Page 2 of Claimed by the Obsessed Laird (Highland Bride Hunt #1)

Chapter One

The carriage finally drew to a halt, stopping amongst a scattering of other vehicles in the McFadden Keep courtyard. Catriona hesitated for a moment as Isla bounded to the door, throwing it open, to be met with a guard offering her a hand to help her out.

“Thank ye,” Isla told him, biting back a little giggle as she rested her hand in his and stepped onto the dusty ground below.

It had been a warm summer, and the Keep showed it; flowers decorated the courtyard, bright reds and yellows studding the grey, and the last vestiges of the day’s sunshine filtered down past the large towers above them to cast shadows on the ground below.

“Ah, ye must be the Ferguson girls!”

Isla looked up just in time to see a man who must have been Laird McFadden making his way towards them, an open door behind him giving her a quick glimpse into the feast beyond.

She could already hear the music drifting from within, matched with voices and laughter overlapping with each other.

Her heart flipped with excitement, but she knew she had to focus on ensuring that her sister found her place here first.

“That we are, sir,” she replied, curtsying as Catriona and her father made their way out of the carriage. “May I offer our thanks for yer invitation to this feast? I know that my sister has been excited all week for it to finally begin.”

“Is that so?” Laird McFadden remarked, glancing to Catriona, his grayish eyes glinting as he grinned.

He had a warmth to him, and, though he was an older man now, it was clear that he had once been a strapping Laird in his day. A swatch of McFadden tartan lay over his shoulder, matching the kilt that swung at his legs, and his sporran bounced against his torso as he went to greet their father.

“A pleasure to have ye here,” he remarked. "I ken that there are a few men in there rather excited to meet yer daughters, Laird Ferguson.”

“And quite rightly so!” Isla replied, looking back at Catriona and reaching for her arm to pull her forward.

She wanted Catriona to be the first person into the feast, the first person that anyone here would lay eyes on.

If she was to find a husband, then she was going to have to start soon.

In one night, she’d have to find someone who would suit her for the rest of her days, and that was not the kind of thing she could do hanging back and hiding herself away.

“Is that right?” Laird McFadden chuckled as he gestured for the three of them to follow him.

“Aye, of course, my Laird,” Isla continued. “My sister will make a fine bride for any Laird. She’s very intelligent. And kind. And she kens how to manage a household.”

“I’ll be sure to mention that to anyone who asks about her.”

“I’ll expect ye to be deluged with offers,” Isla went on, and she felt Catriona dig her elbow into her side, perhaps silently pleading with her not to lay it on quite so thickly.

But the Laird just laughed again, clearly amused by Isla’s certainty.

“And tell me,” he remarked as they stepped into the Great Hall. "Do you have any thoughts about who ye might be keen fer her to meet with?”

Isla cast her gaze around the room thoughtfully.

If one thing was clear, it was that news of his legendary matchmaking feasts had stretched halfway across the country, at least. There were nearly a hundred people present already, men and women, most of them exchanging pointed glances as though trying to make sense of who they would dance with next.

A band of musicians was clustered in the far corner, beneath one of the arrow slit windows, a fiddler picking out a merry tune on his instrument as a group kept the pace with their feet on the flagstone floor.

Cups of ale clinked together as people made toasts and promises to one another, and, for a moment, Isla was not sure where she should start.

Or, at least, she was not sure where to start for her sister. Because a man caught her eye at once. A man who was staring at her as if there was nobody else in the room at all. Heat rose to her cheeks as she locked eyes with him, and her heart stuttered double-time in her chest.

“Who’s that?” she murmured, pointing in his direction.

The man, though he was sitting, was a head and shoulders above everyone else around him, his dark hair falling in waves to his ears, outlining the stark blue of his eyes.

He made no effort to pretend that he had not been looking in her direction, and she found herself rather impressed by it.

For all the games and social niceties that were to take place under this roof tonight, he seemed to have no interest in playing any of them.

