Highlander's Faerie (Highlander Heat #5)

“You may be fae, but you’re also MacLean. I dinnae wish for you to fear during your stay with us.” Looking into her eyes, Margaret squeezed her hands, her fingers warm around hers. “I will watch over you, just as I did with James.”


“Thank you.” This woman she didn’t know would one day carry her paternal line. Margaret MacLean wasn’t just the chief’s wife, but her ancestor, just as Mary was. She soaked in the sight of her. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

“Aye, though likely no’ under these circumstances.”

“Well, one can’t always pick and choose the right time for a visit, or at least so I’ve learnt.”

“I agree.” She smiled. “Tell me about yourself, Katherine. What is the world of the fae like?”

“Would you believe that they actually sent me here to you?”

“Whatever for?”

“I’m to bring about some peace between the clans.”

“Oh dear.” She blew out a long breath. “Then it seems you’ve been given an impossible task.”

A knock sounded and Margaret released her. She bid the servants to enter.

Two maids and two lads hustled forward, each carrying a steaming pail of water. Maddie returned and hung a couple of gowns in the burgundy curtained ambry, while another lass carried a tray and set it on the side table.

Margaret oversaw the filling of the tub then added a few drops of scented oil. After the servants left, she shut the door and patted the chair in front of the table. “Come, Katherine. There’s a warm meal. You must be hungry after your journey.”

“Very, and thank you.” She’d had little more than oatcakes and water for two days straight.” She sat and poked her nose into the steam wafting from the bowl of chunky seafood stew. “This smells delicious.” She nabbed a slice of crusty bread, dipped it, and took a hearty bite. Warmth raced to her belly. “Could you tell me exactly how you see things between the clans?”

“Of course.” Margaret sat on the blue and gray padded corner chair next to her. “What do you wish to know in particular?”

“Why does Lachlan fight so hard to take possession of Islay’s west?” Mary had told her Lachlan warred as he did in order to return to his clan all his father had lost, but Margaret might be able to provide more information.

“He fights to right the wrongs of his past.” She dipped a finger under the red lace edging of her bodice and freed a gold necklace. The disk dangling from it held the engraved image of a unicorn. She rolled the piece between her thumb and forefinger. “In the short five years Lachlan’s father was chief, he gambled away his lands on Islay, but they were unfairly lost to him. ’Tis why he’s so determined to get the Rhinns back. They are his, not Angus MacDonald’s.”

“Do you believe the king will sort all this out now that he has all three of the feuding chiefs in Edinburgh?” She sipped wine from the goblet.

“The king wishes for my husband to enter into talks, but I know Lachlan well and he will also fight any decision the king requests if it does no’ go his way.” She crossed to the tub, knelt and swirled her hand through the water. “This is the perfect heat. Come and have your bath.”

“I’d love one.” She shed her tunic and breeches, glad to be done with the clothing she’d worn since she’d left Islay. She stepped into the tub and sank into the water. She dunked her head, emerged and picked up the soap. She lathered and worked the vanilla scented suds gently through her hair while Margaret raised her hands toward the warmth of the fire, a wistful look on her face.

Likely she bore the same expression. There was so much to think about. Margaret and Mary deserved some peace, as did their clans. Only how could she make a difference and bring about that peace without changing history?

The weight of her mission bore down on her. Gently, she picked up her amulet and squeezed it tight as the fae’s words returned to her. You and your twin are two halves of one whole, the beginning and the end. You must complete what your sister has set in motion. Keep your warrior protector close. To bring peace, you must unite.

A chilling horn shrilled outside and Margaret hurried to the window, flung the shutters open and wedged sideways out to get a better look.

“What is it?” She splashed out of the tub, wrapped the drying cloth around her and dashed toward Margaret.

“The alert has been raised by the point watchman. An unknown vessel approaches Duart.”



John’s men rowed through the dark, sending their birlinn swiftly across the Sound of Mull toward the MacLean stronghold. Their sea crossing was almost at an end. He and Archie had followed closely in the MacLean warrior’s wake, leaving only a scant few hours after their enemy had. As they rounded the point, a horn sounded with one long and eerie blast across Duart Bay.

“It appears our arrival has been noted.” Archie eased onto the rear bench seat beside him and lifted the collar of his steel-studded war coat higher over his neck. “Duart Castle has never fallen for a reason. ’Tis well-guarded and impenetrable. What’s your plan of attack?”