Page 31 of The Highlander’s Illicit Bride (Wicked Highland Lairds #1)

M urdoch Mackintosh sat behind the desk in his study reading reports from his men, frowning. As usual, there was no good news to be had. He shuffled through the parchments on his desk, searching for a response to his offer from the Camerons but was disappointed yet again to see one had not arrived.

With a growl of frustration, he swept the parchments off his desk and sat back.

He drank deeply from his cup of wine and tried to figure out his next move when the door to his study flew open, crashing hard into the door behind it.

Murdoch leapt to his feet as Dougal stormed in, his face twisted in fury.

“What the hell are ye playin’ at, Mackintosh?”

Murdoch stared at him blankly as the enraged man came around his desk and grabbed him by the front of his tunic.

Dougal shook him like a rag doll, his face red and spittle glistening on his lips and chin.

Murdoch’s mind raced, trying to understand the man’s anger.

But he knew the one thing he could not do was allow this man to manhandle him that way.

Grabbing Dougal by the wrists, he bent them back at an awkward angle, trying to break his grip.

But he only tightened it and pushed him back, slamming Murdoch into the stone wall behind him.

The back of Murdoch’s head rapped off the stone, making him bite the inside of his cheek painfully and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.

His own rage building, he drove his fist into Dougal’s stomach.

The man had not been expecting it, and the breath left his lungs with a loud “oomph.” As he doubled over, his grasp on Murdoch’s loosened.

He seized Dougal’s wrists again and quickly bent them backward, drawing a pained yelp from the man.

When he let go of his tunic, Murdoch gave him a two-handed shove in the chest that drove him backward.

He briefly considered grabbing the dagger from his desk and ending the volatile man right then and there.

But he stayed his hand. He needed him for the moment.

Instead, he stood his ground and waited for Dougal to catch his breath.

When the man stopped wheezing, he stood up and glared at Murdoch, his eyes narrowed.

“Now, what are ye goin’ on about?” Murdoch demanded. “Why are ye stormin’ in here like this?”

“Ye’re playin’ a very dangerous game with me,” Dougal hissed.

“I’ve got nay idea what ye’re talkin’ about.”

“Ye dinnae want tae make a fool of me, Murdoch,” Dougal growled low. “I promise ye that the consequences will be dire.”

Murdoch’s anger ebbed slightly, replaced by a curiosity that was growing faster than a wildfire. Something had happened to set Dougal on this enraged path, and he wanted to know what it was. He motioned to the chair that sat before his desk.

“Have a seat,” he said.

“I dinnae want?—”

“Sit down, Dougal.”

Murdoch’s voice was colder than the glare he leveled at Dougal. The man muttered darkly under his breath but he sat down heavily in the chair. Murdoch walked to the small table in the corner and poured a cup of wine and brought it back. Dougal glared at him but didn’t take the cup.

“I didnae come here tae drink,” he hissed.

“Drink it.”

He finally snatched the cup from Murodch’s hand and took a drink. Shaking his head to himself, Murdoch made his way back to his chair and sat down behind his desk. He picked up his own cup and took a long swallow.

“Now,” he said. “What is this all about?”

“Ye told me I’d have Isolde’s hand.”

“Aye. I did. And ye shall have it,” he replied. “Once we find here, we?—”

“I’ve already found her.”

Murdoch sat up, his eyes narrowing and a knot forming in his stomach. “Where? Where did ye find me daughter?”

“She’s with Struan bleedin’ Cameron.”

“Impossible—”

“And yet, ‘tis true,” Dougal grumbled. “I found a pair of me men dead and I dare say yer delicate daughter is nae responsible fer that.”

Murdoch sat back, his mind spinning. Now he thought he understood why Struan had ignored his message to parlay and discuss a swap of land for Finlay.

If Isolde was with him, he would obviously know that his brother was being kept at Cluny House.

Which also meant he was likely planning to rescue him.

That meant trouble. As much as he loathed the man, even Murdoch had to admit he was cunning and a formidable warrior.

