Page 1 of Claimed Highland Brides

PROLOGUE

D aividh stepped into the armor room where the laird of Dunavar Castle stood sharpening his claymore.

He had a full head of red hair threaded with streaks of grey and his beard framed his face in an even creamy well-groomed down like an ancient king of yore. He looked up as Daividh took another step towards him, dark blue eyes narrowed in concentration.

Behind him stood another man that Daividh was unfamiliar with.

From his garments and straight-backed proud stance, Daividh could only conclude that he was a laird as well, perhaps coming to entreat his own for a favor or to exchange news.

It was none of Daividh’s business who he was or what he wanted. As a clan warrior, it was his job to obey his liege lord in all things. He came to a stop, standing at attention, midnight-blue eyes staring ahead, his long brown hair tied in a queue at the base of his skull, his muscular and unusually tall figure towering over his laird as he waited for orders.

“Daividh! ’Tis guid tae see ye. At ease,” Laird McCormick said with a smile.

The warrior only relaxed fractionally, still alert, and ready to move at a moment’s notice. He kept his eyes trained just to the right of the laird’s shoulder.

“I have a task for ye if ye will consent to undertake it,” his laird said.

“Command me, and I shall obey.” His voice was deep and firm.

Laird McCormick blinked at him a few times as if assessing his ability to do as he was told. He inhaled deeply and then took a step closer to Daividh.

“The task is... a delicate one, and ye must carry it oot in utmost secrecy. This is crucial. Do you understand?”

Daividh’s eyes slid of their own volition to meet those of the laird, curiosity burning in his heart. “I understand.”

“Guid. My kin Murdo Fife Douglass has sadly passed away. I need ye to go to Braenaird Keep and retrieve his daughter, Fiona, and bring her here to me. I need ye to travel expeditiously. Can ye do tha’ frae me?”

Daividh frowned, his mind filled with questions it was not his place to ask. “Yes, sir. Is there any threat I should ken aboot?”

“Aye and nay. The threat isnae physical, no one is oot to harm her. But there are urgent pecuniary matters that must be settled nonetheless. Ye’re not tae speak wi’ her as ye journey unless absolutely necessary. Ye ken?”

Daividh nodded. “I see. I shall depart right away then sir.”

“I am relying on ye Campbell. Dinnae let me down.”

Daividh shook his head determinedly. “I shallnae.”

His laird clapped him on the shoulder. “Ye may pick the fastest horse ye can find frae the stables. Mrs. Dougal will ha’ packed ye some food. Leave at once.”

“Aye, sir.”

He felt their eyes on him as he strode out of the room, his back straight, blue eyes determined. It was a mystery to him why they were sending a warrior on such a mission. It seemed to him that a trusted steward could have carried out the job if all that was needed was an escort. He suspected that there was more to this than his laird was saying, however, it was not his business to inquire. All he could do was carry out the job as stated.

He hoped the girl was not too much of a shrinking violet. He had been told that his figure was perceived as threatening by some of the female persuasion—at least those that did not swoon at his feet and bat their lashes at him.

He sighed as he made a detour to the kitchen to pick up his food from Mrs. Dougal. He hated to walk into any situation blind, with no knowledge of what to expect. Perhaps he could pump Mrs. Dougal for information on that household. After all, she had worked for the laird longer than anyone else he knew.

His face softened as he stepped in the kitchen and he tried on a smile. He was not very good at being amiable, but Mrs. Dougal was fortunately not intimidated by anyone, certainly not him. She looked up from her dough as he walked in, narrowing her eyes at his muddy boots.

“Not in here lad.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes as he backtracked and slipped his shoes off outside the door, walking back into the kitchen in just his stockings. She nodded with satisfaction and bade him sit, pushing a bowl of parritch towards him.

“I understand ye’re off tae fetch young Fiona frae Braenaird Keep.”

His attention sharpened on her even as he spooned some parritch and brought it to his lips. “Ye ken her?”

Mrs. Dougal smiled fondly as she continued to knead her dough, watery grey eyes far away. “Aye. Little Fiona Douglass was a little firebrand when she was a lassie. I dinnae reckon they managed tae beat it oot o’ her.”

“So she’s likely tae gi’ me trouble?”

Mrs. Dougal shrugged. “I dinnae ken. Havenae seen her in a few years. Not since the auld laird fell ill.”

“Hmmm.” Daividh slurped his parritch thoughtfully, filing away the information in case it became necessary.

* * *

“Are ye sure aboot this lad? He willnae fail ye?” Pàdraig Dàibhidh Hunter, Laird of Cumlochan, asked his friend, Laird of Dunavar.

Donnchadh nodded slowly. “He has proven himself time and again to be reliable. I havenae any doubt he will deliver. ”

“Guid. Because ’tis important that we are wed before news of Laird Braenaird’s death spreads. Ye ken the urgency as weel as I do.”

“Aye, I do. That is why I chose Campbell. I gave him three days he will be here in the beginning of the third. I am sure of it.”

“Aye weel...I hope ye’re right aboot this. I dinnae want tae think of the consequences if ye’re not.”

“Neither do I. I wouldnae ha’ chosen him if I wasnae sure. So ye can stop worrying. Have some uisge and wait.”

Laird Cumlochan sighed as he moved to the drinks tray and poured himself a large glass of whisky. He lifted his glass to Laird Dunavar. “Slainte.”

Laird Dunavar nodded back then turned away from his friend before letting his brow furrow with worry. He could not help but worry. There was a lot riding on the success of this venture. This girl was too valuable. That is why he needed a warrior.