He stared her down like he wanted the world to know of his curiosity about her.

“That would be Camron McLeod,” Laird McFadden replied at once, as he noticed the way that they were gazing at one another.

It took Isla a moment to make sense of what he had said to her. It felt like the whole world had narrowed to the feel of his dark gaze on her, as if the room had emptied to nothingness now that they had laid eyes on each other.

“The new Laird of the McLeod Clan,” he went on. "And a man in urgent need of a bride, by all accounts. Though I suppose perhaps fate is a better matchmaker than I could ever hope to be…”

“Perhaps,” Isla murmured, as she tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear and glanced at Catriona.

She gave her sister’s hand a quick squeeze and, before she could protest, took off into the crowd to see what this McLeod fellow was all about.

She imagined that her father would be too distracted in finding a husband for Catriona to worry much about what she got up to that evening—and she would use every inch of his distraction to enjoy this evening as best she could.

The crowd seemed to make way for her as she passed across the room, couples shifting closer to each other as the romantic tone of the evening got the better of them.

She wished all of them the best, she truly did, but she knew that the best she could hope for out of a night like this was a memory she could savor forever.

And, judging by the way that man was looking at her, he seemed to be just the place to find it.

But, before she could reach him, another man stepped out in front of her—a little younger than the one she had laid her eyes on—but she was not too picky when it came to such matters.

“Excuse me, Miss,” he greeted her, his cheeks flushed with nervousness. “May I have yer hand for the next dance?”

Isla looked past him to where Laird McLeod was sitting.

He was still watching her with great interest, perhaps taking her in to see how she would respond to another suitor.

Isla was not above playing a little dirty to make sure she got what she wanted, and what better way to do that now than by accepting the attentions of someone else?

She had no intention of doing anything other than dancing with this man, but it would prove to McLeod that she would not offer herself up on a silver platter for him.

No, if he wanted her, then he would have to come and claim her himself.

And she could hardly wait to see if he would take her up on such a challenge.

“Of course,” she replied, fluttering her lashes at the man demonstratively as she took his arm and allowed him to steer her towards the floor.

The music was bright and cheerful, and soon, she found her feet flying to match the pace of the dancers around her.

The man before her struggled to keep up, but she did not let it bother her, laughing as she swung underneath his arm and around his back to meet him in a waltz hold once again.

He hovered his arm around her waist, fearful of what touching her might mean, but she drew him close.

She knew it was likely unfair of her to play with him in such a fashion, given that she had no intention of doing anything more than sharing a dance with him.

But she wanted to show Laird McLeod that she could move, that she could play, that she was willing to meet him at whatever point he was ready for her.

And, besides, the longer she danced with someone else, the more jealous he would become, surely. If he had looked at her the way he had when he had only just set eyes on her, she could not imagine what he might do seeing another man taking her for a spin on the dancefloor…

As the music faded into silence, she turned her attention to the man before her.

He was struggling to catch his breath, and he drew back from her at once.

He looked a little shocked, perhaps he had not expected a woman to dance so wildly at a feast where most were searching for marriage.

But she was not the staid kind, never had been, never would be.

And just because there were plenty around her searching for something serious didn’t mean that she couldn’t let her hair down and enjoy herself.

But before she could ponder too long on the matter, a voice quieted her thoughts, low, strong, and commanding.

“I’ll be cutting in now, Kieran.”

Laird McLeod planted his hand on the shoulder of the young hopeful who had just swung her around the floor, or at least tried to keep up with her while she did. Kieran stepped away at once, perhaps sensing that he was standing in the middle of something far greater than he could hope to challenge.

Isla curtsied slightly, dipping a few inches as she met the Laird’s gaze.

Up close, he was even more striking, his blue eyes sparkling with silver flecks, his jaw sharp, and his lips curled up into a half-smile.

