Her Enemy Highlander

Red.

‘You’re a Colquhoun!’ she gasped, too surprised to stay quiet.

He turned around. ‘Aye, I am, but that wouldn’t matter unless...’ His eyes narrowed, and took in her every feature.

Hell and damnation.

Mairead leapt for her jewelled dagger on the table by the fireplace. She didn’t know who was quicker, but Caird was bigger and already standing. He had the advantage.

He pushed her towards the bed, his body already blocking her.

Determined, she ducked underneath his outstretched arm, and her hand grasped the table. Just a little further—

He dropped his weight on her and the table. She was flattened and the table overturned.

The dagger skidded across the floor. Scrambling, she lunged, but Caird dived over her and grabbed the dagger with his fingers. Rising up, she clasped her hands together and rammed both elbows into his back. He lost the grip on the dagger, and it flew against the opposite wall. The dagger broke.

Out of the handle, a green stone slightly larger than a duck’s egg skidded towards them.

Chapter Five

Snatching up the gem, Caird watched emotion after emotion flit across the woman’s face. She certainly looked surprised. But she was a thieving no-good Buchanan and they were all well practised in the art of lying.

‘Explain.’ Anger scraped the edge of his word, making it rough and barely controlled.

She didn’t stop staring at the green gem and he clenched his fingers around it, moving it up to his face.

Like a cat focused on its prey, her eyes followed the gem. They remained almost unfocused, as if her thoughts couldn’t catch up with her action.

Then her eyes skidded to his.

Oh, she was a master at lying. He could tell. Even now, she faked astonishment. As if she didn’t know the gem was there.

A Buchanan was right before him. He had shared his room, his bed, with her. Disgust slithered fast through his veins and his stomach recoiled.

Last night, his drinking had dimmed his ability to think. Now, his absolute anger at being tricked was blinding him. For years the Buchanans had bordered with the Colquhouns. For years the Colquhouns had endured the thieving, lying, murdering ways of the Buchanan clan. And here he was, stuck with a Buchanan, and he held a lie right in the palm of his hand.

But no more lies, nor more prevarication. He would have answers and then he would have his revenge.

Staring at the gem, Mairead sat up. Even in Caird’s hands it was large. The cut facets were shining, twinkling, laughing at her.

‘I didn’t know it was there,’ she answered. She couldn’t think of a lie fast enough. Couldn’t think at all.

The dagger had been the answer to all her prayers. However, next to the startling beauty of the gem, both the dagger’s silver ornamental handle and the two inset rubies looked fake. She just couldn’t believe something like the gem existed.

It was oblong, cut on one side, and rough on the other. Some facets showed the gem bright green, but the rest of it looked like a rough river, and almost blue.

The gem was stupendous, magnificent and unbelievable. Enough to get the family out of debt, maybe enough to spare them humiliation.

He glowered. ‘Give me true answers, Buchanan!’

‘I doona know—’

‘How to keep your story straight? Tell me. Either the dagger is yours or not. Likewise this gem. You cannot have it both ways!’

The door banged open and Malcolm stared at them both on the floor. He didn’t try to contain his look of amusement.

Mairead hastily pulled up Caird’s gaping tunic and stood.

‘What is it?’ Caird closed his hand around the gem.

‘It’s about my nightly package,’ Malcolm replied, his voice laced with humour. ‘But I can see you’re occupied at the moment.’

Caird stood, but anger still bit into his words. ‘Where is he?’

Reading his brother’s mood, Malcolm’s grin abruptly vanished. ‘We went south several miles. The further we got, the further agitated he became. When he finally co-operated, I set him free and gave him his horse. I watched him, but he continued south, so I returned.’

Brows drawn inward, Caird made some sound in his throat. ‘The river’s south.’

‘It was that or east. Since it was dark and raining again, I took him the way I knew to not risk the horses.’

Caird’s brows eased and Malcolm’s smile returned. ‘So, I had a miserable night and you still have the bonniest lass in Scotland in your room.’

Mairead waited for Caird to mention who she was, but instead he ignored her and stepped towards his brother.

‘That’s not all I have in my room.’ Caird opened his hand.

Malcolm picked up the gem and turned it in his hands. ‘This is unbelievable.’

‘Aye,’ Caird replied.

‘Where did it come from?’

‘The dagger,’ Caird gestured to the floor where the dagger still lay in two pieces.

