Return of the Highlander Read Online Free Page A

chief’s daughter as his wife.
    And so it remained today—MacEwens and MacDonalds, united by warfare and marriage.
    In recent years, it was said that the Great Lion of Kinloch desired peace for his clan. At least Larena hoped that was the case. Her father rarely spoke of the MacDonalds, for there was bad blood between them, ever since the massacre at Glencoe many years back.
    “Don’t be shy, lass,” her captor said as he walked behind her up the circular stairs of the North Tower to the solar, where the Lion awaited her arrival. “He just wants to know what’s been going on at Leathan Castle, and why your father’s head is destined for a spike.”
    The cruel words spoken about her beloved father sent an icy chill down her spine. “You are horrid to say such a thing to me.”
    “I’ll say whatever I please, lass,” he replied as they reached the top, “for he’s a Campbell and so are you.”
    Together, they strode through an arched entry into a brightly lit hall with a wide bank of leaded windows. Larena was forced to shade her eyes from the blinding light of the setting sun. An enormous tapestry covered one curved tower wall, but otherwise the space was sparsely furnished.
    She sucked in a breath just then at the sight of a large warrior to her left. He stood with his back to her at a sideboard, pouring whisky into three glasses. His silvery-blond hair hung loose down his back, almost to his waist, and he carried a massive broadsword in his belt.
    A scalding rush of anxiety coursed through her blood at the mere notion that she was about to meet Angus MacDonald—a man her father had warned her about as a girl.
    He is ruthless, without a heart. He despises the Campbell clan and would see us all dead if he could. Stay away from Kinloch, Larena. Never set foot there…
    According to the gossip she’d heard at Leathan Castle, the Lion was monstrous and frightening, horribly disfigured with battle scars, and he bore the look of the devil in his eyes.
    But then he turned and regarded her with a pair of ice-blue eyes that made her breath catch in her throat—partly because she was on edge, but mostly because he was not ugly or disfigured at all. In truth, he was astonishingly handsome.
    He sauntered leisurely toward her with a glass of whisky in each hand, held one out to her, and spoke in a polite tone. “Welcome, Larena Campbell.”
    At the sound of her name on his lips, her ragged nerves snapped and she backed into what appeared to be a brick wall behind her. It turned out not to be a brick wall, however, but the dark Highlander who had escorted her to the tower.
    Feeling her cheeks flush with heat, she cleared her throat and glanced back at him over her shoulder.
    “Take the whisky, lass,” the dark one suggested in that quiet, smoky voice that rode over her like velvet. “You look like you could use a drink.”
    Wetting her lips, she searched for some composure and stepped forward to accept the glass from her host. “Thank you.”
    The Lion handed the other glass to her captor, then studied her with steely, narrowed eyes as she raised the whisky to her lips and sipped, hoping that it wasn’t poisoned.
    Maybe it was, for it burned like a roaring bushfire down her throat. It took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to cough and sputter, because she’d never tasted anything like it.
    Fighting to recover, she swallowed hard and met the Lion’s gaze directly.
    “So…” he said, returning to the sideboard to pick up the third glass he’d poured. “Darach tells me you got into a little scuffle with some Redcoats not far from here.”
    Larena glanced over her shoulder again, realizing she now knew the dark Highlander’s name. Darach .
    “That’s not what happened,” she explained, facing forward again. “If you would permit me to relay the truth of the situation…”
    Angus raised his arm, as if he were about to conduct an orchestra. “Please, feel free.”
    Though, on the surface, his