Page 6 of The Highlander’s Fallen Angel (Brotherhood of Solway Moss #2)

“People reveal themselves completely only when they are thrown out of the customary conditions of their life.”

Leonardo da Vinci – Italian artist and scientist 1452–1519

Tierney’s heart thumped as she stood just outside the man’s reach, thankful that she’d measured correctly while he slept off the draught. Apparently, Cora hadn’t trusted her measurements, because her friend flattened herself against the far wall. Tierney couldn’t really blame her. Kenan Macdonald was as close to a furious mythological Zeus that she’d ever seen.

Glinting blue eyes threw daggers at her as he stared her down from his great height. His dark hair brushed the low ceiling of the cottage and fell around his head in waves that looked styled by the wind. But it was his broad shoulders and well-muscled arms that she could see bunching under his tunic that really made him look like a sculpted king of the gods. The man was every bit a warrior, ready to throw lightning bolts—at her.

“Tierney MacNicol, not Tierney Bruce,” he said. “Whatever yer name, ye will release me now.” His words ground out from a clenched jaw in such a way that goose bumps rose along her arms.

“I’ll go check on…” Cora flapped her hand at the door and hurried out, dragging his sword behind her.

Tierney studied him. At present, he didn’t look kind, but who could blame him? “First, hear me out.”

He raised his hands to catch the chain attached to the low beam above his head. Yanking, it didn’t even move, so he rested his hands on the beam and leaned toward her while holding on. It made his muscles bulge. “Ye poisoned me. Why would I help ye?”

She stared at him without blinking even though the knot in her stomach ached. “Because you are kind.”

“I’m bloody hell not kind, and I’m not helping ye.” He narrowed those long-lashed eyes. “MacNicol? Are ye related to Asher MacNicol of Scorrybreac?”

“Yes, but he’s no longer of Scorrybreac.” If her cousin was still there, she wouldn’t have had to resort to any of this.

Kenan’s biceps bunched as if he would rip the beam down from the ceiling. She needed to distract him from destroying everything around him, which included her, though she completely understood why he’d want to.

Tierney held out both hands. “I will explain.”

“There is no explanation good enough for drugging a man and—”

“There are good reasons. To me, anyway. Hear me out.”

“—dragging him out to… Where the bloody hell am I?” Their voices continued to rise until they were yelling back and forth, him in anger and her in frustration.

“I need you to save—”

He released the beam. “First ye try to steal my glider—”

“I wasn’t stealing it, just trying to lure you—”

He paced to the window. “—and then ye destroy it in the sea and feed me a tart laced with poison—”

“A sleeping brew. Not poison. Sleeping brew. Very different.”

“Poison!”

“You wouldn’t have just come with me.”

“Nay, I wouldn’t go anywhere with a mad thief and poisoner to be shackled in a dingy cottage.”

“Again, I’m sorry.” The words flew from her mouth only to dissolve in the face of his fury.

He looked like a chained bear being baited, nostrils flaring, muscles ready to explode in violence. His jaw was granite, and his face flushed red. He wacked the half-open shutter with his hand.

With a thunk , the shutter fell off the window to the floor. They both looked at it, giving them a chance to breathe.

Tierney inhaled. “Chief Macdonald of Sleat, I need your help, please. For the sake of many. For the sake of my clan, I beg of you. I had to resort to capturing you before you returned to Dunscaith. There was no other way, and I am out of options and ideas.” She waited for another thrust of yelled curses. He took long breaths, turning to pace away from her. He grabbed up a bladder of spring water she’d left within his reach along with oatcakes. He uncorked the bladder and sniffed it.

“’Tis fresh spring water. Untainted, I promise,” she said.

“Like I would trust yer promise.”

“I don’t want to have to carry you again, so I have no reason nor desire to render you unconscious.”

“Ye carried me?” His brows rose, and she felt a flush rise along the skin of her neck as he perused her more diminutive form.

“I had help,” she snapped out.

He threw an arm out. “The mousy lass who can barely lift my sword?”

“And my brother, Gabriel.”

He rubbed the side of his fist against the grimy glass of the window, causing a squeak. “The child out there?” Straightening, he turned back to her. “Ye three carried me from the moor? ’Tis a wonder I don’t have a cracked head from being dropped.”

She huffed. “We had a wagon, lifted you in there and then out of it once we reached here. As you can see, we had to leave you on the floor instead of the bed.”

