Bound to the Highlander(11)

He seemed quite relaxed. Something wasn’t right.

Her heart beat a little faster as she crossed the threshold and crept further into the room to catch a better view of the lower half of his body. Woollen plaid covered a dark leather jerkin. A wave of nausea washed over her as she inched closer. Her eyes trailed up his torso where the plaid swept over a thick shoulder then disappeared behind brown hair.

She tripped on a chair, out of place in the centre of the room, and cursed to herself when the sound alerted him to her presence. She froze as his head turned and green eyes met hers. Her mouth dropped. It was not possible! What was he doing here?

The man pushed back the chair. The sharp scrape of wood across stone echoed and sent a hundred butterflies loose in her gut. He turned toward her and stepped around the writing desk. She should flee, but could not uproot herself. His intent gaze pinned her. When he was near enough that she could have reached out to touch him, he held out a piece of folded parchment. She wanted to hide from him, from herself, from anything that would remind her how unhinged he made her.

He placed the letter in her hand and she looked down. Her clan crest was stamped in red wax. The seal was unmistakable. She placed her thumbs on either side of it and pressed, the soft crack echoing in the silent room. He stood so close, sending every nerve in her body on end. His leather scent filled her senses again, feeding her urge to slip into his arms.

She must get a hold of her scattered wits.

Her hands shook as she unfolded the letter and recognized her uncle’s scripted hand. A stabbing pain tore into her chest. How many letters had he sent her over the years when travelling? This would be the last one she ever read. She registered the stranger guiding her to a chair.

Through misty eyes she began. The first words were of a formal nature listing her uncle’s full title, properties and other assets, none of which were a surprise, but the last paragraph forced her breath to catch in her throat.



Upon her eighteenth birthday, my niece, Aileana Chattan, shall enter into a three month betrothal contract with James MacIntosh, Chief of the MacIntosh Clan of Inverness-shire. Upon their marriage, the Chattan Clan will fall under the protection of that Chief. In the event of my death before her eighteenth birthday, their betrothal must occur without delay.



Aileana’s breath hissed through her teeth. James MacIntosh? Her head throbbed as she absorbed the enormity of her uncle’s wishes.

Uncle Iain wanted a union     between her clan and those who backed the Stewart king and would encourage others to follow. How could he do this to her? She never imagined he would marry her to anyone but Gawain, and never considered he would contemplate a permanent link between the Chattans and another clan. And on whom did he settle? The most arrogant, insufferable, womanizer this side of the green. She had no time for him or his traitorous clan.

Aileana re-read the letter again. There must be some mistake. Uncle would not force her to marry the chief of that clan.

The MacIntosh had visited the estate over the years, since his lands bordered her uncle’s. During those times she would observe, with mortification, the castle’s female servants bending over backwards to gain even one brief glance from him. Well, she was not some gushing maid about to throw herself at his feet.

“Lady Aileana?”

She had not seen him in about three years.

“It is my pleasure to reacquaint with you after so long.” His deep voice interrupted her inner rant. “I believe you’ve blossomed since our last meeting. I mean, it has been quite some time since we last met.”

Her guts lurched as realization dawned. Her eyes snapped up to lock with his. When they’d met on the road, he was coming here. May a hole open up and swallow her now. She’d acted like a smitten kitchen maid. She dropped her chin to her chest, fighting the burning sensation behind her eyes. She would not cry in front of him, no matter how embarrassed.

“I believe the letter you’re holding contains business we must discuss concerning your uncle’s wishes. I knew him well. He was an honourable man and I respected him. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

She tilted her head to look up at him. He appeared sincere. She should be gracious and thank the MacIntosh for his kindness toward her uncle, however, no words would come. How could the man expect her to forget what happened with her father? And who was responsible?

“Lady Aileana, are you unwell? Shall I fetch a maid?”

This was absurd. She wasn’t a child unable to control her emotions. Speak!

“I am well, my lord, thank you,” she said, straightening her back.

“I understand this is a shock. The reason for my visit today was to speak with you in private on the subject to avoid any discomfort which could be viewed by the servants.” His expression darkened. “I am aware this arrangement was not shared with you until now.”