The Highland Laird (Lords of the Highlands #8) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,80

you took advantage of an innocent maid?”

A lead weight dropped to the pit of Ciar’s stomach. Had he taken advantage?

Nay.

He’d fallen in love. Emma had shown him so much about what it meant to be alive. How could he explain it all in a few words?

He spread his palms at his sides. “I love her.”

“You?” Grant guffawed. “A condemned man?”

Livingstone hopped off his horse. “Wilcox granted a pardon.”

“I should have guessed since you’ve returned from the dead. Nonetheless, that still does not allay the carelessness in the way you treated my sister.”

“Carelessness? I did nothing but treat her with respect.”

“Aye? Then why in God’s name did you not send her back to Achnacarry with the stable boy?”

“Because she was seen with her dog. She picked the locks both to the sea gate and to my cell. Had she returned with the lad I feared there would be retribution.”

“Except Wilcox showed up here. Not at my father-in-law’s keep.”

Ciar raked his fingers through his hair. Damnation, he hadn’t considered that. Mayhap he should have sent Emma back with Sam. “My actions were only in your sister’s interests, you must know that.”

“I know nothing except that I found my sister starved and locked in a pillory. A disgrace no gentlewoman should ever experience.” Grant thrust his finger toward the drive. “Now take your men and leave my lands afore I lose my temper and end this in a duel.”

“Ye must ken I do not want to fight you.” Ciar flicked his scabbard’s leather strap, releasing the hilt of his sword. “But I cannot tuck my tail and run. Not until I’ve seen Miss Emma.”

Grant was a formidable swordsman, but Ciar was bigger and had the stronger arm. They’d sparred many times before, and either Grant was willing to die for his sister’s virtue or he was bluffing.

Taking a step forward, Ciar dared to hope. “I’d marry her today if it would change your mind.”

But Grant’s expression grew darker as he thrust out his chin. “How can I allow my dear, frail sister to marry a man who has no concern for her well-being? Must I say again that you ought to have sent her back to Achnacarry.” Robert’s sword whooshed through its scabbard as he drew it. “But no, you opted to take her to a ruined castle on a barren isle where you then abandoned her. How many times must I repeat your offenses?”

His gut clenching, Ciar readied his weapon. “You were not there to judge. As I said before, every decision I made was to uphold your sister’s welfare and protection. If I had known she would have been safe on Lochiel’s lands, I would not have hesitated to send her back with Sam.” Crouching, Ciar circled to the right. “However, at the time I believed her life was in danger, and the only way I could assure her safety and clear her name was to take her into hiding with me.”

Grant countered, sidestepping. “But you failed miserably.”

Bellowing like a mad bull, Robert attacked with a thrust to the heart.

Lunging, Ciar defended with an outward parry as he drew his dirk with his left hand.

In the blink of an eye, the bull-headed oaf bared his teeth and swung back, aiming a deadly strike.

Ciar jumped away from the hissing blade. “Stop this madness! What is it you want? Lands? Wealth?”

Grant sidestepped and thrust again. “I want never to set eyes on your grisly face again.”

Defending every strike, Ciar’s sword clanged as Robert attacked in a fit of rage. The bastard hacked at every soft spot imaginable, making it impossible to shove him away long enough to reason with him. Their blades stalled, clashing in a struggle of one weapon against the other, the iron screeching until the swords met at the hilt. Refusing to injure his friend, Ciar pushed Grant aside and smacked his shoulder blade with the pommel of his hilt.

The bull of a man stumbled and whipped around.

“No!” Emma’s voice rang out with the tenor of a bell.

Ciar’s gut twisted as the sound of slippered footsteps approached. Albert barked.

Robert’s blade flashed.

“Stooooooop!” Ciar yelled as time slowed. He booted Grant in the hip. As the man fell, his blade swept forward, slicing across Emma’s arm. Down she went as her shrill scream prickled like tiny knives in his back.

With his next heartbeat, Ciar dropped to his knees, wrapping the only woman he’d ever loved in his arms.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Emma felt no pain. Ciar’s arms enveloped her—warm, loving, protective. He was here, and