Highlander's Heart (Clan Matheson #2)

“I want your word, spoken right now before these witnesses, that you repudiate your betrothal.” Tor pushed his blade down firmer, right into Donnan’s skin. A drop of blood welled. “I will never allow you near my chosen one again. Do you hear me, MacDonald?”


Donnan glared, his chest rising and falling as he heaved in a breath. Tor needed to shove only a little harder and his blade would slice right through Donnan’s throat. With a venomous glare, Donnan snapped out, “I repudiate my betrothal.” He shot her a fierce look. “You are free to wed your warrior. If. You. Dare.”

Damn it. Now she’d gone and ensured their greatest ally had become their greatest enemy. She couldn’t have botched her talk up with Donnan more than she had. Aye, she’d set both clans against each other and she couldn’t see any possible way to make amends.

“Lower your weapon.” Tor’s blade scraped Donnan’s flesh and another drop of blood oozed out.

“I concede.” Donnan slowly lowered his blade then dropped it.

“Gerald.” Tor gritted his teeth as he grasped Donnan’s weapon and lobbed it to the man. “See our visitor off our land and ensure he never returns. I want you to report back to me once that has happened.”

“Of course.” Gerald gestured to the other Matheson warrior who’d rode with him from the encampment to dismount then offered the spare horse to Donnan who grumbled as he mounted the black steed.

Layla held her breath as Donnan shoved his knees into his horse’s flanks and galloped over the sand dunes and across the moors with Gerald riding at his side. She remained right where she stood until the two riders become naught more than a mere dot on the horizon.

Tor caught her arm, turned her to face him. “We’ll stay at the encampment until Gerald returns with word that Donnan and his men have sailed back to Skye. I don’t want you anywhere near the keep until I’m assured he’s gone.”

“I am so mad at you right now. You put your life on the line for mine and you shouldnae have.” Never had fear and fury clashed within her so fiercely. Father and her entire clan would soon know exactly what had happened and of how she’d destroyed their longstanding relationship with their allied clan. Tor hadn’t helped in making certain all had gone well either, his usually level head having flown right out the window from the moment he’d arrived and taken Donnan to the ground. So much for having a civil conversation about ending her betrothal with the man she’d been set to wed. Her frustration doubled, her fear for Tor now tripling after hearing Donnan’s threat about ending her mate’s life and having his head. This was all her fault. Tor could have been so easily killed this day because of her.

Madder at herself than Tor, she stormed along the curve of the bay toward the encampment, the setting sun dropping below the horizon and sending a last flare of red spearing through the darkening sky.

She passed a large group of shirtless warriors battling hard on the grassy shoreline, while near a small island in the middle of the bay, one holding a copse of trees and a wooden shack, a good thirty men swam in then jogged out of the water and swapped out with the battling warriors.

“I’ll catch up with you two later. I’d like to join in with the training before the evening meal.” Tavish left them, headed toward the makeshift corral of beams hammered between the trees, stripped off his shirt and weapons then bounded into the loch.

“Layla, wait up.”

“Leave me be, Tor. I’m in no mood to talk right now.” She brushed him off as she hurried past the central fire and the camp cook in her brown woolen kirtle. The elderly woman stirred stew in a blackened pot bubbling over the sizzling flames. “Which is the ladies’ tent?” she asked the cook. “I would like to rest.”

“’Tis the one right at the end and ’tis all yours if you wish it.” The cook wiped one hand on her apron as she tipped her head in the direction Layla needed to go. “Cherub used it last, but she remains at the castle now.”

“Thank you.” She stalked to the tent near the forest’s edge and past another group of warriors who aimed their arrows at a white ribbon tied around a wide trunk a hundred feet distant. Each warrior stepped forward to take his turn with the bow. With impressive accuracy, arrow after arrow thunked into the thin strip of silk.

“We need to talk, Layla, and it can’t wait.” Tor swept past her, lifted the tent flap and motioned for her to go in. “I won’t permit you to brush me off.”

“I’m too mad right now to talk to anyone. ’Tis best if you allow me some time to calm down.” She ducked inside and paced the tent, from canvas wall to wall, Tor remaining solidly in the center, hands planted on his hips as he eyed her.

“You should never have snuck away from the keep. You made damn certain you would be nearly impossible to find, and that’s totally unacceptable to me.” With a low growl, he shrugged his war coat off and tossed it on top of the wooden crate next to a lamp. “You’re my mate, mine to protect and care for.”