‘Nae wonder my package was agitated the further we got from this gem. It’s unusual, and valuable.’ Malcolm handed the gem to Caird, who put it in his pouch around his waist. ‘But the man was poor, a thief at best.’

‘There is more to this.’ Caird glared at Mairead.

Malcolm’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Aye, you’ll want to say your goodbyes before we leave.’

‘She’s coming with us,’ Caird answered.

Mairead didn’t like that they talked around her. She especially didn’t like being told what to do. But what else should she expect from an arrogant Colquhoun? Their entire clan was smug in their supposed superiority. It was the reason why for years her clan had loved stealing and borrowing from them. Colquhouns deserved the humiliation of being robbed.

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she said. ‘I’ll take my dagger and that gem and be on my way.’

‘They are yours?’ Malcolm said, his eyebrows raised.

She owed this brother no explanations, but if she could persuade him, then he might have some sway with Caird. ‘The dagger, and what it hid, is my brother’s,’ she continued. ‘You are both right that the thief stole it. He stole it from my family.’

Caird huffed.

Malcolm looked intrigued. ‘But you didn’t claim it last night.’

‘And her gown is heavily worn and frayed,’ Caird added.

She turned to Caird. ‘What my family spends their money on is none of your concern. This might not even be my real gown.’

‘Imagine my not knowing what’s real,’ he replied.

‘And I thought last night was interesting,’ Malcolm drawled. ‘My brother clearly does not believe you and this is nae ordinary gem.’

She felt like roaring in frustration and helplessness. She wanted the nightmare over and these Colquhouns were making it worse. ‘It matters not if you won’t believe—’

Malcolm shook his head. ‘But it seemed the thief knew you.’

Caird folded his arms across his chest and nodded. ‘Aye.’

‘So, who is she?’ Malcolm pointedly asked Caird.

Expectantly, Mairead looked at Caird; surely he’d reveal her clan identity now. But Caird stayed quiet, his expression only darkening.

Malcolm smirked. ‘She spent the night and you still doona know her name? Brother, you have always been a man of few words, but I think one or two to ask this lass’s name wouldn’t have been untoward.’

Hating the conclusions Malcolm was making, she threw a knowing smile at Caird. ‘Mairead of Clan—’

‘Enough introductions,’ Caird interrupted. ‘We need to find this thief.’

Malcolm’s brows rose as he noted Caird’s interruption, but he didn’t comment and neither did she. If Caird didn’t want Malcolm to know who she was, she didn’t need to know these Colquhouns either.

She just needed to return home. For a moment, she was tempted to find the thief on her own. Her grief was once again scraping across her skin, demanding she confront Ailbert’s killer. But she had to focus on the dagger and return with it before the Buchanan laird realised her brother’s debt.

Unfortunately, it was in the hands of self-righteous Colquhouns. As much as she would love the gem as well, she had to fake a compromise.

‘Ach!’ She swept across the room and picked up the dagger and handle. ‘Keep the gem, do with it what you may, but this I’ll keep.’

‘’Tis broken,’ Malcolm said.

Mairead didn’t reply. There was something odd about the dagger. The blade was still attached to its handle. The second piece was smaller, and she realised it was the handle’s tip. Carefully, she put the pieces together. They fit. The dagger had a hollow handle and the lid to the handle had come loose.

‘Give that to me,’ Caird said.

She hugged the dagger to her chest. ‘Nae, it is mine. What do you care for this dagger when you have the true prize?’

‘Do we?’ Caird replied. ‘And you will go with us.’

‘I’ll go nowhere with you.’

‘The thief,’ he said.

‘Is free and going south, aye, I know and doona care,’ she lied. ‘I have what I came for.’

‘I think my brother meant you’ll need to come with us,’ Malcolm said.

‘And I told you I won’t.’

‘The thief was going south, but he didn’t like it,’ Malcolm continued calmly. ‘He knows the dagger is still here.’

She’d go nowhere with a Colquhoun. She went around Malcolm. He didn’t stop her from reaching the door.

‘He could be outside the door,’ Malcolm continued.

‘With sword drawn,’ Caird added.

Chapter Six

Mairead halted. They were right. But she wasn’t done with them. She whirled around. ‘He wouldn’t have a sword if you hadn’t given it to him.’ She pointed at Malcolm. ‘And he wouldn’t be anywhere near here if you hadn’t just set him free!’