“To chain me like a prisoner.” He sniffed the drink once more.

“I promise I don’t want you unconscious again,” she said and crossed her arms. “You’re too cumbersome, and your plaid kept riding up.”

He stared at her, his tongue pushing into his cheek for a moment before he tipped the bladder up to his lips. She watched him swallow down the entire thing. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, tossing the empty bladder on the floor. Looking around, Kenan strode to a privacy screen, ducking behind it.

The rushing sound of pissing made Tierney rub a hand down the side of her face. He wasn’t going to scare her off with natural bodily functions. She’d braved her father, her late husband, her horrid suitor, and most recently the sky and freezing sea. Piss, wind, and vomit couldn’t hurt anyone. Only a brutal temper and unchecked fists. Would Kenan Macdonald be as terrible as Wallace?

Asher said he was kind. Tierney closed her eyes and imagined breathing in courage and pulled the locket up from her smock, clasping it. Courage .

Splash . He’d found the water pitcher and washstand. Kenan walked back around, his arms across his now-naked chest. Well-developed, honed muscles were emphasized by nicked scars here and there. A circle of dark pigment lines sat on one thick bicep with a Celtic design that just made the muscle look larger. Small rivulets ran down his chest from where he’d washed, and his hair looked slightly damp as if he’d run wet fingers through it. His short beard held droplets.

Kenan braced his boots apart, and his wrap slung low across his narrow hips. Lines of muscle slid diagonally across his abdomen as if pointing below the edge of his plaid, daring her eyes to drop. But Tierney kept her gaze on his face.

“Speak.”

His tone sounded like he was the captor and she was the one shackled. What would it be like to be this sculpted man’s captive? Never again . She’d never let anyone trap her again, not after what she’d endured. She would never trust anyone with a jack between their legs.

She wet her lips. “I need your help to save Scorrybreac Tower from Ranulf Matheson, brother to the new Chief Murdoc Matheson on the mainland. He’s come to Skye to take over the MacNicol Clan now that my father, Chief Douglas MacNicol, and mother, Fannie, have been lost at sea.”

“The MacNicol Clan is strong and won’t give up their land to an interloper without legal—”

“Some of our warriors were lost at Solway Moss, and the sweating sickness took half of those who remained last winter.” She swallowed. “And my father, in a mistaken attempt to keep Clan MacNicol strong, requested a betrothal before he died.”

Kenan’s hard gaze focused on hers. “Ye’re to marry Matheson. Which one?”

“I never agreed, but the contract was sent to Ranulf, who now thinks we are betrothed when we are most definitely not.”

“Which has nothing to do with me.” Kenan’s voice was still hard as granite, but it was devoid of curses and not an ear-splitting bellow. Progress.

“My father included a clause in the contract that says if I wed another clan chief, the betrothal contract is void.” Douglas MacNicol was determined to align with another clan to save his own, and he would use Tierney to do it with another marriage alliance. But she’d yelled so much about the hideousness of Ranulf that he’d added the clause to try to get Tierney actively interested in marrying with the leader of a powerful clan.

“He’s coming to take over my home and clan,” she said, trying to keep panic out of her voice. “I cannot allow it. I have a younger brother, Gabriel, who is still too young to lead the MacNicol Clan.” She glanced toward the door where he waited outside.

“Asher MacNicol can lead yer clan and chase off this Matheson if ye don’t consent to marry him.” Kenan looked wholly dispassionate, as if her problem was easily solved.

Frustration pinched Tierney’s mouth. “Asher disappeared soon after he came home from England. Off Skye, from what I’ve been able to discern. When he accused my father of abandonment after the battle at Solway Moss, we were almost at civil war, but then Asher withdrew and left without a word, taking four of our best warriors with him. I’ve spent the last month trying to find him to no avail. Ranulf is due within the fortnight.”

She crossed her arms to mimic Kenan. She must make him understand. The silence in the room was thick with waiting while thoughts churned inside Tierney. Why wouldn’t anyone help her? She was clearly expendable to everyone, a pawn to be surrendered.

No one had ever saved Tierney before, not her father who’d turned his back on her because she wasn’t a son and then refused to help her once she was wed. Not her mother when she wept after shaving her head in efforts to keep Wallace away from her. Even Cora abandoned her when her plans fell apart, shaking her head, afraid to do anything to help. Jacob had helped only when it was almost too late. But this time it wasn’t just for her. She had to save Maggie, too.

