Page 28 of The Highlander’s Illicit Bride (Wicked Highland Lairds #1)

The hard clack of their wooden blades echoed around the walls of the courtyard.

Struan was slicked with a sheen of sweat and took a few steps back, then leaned over, hands on his knees to catch his breath.

Beads of sweat dripped from his brow, splashing onto the soft sand on the ground beneath him. His muscles ached and he felt stiff.

“Are ye gettin’ old on me, then?” Ewan teased.

Struan turned his head and grinned. “Old or nae, I’m still managin’ tae beat ye pretty good.”

“I’m lettin’ ye win.”

“Oh, is that it?”

“Aye,” he chirped. “Ye didnae think ye were winnin’ on yer own, did ye?”

They shared a laugh as Struan straightened up and stretched his back out.

His time in captivity followed by all that time in a saddle on the road had taken a toll on him.

It had been a number of days since he’d had a proper training session and though he felt fatigued, he felt good at the same time.

He enjoyed the exercise, the exertion. He even enjoyed the aches, pains, and bruises that came along with a hard sparring session.

And of course, he always had a willing partner in Ewan who enjoyed the same things.

Struan raised his wooden sword and tapped it against Ewan’s.

They circled each other for a moment before Ewan charged in at him, feinting high, but pulling back to swing low at his legs.

Struan anticipated the move and blocked the blow but was too slow to catch the open-handed slap that caught him across the cheek.

His face stung, his eyes watered, and his ears began to ring. He staggered back a step and laughed.

“All right, ye got me on that one,” Struan said with a shake of his head.

“Ye’re rusty.”

“Aye. I’m a little slow this mornin’,” he replied. “I’ll give ye that.”

“Let’s get some water and have a rest.”

Struan nodded. “Aye. ‘Tis a good idea.”

They walked to a bench on the far side of the courtyard and took turns taking a drink from the ladle in the bucket of water.

Struan scooped up another ladle of water and poured it over his head, letting the cool water slice away the sweat that clung to his face and bare chest. Grabbing a clean rag from the nearby table, he dried himself off as he dropped heavily onto the bench beside Ewan.

“Dae ye think the Council will agree tae send men tae Cluny House?” Ewan asked suddenly.

“Of course, they will,” Struan replied. “’Tis in their best interests tae get Finlay back.”

“They might nae see it that way,” he said. “I saw their eyes when ye mentioned the deal on the table. Some of them think ‘tis the most sensible course of action.”

“’Tis naethin’ but a trap,” Struan said. “This is meant tae draw me out tae give Mackintosh and MacPherson a chance tae dae what they should’ve done before—kill me.”

“Ye may have a hard time convincin’ some of those old men of that.”

“Mackintosh and MacPherson both pose threats tae our clan on their own. If we allow them tae band together, it’ll be the end of us. They’ve got tae see that.”

“They should. Daesnae mean they will, though,” Ewan said flatly. “Ye’ve dealt with them long enough by now tae ken how they think.”

Struan grumbled under his breath. Every second they delayed, the closer Finlay came to death and the closer their clan came to total destruction.

“Dae ye think killin’ Murdoch is goin’ tae change how Isolde sees ye?”

“What?”

Ewan shrugged. “I mean that when all is said and done, the man is her faither. Fer good or ill—mostly fer ill—he’s her kin.

Her blood,” he said. “Dae ye nae worry that if ye kill the man she’ll eventually come tae resent ye fer it?

Ye of all people ken just how precious family is.

And how deep the grudge runs against somebody who takes that family from ye. ”

Would Isolde feel like that as well?

Struan sat back for a moment and turned his face up to the sky. He thought about Ewan’s question for a moment, letting it bounce around in his mind.

Ewan was right about family being precious.

And about his grudge against Murdoch for taking Rhona from him.

That was the difference. Struan had loved Rhona with everything in him.

Having her taken from him had cut him to the bone.

But Isolde hated her father. She feared him.

She’d lived every day of her life being treated coldly and manipulatively by him.

And had tried to force a life upon her she did not want.

Struan shook his head. “Nay. I dinnae think so. Killin’ her faither, I think, would bring her some sense of relief. Nae grief. Nor anger.”

“I hope ye’re right about that.”

“I’ve got good reason tae believe it,” Struan replied. “I’ve gotten tae ken her pretty well and ken just how she feels about her faither. Nae havin’ tae spend her life lookin’ over her shoulder fer fear he will come fer her will come as a relief.”

