Page 39 of Warrior of the Highlands (Highlands #3)

“I’d ask if you’re able to use this, but I imagine you ken better than most of my men.” MacColla handed Haley a beaten-up old musket. She didn’t need to look at the mechanism to know it was one of the old matchlocks. She could tell from the sheer size of the thing that it was a relic.

“Och, you’ll not need it. But I’ll feel better knowing you have it.” He was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Truly, leannan , do you know how to fire it?”

“Yeah.” She palmed a small leather pouch filled with shot. It was a reassuring heft in her hand, clicking like a bag of heavy marbles.

The match, though, scared her. It was a thin piece of rope that she was to keep constantly lit, sliding it into the jaw of the matchlock when the time came to shoot.

Pull the trigger and it would snap down, the match igniting the powder and firing the bullet.

And she needed to do all of that without catching herself or the powder on fire. “I can manage it,” she said grudgingly.

MacColla sighed heavily. “I would that I could give you a gun suitable for a lady, with an ivory handle and in a bonny little case. But munitions are scarce. It’s only because the men refuse to carry a matchlock that I can give this to you.”

He picked it up, and the gun barrel slid through her hands. Tilting the musket, he sighted down the length of it. “They worry about catching themselves on fire.”

“Oh great,” she muttered.

He gave a humorless laugh. “When I return, I’ll buy you the prettiest wee pistol in all Ireland.”

“When you return, I’m going to clout you on the head and take you back to Scotland.”

“Och, leannan .” Exhaling, MacColla set the musket down. He reached to give her a hand up. “You know I must do this.”

“Let me come with you.”

His eyes were flat when he responded, “I’ve told you. No, and no again. You’ll stay here. Where it’s safe.”

“But . . . this doesn’t feel right. Battle elsewhere. If you insist on staying in Ireland, at least take the battle from Knocknanuss Hill.” She couldn’t recall exactly what had happened there, but every mention of the place gave her the chills.

“Nay,” he whispered, tilting her face up to him. “Our enemy is on the move. Inchiquin’s men march for us. Whatever I feel about this Lord Taaffe, he’s chosen a decent spot from which to attack.”

He cupped her chin in his hands. “This is farewell, leannan . Do you not have a kiss for me?”

No. It was too soon. She couldn’t say good-bye. To kiss him was to part from him. Would one kiss mean good-bye forever?

Though he leaned close, the gentle touch of his hands on her face was their only contact. As if their parting had already begun.

He brought his mouth to hers and Haley felt tears spill down her cheeks. MacColla kissed her slowly. Deeply and carefully.

He didn’t clutch her body to him, and even though she wanted to cling to MacColla and grab him close, Haley was grateful for the space between them. To close that gap now would snap the last fragile thread that held her together.

She was preparing herself. Getting ready for what she knew she needed to do.

He ended the kiss, and with a whispered “I love you, leannan ,” MacColla left Haley to face what might come.

Alone.