“Are ye sure of this?” Murdoch asked. “Yer men may have been killed by brigands?—”

“Once they were found dead, I started makin’ inquiries. I’ve been told they passed through me lands posin’ as husband and wife,” he said darkly.

“Passed through yer lands?”

“’Tis what I said.”

“That means they were on their way tae Achnacarry.”

“Aye. I figured that out fer meself,” he said hotly.

Murdoch took another drink of his wine. He still didn’t understand why Dougal was so upset about this.

It was good news. They knew where both Struan and Isolde were.

And the fact that they were in the same place made things easier for them.

They didn’t have to search the world over.

They were in Achnacarry. But the fact that Dougal was so incensed about it made no sense.

That told Murdoch there must be more to the story. He studied the man for a moment.

“What are ye nae tellin’ me?” he asked. “What’s got ye so angry?”

“I’ve got some people in Cameron’s lands,” he said. “And they are tellin’ me he intends tae take her fer his wife.”

Murdoch sat back, surprised. He knew Struan was bold.

Clever. But he never expected the man to be as bold or clever as to take his daughter for his bride without his blessing.

Marrying her behind is back was shrewd. He obviously thought it would keep Murdoch from attacking Achnacarry for fear of hurting his daughter.

It just went to show how little Struan knew of him.

“Ye told me Isolde was tae be mine. She was tae wed me tae solidify our alliance,” Dougal said. “And yet, I’m hearin’ rumblin’s that she’s tae marry Cameron. Are ye makin’ an alliance with him behind me back? Is that what’s goin’ on here, Murdoch?”

“Have ye lost yer mind?”

“I’m startin’ tae wonder,” he snapped.

Murdoch huffed. “If ye think I’d make an ally out of that man, ye’re either mad or stupid. And I dinnae think ye’re stupid, Dougal.”

The man seemed somewhat mollified, though the hard edge remained around his eyes. He glared at Murdoch over the rim of his cup as he drank. He could see the man needed more convincing.

“Ye ken, better than anybody, how much I hate that family. How much I hate Struan Cameron,” he said. “I’d never give him permission tae marry me daughter. Nae in this life or any other. I’d sooner boil meself in oil.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, studying each other.

Murdoch knew the man was searching his face, searching for the barest hint of deception.

Dougal had always been hot-tempered. He was rash and impulsive.

He wasn’t the ideal ally, but the man was ferocious with a blade in his hand, wealthy, and had many men at his command.

“How reliable are yer sources?” Murdoch asked.

“Very.”

“And when is this weddin’ supposed tae take place?”

“So far as I ken, it has nae been set yet,” he replied. “Me sources are whisperin’ that Cameron’s Council has yet tae agree tae that arrangement.”

“So, we’ve got time.”

“Time fer what then?”

“Time tae get me wayward daughter back.”

Dougal scoffed and shook his head, then drained the last of his wine, got to his feet and planted his hands on Murdoch’s desk, leaning forward and staring deeply into his eyes. Murdoch could see the fire burning deep within the man.

“I’ll get Isolde back. And I’ll deliver her tae ye. Ye can wed her, bed her, dae with her as ye will,” he said.

“See that ye make it happen. Soon,” he growled.

“If ye dinnae hold true tae yer word and deliver that girl tae me, just as ye promised, I’ll make ye a promise—there will be war.

I will kill that good fer nothing lad I keep in me dungeon and hell will open with Finlay’s death.

Mark me words, Murdoch, if ye dinnae retrieve and deliver me bride, war will be comin’. ”

And with that, Dougal turned and stormed out of his study with the same fury he’d blow in with.

Murdoch sat in his chair stewing on all the dark anger bubbling up within him.

He clenched his jaw so tight, he could have chewed through stone.

He drained his cup then hurled it across the room as Dougal had.

It hit the stone wall with a hard thump, then clattered to the floor.

Before it had even stopped spinning, Murdoch leapt to his feet and stormed out of his chamber, nearly colliding with Rodrick, his closest advisor, just outside the door.

“Assemble the men,” Murdoch ordered. “All of them.”

“What is happenin’ me laird?” Rodrick asked.

“We’re marchin’ on Achnacarry.”