The Highland Laird (Lords of the Highlands #8) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,52

been able to, either.”

“Hellfire and damnation,” Ciar cursed. “When I confronted them, a third struck me from behind. I never saw him.”

“How convenient for the backbiters.”

Ciar heaved a long sigh. “Wilcox would have already put a noose around my neck if it weren’t for the unrest.”

The man-at-arms scoffed. “Thought hanging ye would cause a riot?”

“Aye.”

“Well, the governor was bloody right—for a host of reasons. But they’re looking for you everywhere. Both of you. And they’ll be here next, mark me.”

Emma clutched her arms across her midriff. “Nonetheless, they won’t find us, will they?”

“Not if we remain hidden.” Ciar gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Livingstone, I need you to locate the Irishman, Kelly. Wilcox and the others will not ken he’s my man. Have him strike up a friendship with the sentinels named Riley and Manfred—a close friendship.”

Ciar sipped his whisky before slamming the cup onto the table. “And the third—I want to sever that bastard’s balls.”

Covering her mouth, Emma snorted. “I daresay, that is what he deserves.”

“Forgive my vulgar tongue, lass.”

In truth, she liked that he felt comfortable speaking so freely in her presence. It made her feel more a part of the solution. Besides, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t heard such things from her brother’s lips.

Ciar stood and began to pace. “Once Kelly kens their comings and goings, we’ll nab them all at once.”

“We, sir?” asked Livingstone. “But you mustn’t be seen.”

“Did you reckon I’d hide away whilst you and the men have all the fun?”

“Aye, and I recommend it as well.”

“I agree,” said Emma, breaking off a bit of oatcake and swirling it in her mouth.

Ciar hit the table, making everything rattle. “Enough. Send word to Archie once Kelly wheedles his way into their confidence. I want to personally flay those bastards.”

Livingstone stood as well. “Before or after they’ve confessed?”

“Wheesht. Keep the supplies coming, and if you can manage it bring some knitting needles and wool—keep mum and tell no one who they’re for.”

“My word is my oath.”

“Thank you,” Emma said, offering her hand. “But do not risk bringing anything here for me if there is any danger that doing so might reveal our whereabouts.”

Chapter Seventeen

With powerful strokes, Ciar pulled himself through the water, willing the iciness to cool the flame burning just beneath his skin. Back and forth he swam, each lap stronger than the last.

Three days had passed, and he was already restless beyond all imagination. He hated waiting for anything. Worse, biding his time while the bonniest lass in the Highlands pattered about trying to keep amused was all but killing him.

Emma’s intoxicating scent wafting through the cellars tormented him with his every breath. The lass need only walk past and she turned his head with her floral bouquet. She was happy and affable and everything he’d ever dreamed of in a woman. She hummed with the most alluring alto voice he’d ever heard. And she grew more and more irresistible by the moment.

By his blood, he would exhaust the lust coursing through his body. He was close friends with the lass’s brother. They’d marched into more brawls and battles together than he could remember. In no way could he ruin their alliance—handed down from their forefathers.

Ciar’s jaw twitched.

Bless it, he would not ravish Grant’s sister. Not ever.

Then his eyebrow arched.

Not unless she agreed to be his wife.

Ciar stopped kicking, treaded water, and looked to the shore.

Emma sat on a log of driftwood rubbing a clamshell between her fingertips and ignoring Albert, who was splashing through the water, chasing fish and yipping as if he was pleased to remain on Kerrera for the rest of his days.

God’s bones, she was a vision.

A wave crashed over his head, and he kicked his feet against the pull of the undertow.

Emma had good breeding for certain. The Grants and the MacDougalls were both powerful clans. But could Emma bear him an heir? She’d been born without sight because she had come too early. Hadn’t Robert said so?

Mayhap she can.

It was Ciar’s duty to continue the Dunollie line. He had no siblings to step into the role. And he’d be obstinate enough to defy death if his cousin were still in line to inherit. Truth be told, Ciar needed an heir posthaste with all this business of being falsely accused on top of impending war.

But then again, he mustn’t give the idea a second thought. Not until he cleared his name.

A mammoth wave smacked him in the back of the head and dragged him under,