Loving Her Highland Enemy Page 2

  Tavish shook his head. “I rode out to the headland but no sign. A fine thing as Bram has only just finished decorating.”

  His father cursed under his breath. “Och, we’ll no’ be ready in time at this rate.”

  Tavish shrugged. “We’ll offer them a warmer welcome than they deserve after everything they’ve said about us.”

  “Ye’ll be good and kind to them, Tavish,” his uncle warned. “The Sinclairs have been through a lot.”

  “Aye, and they blamed us for it all.”

  His father shook his head with a sigh. “Mac Sinclair was counted as a good friend to us once upon a time. I would like us to return to the old ways, no’ just to end this strife.”

  “Aye,” his uncle agreed. “We need to put an end to this and be united against the Campbells. They’re growing bolder by the moment.”

  Tavish shoved a hand through his hair. He glanced between the two men he admired most in life. His uncle, slightly wirier than his father, was only a year younger than Tavish’s father and they were as close as brothers could be.

  Though his father was the Earl of Falrigg, in reality, the position had been occupied by both men for many years, with Uncle Mac advising his father on his every move. Tavish only regretted he didn’t have a brother who could offer such support when he took up the lairdship but alas, he had several sisters, and as much as he adored them, he wouldn’t trust any of them to offer him advice.

  Hell, he’d just caught Alanna slipping a frog into Fi’s bed.

  His uncle and father were not only alike in age and temperament but looks. Both had a full head of thick white hair and dark eyes, their faces lined with years of fighting and leading the clan. His father had a scar from battle stretching across one cheek while his uncle had one along his neck where an enemy had almost slit his throat. Thankfully, their fighting days were in the past, and with any luck, this union with the Sinclairs would ensure Tavish did not have to worry about warfare for much longer.

  “I’ll do all I can to ensure Leana Sinclair wants me but I’ll no’ force a girl into marriage,” Tavish said.

  He’d never thought much about marriage but a union between two clans wasn’t unexpected. He enjoyed the company of women and they usually enjoyed his. But he’d seen a marriage or two where the woman barely tolerated her husband and he didn’t much fancy an arrangement like that.

  “If the chief is clever, he’ll push for this union even if she cannae stand ye,” his uncle said.

  “And she’ll like ye just fine,” his father said with a wave of a hand. “Yer tall and strong, and ye have my fine looks.”

  “Yer once fine looks,” Uncle Mac corrected with a grin.

  “Och, Tavish’s ma cannae keep her hands off me. ‘Tis ye who has no wife to come home to.”

  Tavish shook his head. “I dinnae want to hear about yer bedsport with my ma.”

  “I only have no wife because I’ve been too busy aiding ye all these years,” Uncle Mac rejoined.

  “Well, ye’ll be one of the few unmarried Maclean men after Yuletide.” Tavish’s father rose from the table and put a hand to Tavish’s arm. “Make us proud and woo this lass. Lord knows, I’ve seen ye charm many a woman. I’ve no doubt ye’ll manage with this one.”

  Tavish nodded. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was fulfil his duties to his clan. Even if Leana didn’t fall head over heels in love with him at first, he’d bring her around somehow, of that he was certain.

  Chapter Two

  The approach to Blair Castle left Leana feeling less than ready for Yuletide. She peered up at the gray cliffs towering over the tiny boat. The giant slabs of stone stretched high into the sky and then plunged down into a foam of angry white water. Scarred with dark caverns, the jagged rock surface appeared impenetrable. Only when the boat neared could she make out the thin steps leading to the castle entrance—a castle that could scarcely be viewed from so close but when they had been farther away she saw the stone keep sprawled across the headland.

  Leana could well understand why even the strongest of clans had enjoyed no success in ousting the Macleans from their land. She also understood why her father had never taken his opportunity for revenge. Their numbers were still not what they should be, even with some of their boys now men and excellent fighters. A siege would have been impossible.

  But she was being invited in willingly. Now was her chance.

