The Highlander's Defiant Captive (The Lairds Most Likely 4)

"Which means you're waiting on my consent to a wedding, when ye must ken you'll never have it."

"Never is a gey powerful word, lass. We met a little over a day ago. Give yourself time to get to know me. You might discover that I can charm ye into marrying me."

Her lips lengthened in disapproval. "Nobody is that charming."

The hubbub down in the great hall had faded to an expectant hush, and Mhairi was uncomfortably aware that most of that audience hated her. The two maids had sneaked in a few more pinches when they'd helped her into this elaborate gown that in other circumstances she might have liked. But the fact that

it came as a gift from the Mackinnon turned it into an expensive rag.

"Give me time," he said with a smile. "In the meantime, allow me to introduce ye to my people."

What could she do? If she insisted on retreating to her room – his room – he'd think she was frightened. She was, but she wasn't admitting that to anyone.

So she leveled her shoulders and allowed him to take her arm and escort her into the midst of her enemies. When she stood beside the Mackinnon at the head table, every stare felt like a dagger.

Not every eye. Shocked, she looked down the board to where Flossie sat beside the one-eyed man she’d noticed in the courtyard. Was that the same brute who had stolen her away?

Her maid’s faint smile of encouragement did nothing to reassure Mhairi. Since they’d been taken, fear for the girl's fate had been a constant. And guilt.

If Flossie hadn't been with her yesterday, she'd be safely tucked up in her bed at Bruard. The Mackinnon had sent a message up to the tower room to say that the maid was safe. Mhairi knew better than to trust him.

"Are ye all right?" she mouthed over the distance.

The girl cast a quick look at the man next to her, but his attention was on the Mackinnon. She nodded, before she lowered her eyes and stood at the laird’s command.

Mhairi noticed that Flossie was moving naturally and appeared to have no visible injuries. Further enquiries would have to wait.

"Men and women of Achnasheen, my kin, my clan, my people," the Mackinnon said in a ringing voice. "I bring to ye the lady who will be my wife. Mhairi Drummond of Bruard!"

Chapter 8

Callum didn't look at Mhairi as he took her hand and held it high in front of all his clan. He was ruefully aware that the triumphant gesture was at best premature. The girl tried to wrench away, but he kept hold of her.

"Ye swine, Mackinnon," she hissed. "That's no’ true."

He turned to meet her blazing eyes. To his regret he read only more of that endless resistance. "Aye, it is."

"I'd rather die than wed a Mackinnon dog," she announced loudly enough for her insult to echo around the hall.

His lips tightened, as he watched Mhairi's brave but misguided outburst spark general anger among his people. He’d sworn to treat her with care, but she backed him into a corner, couldn't she see?

After a vibrant silence, Duff rose and lifted his goblet toward the high table. "Aye, ye were right, Callum. You've caught yourself a wildcat there. I wish ye joy of taming her. I drink to the new lady of Achnasheen."

Callum kept his grip on Mhairi’s hand, although she still struggled to break free. He noted that a good few of his men were slow to toast his coming nuptials. His plan to bring peace to the glens hadn't been universally welcomed in his clan. Many of his warriors enjoyed the ongoing strife, and not a few of them had profited from the cattle raids in his father's day.

But he was a patient man and a stubborn one, and he'd win out over both his people and his reluctant bride. He'd sworn to end the feud with the Drummonds, and he was above all a man of his word.

So he lifted his goblet with his free hand and swept it through the air in a silent salute to everyone present, including Mhairi who stood seething at his side. "A man likes a wild woman to warm his nights, Duff. I drink to peace and prosperity – and many exciting years to come with my bonny bride."

He took a sip, hardly tasting the wine, as he heard a grudging response from the crowd. Beside him, Mhairi had gone as still as a stone.

He wondered what she plotted in retaliation for his rash declaration. Their acquaintance might be short, but he knew her well enough to guess she had some reprisal in mind. Perhaps he should have let her enjoy her first meal at Achnasheen in privacy, instead of brandishing her before his clan like a trophy.

Except that Mhairi Drummond was a trophy. One he meant to keep, come what may. The sooner she and his kin accepted that, the easier life would be for all of them.

Callum faced her once more. To his surprise, a slow smile curled her pink lips, although the blue eyes still burned with hatred. God’s teeth, what he'd give to turn all that fire to passion.

"As it's a night for toasts, here's mine, Mackinnon." She lifted her brimming goblet in his direction. She spoke clearly so everyone in the hall could hear her. "I drink to a lingering and miserable death for the Laird of Achnasheen and Drummond warriors dancing a jig on his grave. Slàinte mhath."