Taming a Wild Scot: A Claimed by the Highlander Novel by Rowan Keats Read Free Book Online Page B

hedge-rat—teach him a lesson he’d never forget—but not quietly. And there was the rub. As the sergeant spun around, Niall slid his dirk into the sheath at his belt.
    The soldier’s eyes widened with disbelief. “This is your wife?”
    “Aye.” The piece of shite had no notion how close he’d come to losing an arm. The only thing saving him even now was that he was no longer touching Ana. Niall offered his hand to his wife. Their wedded state was only a ruse, but he must play it like the truth. And if she were truly his, he’d
never
allow another man to touch her. “Come, sweetling. I’ve yet to visit with the carpenter.”
    Her eyes narrowed, but she put her hand in his. “I’ve nothing to say to the carpenter.”
    He tugged her gently toward him and whispered in her ear, “Then I’ll not hear any complaints about the bed squeaking each time we use it.”
    As he’d hoped, sparks replaced the fear in her eyes and her pale cheeks warmed to pink.
    He shifted his gaze to the French soldier. “I trust we’ll meet again,” he said softly.
    The other man’s eyes met his without wavering. “No doubt.”
    Niall escorted Ana to the kitchen, but it took long moments for his blood to cool. He blamed it on his pride—backing away from a fight, even for good reason, galled him to no end. But it may have had more to do with the way Ana’s fingers were tightly entwined with his.
    •   •   •
    Aiden scooped up his accoutrements and stepped around the mountain that was Ivarr to tie his bags to the saddle of his horse. With a bit of hard riding, they could make Braemar by nightfall and cross the River Dee at first light.
    “Two days, laird,” Ivarr argued. “Give us two days to find the necklace. Then we’ll all journey to Lochurkie together.”
    With a sharp tug, Aiden cinched his saddle tight. “We’ve wasted far too much time on this cursed hunt as it is. I can’t give up two days more.”
    “But you’re the chief. You ought not to journey with such puny protection.”
    Aiden spun around. “’Tis precisely because I am the chief that I must go. It’s my responsibility to see Dunstoras returned to MacCurran hands, and I’ll not sit on my arse praying for success when I can be honoring the memories of our lost kin.”
    Ivarr’s lips thinned. “We are not sitting on our arses.”
    “The results are much the same,” Aiden said. “We are no closer to knowing who stole the necklace, and the king is about to give Dunstoras over to a new lord.”
    Graeme looked up from his packing. “Not for lack of effort.”
    Aiden slipped the bridle over his horse’s head. Perhaps not, but the ground they’d covered in search of answers these past two months ultimately meant nothing. His father had spent forty long, hard years building the reputation and wealth of the MacCurran clan—helping Walter Comyn free the king from English tyranny during his minority, fighting alongside the king at Largs, and even accompanying Princess Margaret to Norway for her wedding. Now, under Aiden’s leadership, the one possession his father prized above all else—Dunstoras—was about to be lost. “True enough,” he said. “But that effort has not sired results. It’s time to take a riskier stand.”
    “Traveling in a small party is an invitation to brigands and rogues,” Ivarr said.
    “Niall insists on remaining here to find the necklace,” Aiden said with a shrug. “We’ve no choice but to divide our efforts.”
    “I do not speak idly,” the big warrior cautioned. “Cormac and I found a small band of thieves in the hills northwest of here, preying on hapless travelers.”
    Seated on a log by the fire, Leod trimmed a thin shaving of aspen from the robin he was whittling. “Thieves tend to be rather wary of attacking armed men.”
    “We’re hardly hapless travelers,” said Aiden. “But to be safe, we’ll circle them wide on our trek up the glen.”
    “What do you truly hope to find in Lochurkie,