The Highlander's Destiny (Highland Rogues #2) - Mary Wine Page 0,2

casting looks her way. They had expectations—ones steeped in traditions and rich with benefits for the clan.

She wasn’t insensitive. Life was hard, and no one made it alone. No matter how enticing the idea of pitting oneself against Fate and life might be, it was something that only happened in songs and legends. Real life required working together. The Mackenzie clan was strong because of every soul who placed allegiance above their personal need for glory.

As the laird’s daughter, she needed to be practical. Her father had made a match for her with Cormac Grant. It would secure an alliance that would ensure peace. Fighting meant suffering for everyone. Moonlight raids translated into lost homes and crops. One death in the heat of battle could spark a feud that might stretch for generations. Every member of the clan had their place, and with it came responsibilities. Hers was to wed with an eye on alliances. Cormac wore the same yoke.

Cora sighed. She felt a tightening around her throat. A sense of panic was growing inside her lately; one all of her logical thoughts seemed powerless against.

At least her brother seemed willing to give her more time. Most men would have already pressed Cora to prepare to go to her intended husband’s holding. But the laird had obligations as well. The Mackenzie Retainers gave Buchanan their obedience, and in return, her brother would be expected to make her accept her responsibilities to her clan.

Cora felt that tightening around her throat again.

This time, there was also a tingle on the back of her neck. The wind blew in a hard, sudden gust. Dry leaves rattled in the trees adding to the sense of unease raising goosebumps on her skin.

Fate might just be stirring.

As Samhain approached, it was the time for spirits, both good and bad, to rise all around them. The harvest was in, and now, the battle to survive until the next season would begin. Winter was always the time when everyone was shut inside and had ample opportunity to talk. There were no fields to tend, no roofs to mend. Conversation would flow. The growing number of looks being cast her way confirmed the topic her clansmen were discussing was her future.

But where to go?

The path in front of her was as unreadable as ever. Hours of prayer and soul searching hadn’t yielded any clear idea of where she should seek whatever it was out in the world that would ease the growing tension inside her. She was restless, but what did that mean? Running away seemed pointless unless she had some destination in mind. Something to become or someone to be with.

So, she’d go up to Munro land. Her brother had sent her to deliver a letter. It was a less than important task. Cora saw through it, and yet, she was grateful to her brother for offering her one last ride across the Highlands before winter closed in. She leaned forward, enjoying the chill of the wind across her cheeks. Some of her hair worked its way free, and the strands blew back across her cheeks.

Unbridled…

She truly was.

And completely unrepentant as well!

*

“I’m amazed yer brother allowed ye out so late in the season.”

Rolfe Munro wasn’t laird yet. But his father hadn’t been in good health for years. There was a hardness in Rolfe’s eyes, which spoke of the toll leading the Munro took from him. He was young, and yet, he was a man because life demanded it of him.

The way he’d risen to meet the expectations placed upon him was by far the most attractive feature he had.

Cora did feel a twinge of guilt over the thought. She was being overly harsh.

Ye mean judgmental.

It was true. Rolfe had golden hair and blue eyes. He was built tall and had thick muscles on his shoulders and arms to prove he didn’t just lead in name alone. No, the man trained with his men. Rode with them. He would be Laird of the Munro by more than bloodline. He’d spent years earning the respect of his men.

Yet, he moved her, not at all.

Rolfe suddenly chuckled. “Mistress Cora,” he muttered as he lifted a measure of whiskey up in a silent salute to her. “Would ye be kind enough to not slice me to the bone while I sit at me own table?”

Cora blinked, forcing herself to focus on the conversation. “I do nae understand yer meaning, Laird Munro.”

“Ah,” Rolfe muttered with a narrowing of his eyes. “No mercy for