A grin quirked the corner of Ewan’s mouth. “So long as that life is with ye, eh?”

Struan grinned wryly. “It would be preferable. It’d allow me tae keep her safe,” he said. “But I promised her that when we got through all this, the decision was hers tae make. I will nae force her intae a life she daesnae want, like her faither seeks tae.”

As he spoke the words, a stitch passed through his heart that made him grimace. The thought of a life without Isolde by his side was intolerable. The merest contemplation of it hurt.

“Ye ken eventually, those two schemin’ vipers will find a way tae play nice together and come fer her, dinnae ye?” Ewan asked, echoing his earlier thoughts.

Struan nodded. “Aye. I’ve already thought of that,” he said. “’Tis why I need the Council tae announce their decision about what our course of action should be according tae them.”

Ewan’s face clouded over, and he lowered his gaze to the sand beneath his boots.

Struan studied him for a moment, curious.

Ewan was not a man to give himself over to fear or worry and yet, as he sat there staring at the ground, he seemed consumed by both.

When the silence between them lingered, Struan cleared his throat.

“What is it then?” Struan finally asked.

“Truth?”

“Aye, me friend. Always.”

“I worry about a couple of things.”

Struan looked at him expectantly, and Ewan grimaced. “First, that we will nae be able tae hold our ground against two clans. When Murdoch and Dougal finally figure out they’re better together than apart, they’ll work together and come fer us. And they’ll come fer Isolde.”

“Is there a question in there?” Struan asked with a grin.

Ewan’s expression remained sober. “Is she worth it? Is she worth havin’ two clans—two armies—comin’ fer us?”

Struan pursed his lips. “They’re goin’ tae come anyway.

If we give Isolde back tae them, they’ll marry her tae Dougal, seal their pact, and march on Achnacarry anyway.

They are both our enemies. And I think deep down, ye ken that already,” he said solemnly.

“And tae answer yer other question… aye. She’s worth it. ”

“Ye seem strangely unworried at the idea that we’ll have two armies breathin’ down our bleedin’ necks,” Ewan said. “Ye seem almost confident we can beat them.”

“Isolde gives me the confidence tae believe we can,” he replied simply. “She makes me feel like I can dae anything and that nay matter what, everythin’ will be all right.”

Ewan’s lips quirked ruefully. “Hope is a fine thing. But hope didnae ever win a battle. Hope cannae help us once the arrows start flyin’ and the steel starts singin’. I just… I hope ye ken what ye’re daein’ and what ye’re gettin’ us intae.”

“I’m nae gettin’ us intae anythin’,” Struan said. “Either way, Murdoch and Dougal will come fer us. ‘Tis only a matter of when.”

“I still think keepin’ Murdoch’s daughter and Dougal’s soon-tae-be bride in Achnacarry is gettin’ us intae somethin’,” he said with a laugh.

“They’ve got nay idea she’s here. I told ye that before,” Struan said. “We didnae escape together and they’ve nae reason tae suspect she’s with me. ‘Tis why Murdoch sent his offer tae make a swap fer Finlay.”

“And yet, they always seem tae be better informed than we ken and ken things they shouldnae have nay way of kennin’.”

Struan shrugged. “I can promise ye they dinnae ken she’s here. And I’m nae gettin’ us intae anythin’ that wasnae already happenin’,” he said. “All I’ve done is speed up the time ‘tis goin’ tae take them tae get here.”

Ewan got to his feet and clapped Struan on the shoulder. “Well, most of all, I hope ye’re right about her bein’ worth it.”

His best friend walked out of the practice yard without another word, leaving Struan there to ponder his words.

It was true that the fight was coming no matter what.

There was nothing he could do to stop it.

Dougal had coveted his lands for far too long and Murdoch had hated his family and had wanted to destroy them for even longer than that.

Struan got to his feet and tossed the rag onto the table then grabbed his shirt.

As he walked out of the practice yard, Ewan’s voice continued to echo around his mind, asking him again and again whether she would come to hate him for killing her father.

He wanted to believe the answer was no. But as he stalked along the corridors, heading for his chamber, Struan had to admit—if only to himself—that he wasn’t entirely certain she wouldn’t.

Although he wanted to believe it was remote, if he was being honest, there was a chance Isolde could very well come to resent him for killing her father.