She took a breath. “Asher said you were honorable and clever, that you wanted to see the Isle of Skye united. If Clan Matheson gets a foothold on Skye, they will be yet another clan to convince to unite. The Matheson Clan values conquest over peace.”

Crossing his arms, Kenan’s gaze bored into her. A light sprinkling of hair curled over his chiseled chest. Was it soft? Nothing about Kenan Macdonald was soft except the hair on his head that she’d run her fingers through. She shifted, trying to banish the flutter of anticipation that muddled her thoughts when he looked at her so intensely. He was assessing her, judging her cause…judging her. So far, she hadn’t made a great impression.

“Asher said you were kind.”

Kenan’s lips pulled back like she’d just said he ripped the heads off kittens and drowned newborn bairns. “I am not kind.” His voice came low and threatening. “And I have no time to venture to Scorrybreac and deter Ranulf Matheson. My clan needs its leader, especially right now as we rebuild Dunscaith Castle.” He stalked to the window, kicking aside the shutter on the floor. Looking out, he said, “Ye can claim sanctuary at Dunscaith on Sleat.”

“Ranulf will take Scorrybreac if I abandon it!” Her words flared out of her like a blaze of fire, her guilt at abducting him taking a back place to the need she had to save her clan. He turned back to her. “It belongs to Clan MacNicol,” she said.

“Those who wish to flee may accompany ye down to Sleat. My sister can take in some at Dunvegan, too.”

She was already shaking her head. “You will be allowing Ranulf Matheson a foothold on Skye, a thorn that will never go away. You won’t be able to unite all the clans on Skye with him here.” Her nose scrunched at the thought of the cocky man. “He’s not a reasonable person.”

“Not reasonable,” Kenan murmured, although his ferocity had dulled. “Ye two should pair together nicely.”

“All you need to do is act like we wed, telling Ranulf you’re leading Clan MacNicol and that Scorrybreac Tower is my dowry. It will negate the betrothal contract, and I’m certain the chief of the mighty Macdonald Clan of Sleat can chase him off Skye. The MacNicol Clan will continue under my control until Asher can be found or until my brother reaches his majority.”

“What if I don’t care about the MacNicol Clan?”

He was baiting her. Wasn’t he? Asher had said Kenan Macdonald was a good person who wanted to unite all of Skye and even all of Scotland. ’Twas why she’d targeted him for this audacious, morally gray plan.

“You care about uniting the Isle of Skye to strengthen us,” she said, her toe tapping with pent-up worry. What was wrong with her that no one wanted to help her?

“And assisting ye will do this?”

“Yes,” she shouted but then took a deep breath to take the sting out of her voice. She’d always been headstrong, a risk taker as Cora said, but the stress of Ranulf’s suit and threats against her family had resurrected her sudden outbursts. ’Twas as if she were still married to Wallace or trying to prove she was capable to her father. “Yes,” she repeated, lowering her voice. “But I can offer you more.”

“More?” His brow rose, and he let his gaze slide down her form as if he were mentally stripping her naked. “More of ye?”

A blush flew up her neck and into her face. Unfortunately, those damn embers of heat within her flared as if fanned by the fluttering of her heart. Wallace had called her cold to a man’s attention, but Tierney was feeling anything but cold under this wickedly handsome Highlander’s gaze. It was like a stroke along her skin, purposely inciting her unprecedented lust.

He was trying to embarrass her, and despite Tierney’s hot cheeks, a simple look would not fluster her. This was a battle of gazes, words, and wills. And her will was iron. It had to be.

“I don’t bargain with my body, so let’s plan to make you Lord of the Isles, the leader of all the clans on Skye and throughout the Hebrides.”

Kenan’s jaw fell open, and he dropped his arms so that they once again mimicked each other’s stance. “Lord of the Isles is a title that died out a century ago, stamped out by Scottish royalty.”

“Scotland is a ridiculous dictatorship,” she said, dismissing it. “We should govern ourselves out here, far away from Edinburgh. They know nothing of the Highlands nor the isles.”

“And ye, ” he paused to point at her, “are going to make me Lord of the Isles?”