  Salty water splashed her face and she swiped away the droplets, drawing up her shoulders and shoving down the knot tightening in her stomach. She wouldn’t let towering cliffs or impenetrable castles diminish her determination. She’d waited so long for this chance and she was going to make sure the Macleans paid for what they did. She might not be willing to kill innocent women and children as they had but she could make her mark. All she needed to do was get close to the laird.

  Slipping her hand into her pocket, she fingered the rough fabric of the tapestry. She didn’t need to glance at it to recall how it looked. She’d spent many a night and day staring at it, following the delicate lines of the stitching until it ended abruptly in a blackened mess of singed fabric. Every time she studied it, she recalled her vow for revenge.

  It was finally time and she wouldn’t let this slip through her fingers. Even if it meant being pleasant to the enemy until she got her moment, she’d do so.

  A man awaited them at the base of the steps. She turned her focus to him and forced herself to relax. Even against the immense rocks, he appeared tall. As the boat neared, she realized he was taller than most men and had broad shoulders to match. His long dark hair was tied back in a wild jumble of waves. Her stomach gave a little twist when he flashed a smile at her. It had to be nerves, and she certainly wasn’t going to let a Maclean make her feel nervous. She hadn’t survived fire and attempts to take their land to be awed by a tall, braw man.

  Braw. She shoved the thought away. Men meant little to her unless they were good fighters who could protect the clan. Being the pretend daughter of the clan leader meant she’d received attention from many a man since she’d come of age but she had no desire to give up her independence to a man—handsome or not.

  So even if this was about the most handsome man she’d ever set eyes on, it didn’t matter.

  Sweet Maggie, but he really was handsome. He likely knew it too from the smile and the way he watched her when she rose from the boat. He extended a hand and she ignored it. She might be willing to play friends for a while, but she wouldn’t let herself be swayed by mere good looks.

  Leana didn’t miss the arched eyebrow when she stepped regally onto the damp stone plinth. She eyed the hundreds of steps up toward the keep and thought of poor Maggie. Her knees were not going to enjoy the climb. She twisted to see the Highlander offer a hand to Maggie, who simpered at the gesture.

  “Welcome to Blair Castle,” he said.

  “Oh, why thank ye,” Maggie came to Leana’s side. “What a handsome lad,” she murmured far too loudly.

  The man’s grin widened. “I’m Tavish Maclean.”

  He eyed Leana for a few moments and she held her breath. It had been so long that she scarcely recognized him. Before the fire, she and Leana had let Tavish join in with their games. He tolerated them with mild amusement and Leana confided that she hoped to marry Tavish one day. He’d always been big—his name had been given to him because everyone had assumed he would be twins when he was in his mother’s belly—but she’d never expected him to grow into such a...man.

  No one had ever questioned her identity. Most of the people who knew Leana well died in the fire. Those who didn’t, scarcely paid attention to a wee lass. But Tavish...the way he stared at her—it had her fearful for the first time ever that he might see the truth.

  “Ye must be Leana,” he said, an edge to his voice.

  Cold fear washed through her as though she had plunged from the rock into the water. Did he know? How could he? Mayhap it was simply the fact they were to discuss a marriage between them tha
t made him so curious. After all, any man would be curious about the woman he was to marry.

  She need not be curious about him, though. No such nuptials would happen, of that she was certain, especially after she poisoned his father.

  She forced a tight smile. “Aye,” she managed to croak.

  “Allow me to escort ye.” He gestured up the steps.

  “I can manage—” Leana took a step forward and her footing gave way on the slippery rock. She stumbled forward, reaching blindly for something to hold onto. Her groping fingers met the warm, hard flesh of his arms, and he latched two hands around her waist, lifting her fully from the ground as though she weighed no more than the tapestry fragment in her pocket. Her heart came to a juddering halt as she peered into his nutty brown eyes.

  His pupils darkened and she felt the strength behind his hold as she curled her fingers into the tense muscles of his arms to keep herself steady. Her mouth dry, she tried to summon some kind of protest, but it only came out as a mere squeak.