His gaze swept up and down her body, drinking her in as though he intended to commit every part of her to memory.

By the time she straightened up again, he had moved even closer, and she caught the scent of him in the air.

Distinct, dark, earthy, and masculine, she found herself drawn closer than she knew she should have been, at least when they were so surrounded at every turn by other people.

It was like an inexplicable force drew them together.

“Laird McLeod,” she greeted him, glad that she already knew his name.

He lifted his chin, observing her for a moment, apparently not wrong-footed by the fact that he did not have to so much as introduce himself to her.

"And ye are?”

“Yer next dance partner,” she replied, cocking her eyebrow. “Or did ye intend to drag me away from poor Kieran with no intention of keeping me company?”

He grinned, his smile flashing mischief in his eyes, and he took her hand and pulled her into him.

He did not restrain himself like Kierna had done, no.

His hand rested firmly and possessively on her waist, and she could already feel the strength of him against her.

He wore a handsome kilt and a shirt with leather ties only done up an inch or two.

She could have sworn she saw the pulse of his heart beneath his chest for a moment before he drew her out onto the floor.

The music filled the air once more, and soon, the two of them had fallen into practiced lockstep with one another.

He certainly knew how to move, she could give him that much.

He held her close to him, his hand tight against the curve of her waist, and the way he looked at her, it was like he had forgotten there was anyone else in the room at all.

He commanded her attention while, normally, she would have glanced around to see who else was keeping an eye on her.

But now, there was no way she would dare such a thing with him so close to her.

He wouldn’t have missed her distraction, and there was something about him that told her she should not risk bringing his wrath down on her head, at least not before she knew if she could handle it.

Her heart pulsed in time to the music as they danced together, other couples coming and going at either side of them.

Every beat of the bodhrán seemed to match with the movement of their feet against the flagstone floor, the scent of whiskey on his lips surrounded her as he brushed them close to her.

She kept waiting for him to say something, but he didn’t.

As though he had nothing to say to her that he could not better communicate with the matching movement of their bodies.

By the time the music stopped and the band drew back to restock their ale, she went to pull away from him.

Yes, he was a fine dancer, and she could not imagine she’d find a man more intriguing than this one to spend the rest of the evening with, but that didn’t mean that she was in any hurry to give up so quickly.

But, before she could draw back, his hand clamped down on the small of her back, giving her no choice but to come even closer.

“Not so fast, wife,” he murmured, his eyes darkening.

She stared at him for a moment, sure she must have misheard.

“What did ye just call me?”

“Ye’re here to find a husband, are ye not?” he replied, as though it should have been apparent to her already.

Her eyes widened.

“Ye’re mad,” she countered sharply, wrenching herself away from him and earning a deviant smirk from his full lips.

His sudden possessiveness spooked her and yet it lit a fire deep in her belly—one she’d never dare confess.

She had never done well with men who seemed to think that she owed them something, and the way this man was looking at her, she got the feeling that he would be all too willing to exercise his power to make sure she saw it through.

“That’s no way to speak to yer future husband, lass,” he murmured, and, though his voice was soft, it was laced with a warning.

A warning that if she dared to make a fool of him here by telling him that she would never be his wife, he would find some way to make her pay for it.

“And dancing wi’ another man?” he continued, a dark glint in his blue eyes, his thumb brushing over the small of her back.

Even through her dress, she was distinctly aware of it, as though he had burned a brand into her skin. Fear and excitement twisted within her, a potent and dangerous mix.

“That’s no’ the kind of behavior I’d expect fae a future Lady,” he finished up.

Heat spread from her neck to her face, something about being under his gaze like this burning her up inside. She could have made a scene, of course, could have fought him off and told him that she had no intention of becoming anyone’s wife, let alone his.

Was it true? Could it be?

Was she currently in the arms of the man she was going to marry?

There was only one way to find out. And she would get to the bottom of this, one way or another. Even if it meant turning this place over to confront her father.