Her smile turned tight, and she kept her spine straight with confidence. Men respected confidence and stomped all over meekness. “I will endeavor to do so.” He opened his mouth to retort, but she held up a hand. “And when I endeavor to do something, like abducting a fierce warrior, I am successful.” At least she hoped so. Her success was still in limbo.

“Like stealing a man’s glider?” he asked, frowning fiercely. “Flying it successfully and landing on dry land?”

“Your glider was an unknown entity,” she said. “Besides, da Vinci’s drawings showed the nose to be severed into two wings. I had no way to research—”

“Ye looked at da Vinci’s plans?”

“Of course,” she said, hands propping on her hips even though that made her look like a scolding fishmonger’s wife. “I wouldn’t risk my life without any forethought.” She wasn’t daft or a fool even though some thought she was. “I had planned to sail the wings out past Dunvegan to the moor beyond, landing near the tree line where Gabriel and Cora would be waiting for me. We would take the glider and send word that we would trade it for your help. That was plan number one, but when it went askew, I had to go with plan number two.”

“Poisoning and abducting me was plan number two,” Kenan said.

She nodded, swallowing past the tightness in her throat. “Which is working.” Perhaps if she said it enough, it would. And he’d not be so cross with her.

He scoffed. “’Tis not.”

She pointed to the shackle at his bare ankle. “That says it is.”

His clear blue eyes hardened until his gaze looked like it could slice her from throat down her belly so that all her bloody innards rolled out onto the floor. An involuntary shiver coursed through her, followed immediately by regret. Her foolish mouth got her into so much trouble.

“I spent over a year shackled by the English,” he said, his words soft and hard. “I escaped with red-hot vengeance in my heart. An inconsequential slip of a lass won’t hold me for long, and when I find my freedom again…” He let the threat hang in the air between them.

The heat of her shame clashed with the ice in his words, releasing chill bumps all over Tierney. She spun around in an effort to break his spell that threatened to eviscerate her courage. If this didn’t work, then she would die anyway.

Cora’s face appeared in the cracked door. She pushed it farther open and cleared her throat, peeking in, her eyes wide. “I heard yelling.”

“He’s not cooperating.” Tierney marched out of the cottage, making Cora back up.

Gabriel stood behind Cora, the lizard-creature back on his shoulder.

“Plan number three, then?” Cora asked, her voice a squeak.

“What’s plan number three?” Gabriel asked, glancing at Betrim as if the newt had the answer. It tipped its head as it stared back at him.

“Never you mind,” Cora said to him.

“I should know all the plans,” Gabriel said, frowning.

Cora shook her head. “’Tis not for a young lad’s ears.”

“I’m almost three and ten. I know all sorts of things.”

Tierney’s cheeks burned as she remembered telling a wild story of seduction to Cora that would be plan number three. She would tie the Highlander to the bed, stripping in front of him until he was wild with lust, thrusting his hard jack into the air, begging her to sit upon it. Then she would wring his oath to help her in exchange for her sliding down upon him as he roared his promises to save their clan as long as she stayed with him.

The image of Kenan, naked, tied to the bed, and aroused while straining to pounce on her made the shiver from before turn into a full-blown ache.

“I’m not resorting to plan number three,” Tierney said, to stop the mild bickering between them. She glanced at the open door, wishing she’d closed it. Kenan stood listening, naked except for the wrap around his hips. His hands fisted at his sides matched the hardness of his muscles. He was the perfect specimen of a warrior, and she had no doubt he could conquer on the battlefield and in bed. Tierney found it challenging to swallow and turned away from him.

“No plan three, then,” Cora whispered, flattening her hand over her heart as if relieved. She needn’t be so worried over something Tierney could never actually imagine doing. Not after the horrors of Wallace looming over her, tearing into her as he growled that she better learn what it meant to be married. The nightmares still worked their way into her dreams.

“You two will have to take his glider and his horse back to Scorrybreac as hostage. And his sword.” She met Kenan’s hard stare. “You’ll get everything back if you help us.”

“Freya won’t pull a wagon,” Kenan said, his voice strong even though he was inside the cottage. It reached her as if stone walls were no real barrier against his force. “She’s a Percheron horse, a charger made for war.”

Tierney pierced her lips. “Percheron horses were originally bred for heavy hauling.”

“But I’ve only trained her to charge into battle and stomp the life out of thieves and their helpers.”