  A few moments passed. The waves crashed against the rocks and her heart seemed to pound louder than a war drum in her ears. It might have been mere seconds, she could scarcely tell until she managed to rasp out some coherent words. “Put me down,” she protested.

  He blinked and released her, dropping her to the ground so swiftly her feet stung a little from the impact.

  “Forgive me,” he muttered, creases between the strong slashes of his dark brows. He straightened and offered a sudden bold smile. “I was going to warn ye...be careful, ‘tis slippery.”

  “Aye, thank ye,” she said tightly, then moved past him, more cautiously this time and avoiding his gaze, even as she felt it upon her.

  Tavish Maclean was not going to get in the way of her plans for revenge, no matter how much he made her skin hot and her heart thud.

  ✽✽✽

  LEANA SINCLAIR WAS many things. Proud, petite, and wildly pretty. Tavish hadn’t known how he’d feel seeing her after all these years. Had the scrawny lass he’d known blossomed into a beautiful woman?

  Well, he had his answer there. Her curly brown hair framed a pointed chin and dimpled cheeks. Wide green eyes framed by dark lashes had the ability to draw in a man yet there was a hardness behind those pretty eyes and the dimples didn’t fool him either. There was little sweetness in this woman.

  He glanced back at her as he led her to her chambers. She kept herself tall and proud despite her short stature. She had the bearing of an important member of the clan. Her gaze met his, held it for a moment, then she glanced away, peering over the wooden balcony to the hall beneath where much of his clan had gathered to greet Leana and the rest of her clan.

  He remembered those eyes. He remembered they were softer. He also remembered...well, he remembered that they didn’t belong to Leana.

  Leana Sinclair was many things but she wasn’t Leana.

  He had little idea how they’d managed to get away with it all these years but as similar as they had looked, this was most certainly Nessa—the child of a servant and Leana’s companion for the most part.

  He shoved open the door to her chambers and gestured inside. A fire blazed in the hearth and the shutters were closed to keep the warmth in. Candles and oil lamps had been lit as soon as they’d seen the boats approach, and fresh blankets were laid upon the generous bed. Furs adorned the wooden floor while a chest had been cleared for her belongings, its lid open in invitation. His mother had wanted this room to be perfect for his intended bride and she’d done a fine job of making it appear inviting.

  She had no idea they’d invited an imposter, however.

  “There’s a pallet for yer maid,” he said, motioning to the bed made up on the floor.

  “She’ll be some time I fear. Maggie isnae made for steps.”

  He let his lips tilt. “Aye, they’re not for the faint of heart.”

  She moved into the room, avoiding his gaze. Every movement she made, he could not help but watch. Where had the wild child who always made him play battles and pretend to die gone? And why in hellfire was she pretending to be Leana?

  As far as he knew, Leana had been the only survivor. There had been no word of Nessa being alive after the fire so he’d assumed she’d perished. Only two scenarios came to mind—both had survived and Nessa was being sent in her place or Leana had been the one to perish and Nessa had been playing pretend all these years.

  Either option meant the Sinclairs were lying to them. He’d have to be cautious.

  “It has been many years,” he commented while she moved about the room, running a finger over the tapestry on one wall.

  “Aye.”

  “Ye remember playing together as bairns?”

  “Aye.” She glanced briefly at him then turned her attention back to the tapestry, scanning every inch of it.

  Tavish frowned. The weaving depicted the hunt of a mythical creature with a horn upon its head. He’d never paid much attention to it and he couldn’t imagine why it caught her interest.

  “We used to battle, do ye recall?”

  Leana twisted, her hands clasped together in front of her. “Of course.”

  “Ye always made me be the one to die.”

  Her lips curved briefly before flattening into a line. “That was Nessa,” she said swiftly.

  He damn well knew it. She’d wanted to agree with him. This had to be Nessa. He moved into the room and kicked the door shut.

  Her brow furrowed and she held up both palms as he stalked toward her. She didn’t shrink back and instead lifted her chin to meet his gaze head on.

