell in a soft wave of gold down the back of her neck.

She looked familiar, but he couldn’t think why. Then he saw the bright blue eyes.