Cora gasped, so Tierney rolled her eyes as if her heart wasn’t in her throat. “He’s making that up,” she whispered.

“Do not take Freya,” Kenan said.

He apparently loved his mare more than his sword, perhaps even more than his glider. Something they had in common, then. Tierney would give her life for her horse, Fleet, so she understood this weakness.

“Take Freya and Sneachda with you to Scorrybreac,” she said to Gabriel and Cora. “If Freya won’t take the rigging, then just ride her and leave the wagon. Fleet will pull it.” Her preference was for the wagon to go since it had Kenan’s glider and sword, two more things to draw him to Scorrybreac.

“How will you get him to cooperate?” Gabriel asked her. Tierney knew he didn’t doubt her abilities, but Kenan Macdonald was not pliable, and her own conscience wouldn’t permit her to force him physically any more than she’d already had.

“I have a plan,” she said with false cheer, because her plans were flimsy and depended on Kenan’s cooperation, which he didn’t seem inclined to give.

“But not plan number three, whatever that is,” Gabriel said, a pout in his tone. He held a small worm before Betrim, whose tongue snagged it immediately.

“Leave my bow and arrow,” Tierney said. “We’ll be along once I convince him ’tis in his and our whole isle’s best interest to help us.”

Her brother and Cora turned to start soothing Freya to accept the wagon gear. Tierney had confidence that her animal-loving brother would be able to coax the giant horse to do anything.

With a full inhale and exhale, Tierney walked to the cottage and clipped across the floorboards back to the edge of Kenan’s allowable range.

Kenan sat on the small bed where he’d returned the tick. He leaned against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. “Stealing a man’s horse is a hangable offence.”

“I’d rather hang than see Ranulf Matheson take over Clan MacNicol by forcing me to wed him or through military strength.”

“And drugging a clan chief and abducting him and his horse might see ye drawn and quartered,” he said, his voice as stubborn as his hard face. “’Tis completely dishonorable.”

His brittle condemnation reminded her of her father. No matter what she did to try to prove herself to Douglas MacNicol, he always made her feel small and inconsequential. In frustration, born out of desperation and a need so deep it made her stomach feel hollow, Tierney’s hands flew out to either side of her to emphasize her words.

“Since the beginning of time, women have been abducted, assaulted, knocked unconscious, and forced to marry men they abhor. You’re enduring a small portion of that horror.” She’d endured years of it with Wallace. Because she’d been his wife, no one, not even her father, interfered. No one risked saving her, except her friend Jacob.

Tierney stalked outside, letting the door bang closed. It made Freya’s head shoot up out of Gabriel’s hands, and Tierney silently chided herself for letting Kenan fluster her.

I am in charge of this situation. My plan will work. Holy Joan, maybe she was truly losing her mind. Cora had asked that of her when she’d first explained her plans about abducting a powerful clan chief who was said to also be kind and reasonable. She ran hands down her face and slowed her breathing. The movement of air in and out helped her regain her focus.

Gabriel held out an apple to Freya as Tierney approached, slowing her stride. “There now, Freya,” Gabriel said, his voice soothing. Betrim’s head bobbed for a slight second as if he were agreeing. “My sister makes a lot of noise sometimes, but she’s doing what’s right.”

Did he really think that? Her brother was only twelve, but he understood that she was doing this for him, too.

Cora was quietly hooking up the wagon along her side. She smiled at Tierney, nodding to Gabriel.

Her father hadn’t thought anything she did was right, but this time she was. “I’m going to save us all.”

“You will,” Cora said. “If heart and cleverness can win over evil, you’ll do it.”

Think of how you want things to be. Her mother’s advice repeated in Tierney’s mind. Think hard on it and then create plans to make it happen. She sniffed slightly at the memory. She hadn’t allowed herself time to mourn the loss of the woman who’d loved her so much and soothed her when her father finally had his son.

Fannie MacNicol had been strong but sweet, cajoling people into doing things she wished. Even her father had relented under her gentle persuasion, except when it came to Tierney. Then he’d become as stubborn as a mule, insisting she wasn’t acting like a proper lass. In his mind, a proper lass wouldn’t complain about being knocked about by her horrid husband, and she’d accept her father’s betrothal plans to another brute when the first one died.

Tierney straightened and blinked against the ache of tears. “I guess I’ll never be a proper lass, but we will win this.” Because the only option if this didn’t work was death.