  Aye, this was Nessa. She’d always had that fire in her eyes. He saw it even under the hardness. Everyone had said she’d be a handful when she was older, but it seemed the fire had stolen some of her spirit. Or perhaps it was the lie she was living that had done it to her. Either way, it made him want to summon that fire again and again.

  “Tavish...”

  “That was ye,” he murmured.

  “Nay,” she whispered. “Yer mistaken.”

  “Ye might have others fooled but ye cannae fool me.”

  “I dinnae know what ye are talking about.” Her expression remained stoic but he saw the brief flare of panic in her eyes.

  “We spent many a day together as bairns. Ye looked similar indeed but neither of ye could ever trick me. I know yer not Leana.”

  “Dinnae be ridiculous. Nessa died in the fire.” She lifted her chin. “Everyone died in the fire apart from me. The fire that yer clan was responsible for.”

  He curled his fists at this sides. He’d heard that accusation far too many times. He couldn’t claim to have never spilled blood but only ever on the battlefield, in defense of his clan. “We would never be so cowardly as to burn women and children.”

  “We know ‘twas ye,” she spat out.

  “It wasnae us, that much I can vow.”

  She searched his gaze for a moment. “Of course ye’d deny it. Ye want my hand.”

  “And ye are here to take it. Surely ye wouldnae marry a man ye thought murdered yer family?”

  “I am doing what I must for the protection of my clan.”

  “By pretending to be Leana?” He moved closer until there was barely an inch spanning them. The air between them heated, as though sparks had swept from the fire to fill the gap. He heard her breaths coming hard and saw the rise and fall of her chest.

  “I’m no’ pretending to be anyone. I am Leana.”

  He narrowed his gaze at her and waited but she held his gaze, refusing to back down. “Leana had a mark on her shoulder,” he said finally. “Show me that and I’ll believe ye.”

  She laughed. “Ye wish me to bare myself to ye, Maclean? We’re not even betrothed yet.”

  He let his lips curl. Aye, this was Nessa, he knew it. That was precisely how she used to speak to him. He’d wager his position in the clan on it.

  “I know who ye are.”

  She shrugged. “Ye know nothing.”

  “And I�
�ll be seeing that shoulder,” he vowed. “Before we are betrothed.”

  Her lips pursed. “Ye always were a dreamer, Maclean.”

  Aye, that he was. And he reckoned he’d be dreaming of her creamy naked skin for the next few nights as well as wondering why the devil she had taken Leana’s place and if he could really trust her.

  Chapter Three

  Tugging her cloak tighter about her neck, Leana peered out at the rough seas. Fresh snow had fallen overnight, leaving the castle walls topped with an inch of white, and she pushed some off with a finger, then watched it tumble into the growling abyss of dark sea and white foam below.

  She should be inside where the fires were lit and the bright, beautifully decorated hall offered a warm, wonderful retreat from the bitter winter weather and austere seas.

  But that meant spending time with Tavish.

  She’d done her best to avoid him since the morning meal. He’d tried to approach her, and she’d been too aware of everyone’s eyes upon her, waiting to see if they’d make a match. It had taken all her willpower not to jump up from the trestle table and run for the hills.

  She couldn’t believe he’d figured her out! It made what she wanted to do all the more difficult. Especially if he revealed her for who she really was. The Macleans would know something was afoot if her true identity became apparent and she would never get her revenge.

  A gust of wind whipped about her, sending her hair curling around her face. She pushed it back and grimaced when Maggie caught her eye.

  “We really s-should return inside now.”

  The maid’s cheeks were splotchy red while the rest of her face remained deathly pale. Even bundled up in as many layers as possible, she shivered in the cold.

  “I could do with a little more fresh air,” Leana said.

  “I t-think we’ve had enough.”

  “I could do with some more.”

  “I dinnae know why ye would not wish to spend time with Tavish. He’s quite the handsome man, and so strong.” Maggie’s eyes gleamed. “When he lifted you so, I thought I might very well faint. He’d make ye a fine husband.”