‘Enough,’ Caird said. ‘You’ll go with us. We’ll find the thief and who truly owns the dagger and gem.’

Oh, she was angry now. ‘Because you think that’s right. Because you think you’re correct. But you’re not! This dagger was my brother’s.’

‘Was?’ Caird walked to the bed and grabbed his sword. ‘Perhaps we should talk to your brother first.’

She didn’t want to think of her brother. She didn’t even want these arrogant Colquhouns to mention the word brother.

‘The devil have you!’ she yelled. Yanking the door open, she flew out, satisfied by the crash of the door against the wall.

She had barely reached the second stair before she was lifted off her feet and tossed over a shoulder. It was Caird. She hated the very sight of his bare back. Almost as much as she hated how she recognised him just by the width of his hands on her waist.

‘Release me!’ she demanded.

He huffed and started to return to the room. She raised the dagger, blade pointed at his back.

He suddenly pivoted and flung her against the wall. She dropped the dagger.

‘Owwww!’ She pounded on his back and tried to twist out of his grasp.

Her head and arm hurt, but not as much as her pride. ‘Put me down.’

Malcolm grabbed the dagger.

‘That’s mine!’ she cried.

‘Stop yelling,’ Caird said.

‘I will when—’

Whoosh. She hit the stairs so hard her teeth clacked together.

‘Better,’ he said, grabbing her arm and hauling her to her feet.

She reached for the dagger, but Malcolm took a couple of steps back.

‘I hate to break up this little dance, but Caird, what are you doing?’

‘Catching a thief.’

‘What of Gaira’s wedding celebrations?’

Caird stopped so suddenly, Mairead tripped and he tugged her arm to keep her upright. She tried to tug back, but his fingers dug into her arm and he drew her up against him. She pushed, but it was like pushing against a mountain. A very stubborn mountain.

Looking back at Malcolm, Caird said, ‘Who’s still here?’

‘Pherson and John returned for the feasting and games yesterday, but the rest are here.’

Caird lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

‘They’ll expect our presence for our sister’s wedding feasts,’ Malcolm continued. ‘And I should probably mention the innkeeper is quite annoyed. It seems our activities last night woke his wife.’

Caird stared at the floor and spoke low. ‘Pay the innkeeper extra and make ready the horses.’

‘What’ll you do with—?’

‘Avoid them.’

‘Nae, I meant her—’

‘Who are you avoiding?’ A deep voice came from the bottom of the stairs.

Mairead gaped. Two men, with smiles wide and arms crossed, stood shoulder to shoulder.

Two men. Exactly the same. Rich brown shoulder-length hair and light hazel eyes that sparkled with mischief. Curved lips, broad chests, bared arms, stances wide. All the same.

Mairead stared hard and blinked. But her eyes didn’t clear the vision. She was seeing double.

‘What did you do to me?’ she said. ‘You dropped me too hard.’

Caird’s grip on her arm tightened.

‘Ow! Let go! Something’s wrong with my—’ She stopped trying to prise his fingers loose. There was only one of Caird’s hands. She glanced up. There was only one of Caird. Nothing was wrong with her eyesight. She stared downstairs again.

There were still two identical men and as fine as any she had ever seen. They were not quite as tall as Caird or Malcolm, but they were broad. What was it with these men? If she knew men here were fair of feature and broad of shoulder, she would have left Buchanan land long ago. Of course, if she had, she’d be no better off than her giggling sisters.

Malcolm quickly sheathed the dagger under his cloak and took the remaining steps downstairs. Mairead couldn’t hear Malcolm’s whispered words, but both men laughed.

Mairead felt a hysterical bubble in her throat. She had been worried about retrieving the dagger from one man, now there were four. Her nightmare had just got worse.

‘Caird! You’re standing fairly well despite the drink.’

‘Camron, Hamilton.’ Caird nodded to each man. She didn’t know how he could tell them apart. ‘I stand as much as ever I did.’

‘Slept in a bit though, didn’t you?’ Camron said. ‘Looking a bit flushed, too, I see.’

‘Never bet a Graham on drinking.’ Hamilton laughed. ‘Our mother’s milk is stronger than any ale made.’

Camron peered around Caird’s shoulder and raised his eyebrows. ‘But it looks like the ale got our silent cousin’s words a-going again.’

Hamilton elbowed Camron as his eyes alighted on Mairead. ‘Ha! Who’s this?’

