Highlander's Heart (Clan Matheson #2)

“Then tell me.” His two-handed claymore bobbed in a baldric across his back, the burnished hilt glinting in the waning light. “You can speak freely with me. Never fear that you cannae.”


“My father waited three years after I came of age afore he signed the binding betrothal agreement, his desire to ensure I wasnae soul bound to another, the reason why.” She halted on the beach, let go of him and clasped her hands before her, straightened her shoulders and her never-ending resolve.

“Aye, and glad I am that you’re no’ soul bound to another as many of your fae kind are.” He stopped, towering a good foot over her as he eyed her.

“Ah, well, things have now changed.” She rocked from foot to foot. “My mate, the one my soul is bound to, has now tracked me down and made it very clear he willnae allow me to wed another. I’m so sorry, Donnan, but I cannae marry you, no’ when my mate holds the other half of my soul and I too wish to be with him.”

His gaze narrowed then he snorted and shook his head. “Our betrothal,” he issued between clenched teeth, “cannae be broken. We are already as good as wed and should I lie with you right now, right here on this beach and consummate our agreement, then none would ever gainsay my decision to do so. You would be my wife in truth.”

“Yet should I honor our betrothal agreement and speak vows with you, I would still forever long for him. Is that what you want? A wife who yearns for another?” She had to make him see reason.

“Give me his name and I’ll ensure you cannae yearn for him for long.” He ran one finger along the length of his jeweled wrist dagger. “I can dispense with him, quickly and assuredly. My sons will hold fae blood. ’Tis my duty to my clan to ensure it and your duty to your clan to honor our agreement. Tell me the man’s name and I’ll deal with the wretch.”

“Nay, you must accept my decision.”

“Speak his name, Layla. I demand that you do.” He thumped his fisted hands against his chest then let out a mighty roar. The thundering rumble echoed along the loch and sent birds nesting in the long grasses squawking and scattering into the sky. “I will have his head, lass, and you willnae stop me.”



Tor knelt within the woods and touched the lighter footstep along the stream’s embankment belonging to Layla and the heavier print of Donnan MacDonald’s. He and Tavish had already followed the stream to the end of their Matheson land which overlooked the ocean and the Isle of Skye, but they hadn’t as yet found any further signs of either Layla or Donnan’s tracks reemerging along the entire route. Agitated, he rose to his feet. “She’s clearly used her skill to get away from me.”

“We’ll track her down. It’s impossible for anyone to fully hide from a bear.” Tavish bounded back across the stream in his black pants and tunic then motioned toward the east where the warrior encampment lay at the end of the inner channel of Loch Alsh. “At least we’ve only one more direction to search.”

“Keep a lookout for any trace of movement within the stones along the river base as well.”

“Will do.”

Nose to the air, Tor strode along the side of the stream searching for any lingering scent of his mate while his brother combed the other side. They tramped a good mile before they left the forest behind and followed the stream as it weaved across the rolling moors. It was as if his mate hadn’t passed in this direction either, except his gut told him she had. He scanned the horizon, from the craggy hills rising higher on their right to the inner channel of Loch Alsh sitting just beyond the moors to their left. She couldn’t hide from him forever. He’d never allow it. “Once I find her,” he said through gritted teeth to his brother, “it’ll be a hell of a long time before I ever allow her out of my sight again.”

Never had he felt so lost or so furious. If any harm had come to her because he’d misjudged the strength of her fierce nature and her desperate need to protect him, then he’d never survive it. She was his to care for, his to keep safe from any and all harm.

Marching on, he left the stream behind and gave his bear his head as he stormed across the rolling fields of heather swaying with an array of wildflowers. “We’ll work in a crisscross pattern and head toward the loch,” he called to Tavish. “We’ll be able to call on the aid of the warriors from the encampment if we don’t find her before we reach the camp.”

“Understood.” Tavish picked up his pace, searching the fields with determination, just as he did. They crossed paths as they weaved back and forth across the terrain then his brother lowered to his haunches in the thick grass next to some low brush. “Tor, I’ve found something.”

He jogged across and knelt next to his brother. Snagged within the scrub, a long strand of curly blond hair fluttered in the breeze. He plucked the length of hair free, brought it to his nose and dragged in his mate’s glorious, wild cherry scent. “At least we now know for certain she came through—”