‘She’s Caird’s,’ Malcolm said. ‘He may have shared his drink, but he won’t share her.’

‘Two not enough for you, Malcolm?’ Camron said.

Malcolm grinned. ‘Such a bonny lass, I couldn’t help but ask.’

‘Looks like Caird did share something, though,’ Hamilton said. ‘His clothes.’

Caird cursed.

Mairead gasped and quickly moved behind him. She had fled the room wearing her ripped gown and Caird’s tunic. She wasn’t decent to be around her own family, let alone complete strangers.

‘Bit rough of you, cousin, if her clothes are torn,’ Camron said, all joviality gone from his voice.

‘Are you hurt, lass?’ Hamilton asked, his hand reaching to his hip where a knife was kept.

She couldn’t tell him. If she did, there’d be a fight and Malcolm still had her dagger! But what could she say to them?

‘Nae, I’m—’

‘Too intent on my brother to remember her surroundings,’ Malcolm interjected. ‘I was just coming down the stairs to stop them when you arrived.’

Camron looked at Caird’s hand wrapped around her arm. ‘His grip is too tight.’

Caird did not release her. ‘She slipped,’ he said as if that would satisfy his cousins.

Could the man not even come up with a little lie to get them out of trouble?

‘On the stairs,’ she added, and peered around Caird to give his cousins a smile. ‘Silly of me. So kind of you to block our way and stop me from showing myself to all of Scotland.’

Camron released his eyes from Caird’s. ‘Our pleasure, lass, if that’s the truth of it all.’

Why would the truth be important now? ‘Other than shamed to supper, I’m unharmed.’ She patted Caird on his bare shoulder and felt him stiffen. What did she care if he didn’t want her touching him? She was getting them out of trouble. Lowering her voice, she added, ‘Cannot think of what it was that distracted me is all.’

Hamilton gave a short chuckle, but Camron didn’t look convinced.

‘And you forgot her state of undress?’ Camron said to Caird.

‘Aye,’ Caird replied.

Camron frowned even more. Hamilton, sensing his brother’s displeasure, lost his laugh.

Caird wasn’t helping their cause at all and she wanted to kick him. Certainly his glowering expression wouldn’t convince them that he enjoyed her presence.

She draped herself more heavily against Caird. If possible she felt him stiffen even further. ‘Must have been that wee bit of ale being poured,’ she added.

‘Hah! I knew it!’ Hamilton laughed and hit Camron in the chest with the back of his hand. ‘Caird never could hold his drink.’

Camron’s expression eased and his grin returned. ‘But Colquhouns can hold their women.’

‘Ah, she is a bonny lass, cousin,’ Hamilton said. ‘Where’d you find her?’

‘In my room,’ Caird replied.

Hamilton’s eyebrows rose. ‘Nae wonder you wanted to stay here and not hurry to the keep. Of course, if you had hurried, you’d have had—’

Malcolm moved forward, ‘Well, cousins, we should set off for your home. When do the games begin?’

‘Tomorrow. It’s why we were coming to fetch you,’ Camron replied. ‘We’ll be late for the start and John owes me some pride.’

‘Help me saddle our horses while my brother finds a gown and pays our bills,’ Malcolm said.

‘He’ll be paying mine as well,’ Camron said.

‘Mine, too,’ Hamilton added. ‘And I drank a wee bit more after you left, cousin.’

‘Nothing more than a flagon or two,’ Camron added.

‘Or three or four.’

‘Ah, to have such rich, generous cousins,’ Camron said.

‘Aye, does a belly and a coffer good.’

Caird huffed, reached into his pouch still carrying the gem and pulled out several coins. Malcolm bounded up the stairs to take them. ‘You get a gown,’ Caird said. ‘We’ll wait.’

Malcolm dropped the money into his own pouch, making the coins chime and clank.

Hamilton sighed dramatically. ‘That is too much money by far.’

Malcolm took the steps down to slap Hamilton on the shoulder. ‘There’ll be time to remedy that at the games.’

Caird waited until the three other men were out of sight before he pulled her into the room and closed the door.

Rubbing her arm, she stumbled to the window.

Caird stood by the door and didn’t move. She didn’t know how long Malcolm would be, but she wasn’t wasting a moment.

She turned to him. ‘Getting me a gown doesn’t make us even.’

He didn’t say anything.

‘Despite what’s in that big fat head of yours, the dagger is mine and I will take it back.’

He ignored her. No. It was more than that, he just stared straight through her. She knew he was alive by the slight rise of his chest and his occasional blink, and the fact that he opened the door when they heard the two quick knocks.

Malcolm didn’t step in, but pushed a yellow gown and the dagger through the slight opening. Caird threw the gown at her feet.

It was a bright, deeply coloured yellow. With her dark hair she could never tame, she’d look like an overused broom.

She picked it up. The length was good, but it’d be too tight around the bodice. The person who wore this didn’t like food as well as she. There was no hope for it.

‘Will you turn around?’

Caird didn’t acknowledge her question. Instead he secured the gem inside the dagger and placed them both in his pouch.

Watching avidly, Mairead couldn’t believe how close and yet how far she was from the means to end the nightmare she was in.

When he was done, she waited several heartbeats for Caird to turn around; instead, he crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

Glowering, she turned her back to change. In her haste, the torn gown ripped further. She’d have to repair it when she returned home. Shoving it to her feet, she pulled the new one over her. It caught on her breasts and hips and was altogether too tight to quickly tug over her and tie the cords around her. No matter, though her chemise was threadbare, it provided enough cover until she could get the fabric over her. She had too much pride to beg a Colquhoun for her privacy.

Still, his presence, and his silence, made her feel like elbowing him in the stomach.

Losing her temper wasn’t anything new to her. Wanting to harm another person was. But nothing had been normal since she’d met Caird. Her reaction to him was... No, she didn’t want to think of her reaction to him. It wasn’t Caird making her crazy with desperation and anger and...everything else, it was the dagger.

‘I know you believe you’re right,’ she said, tugging at the yellow fabric in the vain hope that it would cover more. The colour was beautiful and probably had cost its original owner some coin. ‘But you must see reason on this.’ In their haste, she was sure Caird’s brother had paid too dear for it. If he thought to bribe her with the cost, he was mistaken. Turning to face him, she continued, ‘We must talk—’

She stopped. Caird’s face was no longer impassive. His face was pained, as if she had indeed jabbed him.

He held just as still as before, with his arms at his sides. But he flexed his left thumb and his eyes no longer looked through her.

They consumed her. Wrath, heat and frustration warred in the weight of his grey-green gaze.

She felt his eyes, everywhere. They trailed up her legs, slowly, so slowly that her skin flushed. She’d swear his eyes tore through her gown, sought under her chemise—

Her chemise. Oh, the window. Of course she felt his eyes; her worn chemise hadn’t covered her. Not when she stood in front of the window. The light would have made the thinning fabric transparent. She had not been covered at all. Just outlined and bared to him.

He hadn’t turned around like she’d asked; neither did he lower his eyes.

She tried to calm her tangled emotions, but the gown, too tight by far, constricted her breathing. And he dared to be angry with her?

‘Doona watch next time,’ she scorned.

She picked up and threw his tunic as hard as she could at him. It billowed to the floor slowly, which didn’t help her mood.

He snatched up the fabric at his feet, removing his gaze and releasing its hold on her. ‘Doona want to ever look at a Buchanan.’ Without turning around, he unwrapped his belt. ‘Tell the truth and you can leave my sight.’

His animosity seared her, but she wouldn’t cower before him. No, she would turn the tables. Since he hadn’t turned his eyes whilst she dressed, she wasn’t turning hers.

But she wished she had. Oh, she truly wished she had because the moment Caird reached for his tunic and began to put it on, her stomach changed places with her knees and she felt the need to sit.

As she watched, shock and something she didn’t want to guess at flushed her skin.

She knew he roughly pulled on the tunic. However, to her, it seemed agonisingly slow as he raised the soft fabric above his head, and his arms, lithe and corded, flexed as he bent each one into the sleeves. But worse, and an instant hindrance to her ability to breathe, was when he stretched those muscled arms, and the chiseled planes of his stomach rippled and contracted.

It wasn’t fair such simple movements bared more flesh, more alluring strength, than one woman should be witness to.

His chest couldn’t have been bared for more than a few breaths, yet the sight was almost as stunning as his kiss.

Her stomach didn’t settle back in place until he lowered his head to wrap his belt around his tunic. Even when that was done she still felt unsteady.

And ashamed.

And angry, frustrated and incredulous. Had she hated him just moments before? Now, she hated herself.