Free The Chieftain by Margaret Mallory

grateful smile.
    “Sit and keep me company,” the stranger said.
    Ilysa was dead on her feet, but she could not rest until she learned more about him.
    “I’ve told ye my name,” she said sliding onto the bench beside him. “Will ye do me the same favor?”
    “I am Lachlan.”
    “Are you the Lachlan who has been leading raids against the MacLeods?”
    “Mmmph,” he grunted in what she took as an assent and leaned down to scoop a spoonful of stew into his mouth.
    So this was the warrior everyone thought Connor should make captain of his guard.
    “This is tasty. Things have improved since I was last here.” When he was halfway through his stew, he paused and said, “Since
     ye know our new chieftain so well, being nearly a sister to him, tell me about him.”
    Ilysa did not like his sarcasm. “Is there something in particular ye wish to know?” she asked.
    “Is he a man worth serving?”
    This Lachlan was direct, even for a Highlander.
    “He’s your chieftain and that should be sufficient,” Ilysa said, sounding prim to her own ears.
    Lachlan gave her a bored, sideways glance and resumed eating his stew.
    “Ye shouldn’t need a better reason,” she said, letting her disapproval show in her tone, “but I’ll tell ye that Connor MacDonald
     is as fine a man as any to walk this earth.”
    Lachlan set down his spoon and turned to look at her. “So that’s the way of it.”
    “Ye misunderstand,” Ilysa said and felt her face grow hot.
    He gave a noncommittal shrug and commenced eating again. What an annoying man. Ilysa wanted to set him straight that she was
     not Connor’s mistress, but continuing to protest was likely to have the opposite effect.
    “How good a warrior is our new chieftain?” Lachlan asked.
    “There’s none better, save for my brother Duncan.”
    “Duncan, the former captain of the chieftain’s guard?” he asked. “I’ve heard of him.”
    “Perhaps that will make ye think twice,” she said, “before making judgments about me that ye have no business making.”
    “I apologize,” he said, his expression softening a fraction.
    At the sound of men’s voices, they both turned toward the door just as Connor came through it with several of his guards.
     As always, Ilysa’s heart made an odd little lift in her chest at the sight of him.
    The next moment, she was disoriented by a burst of red colors emanating from Lachlan that felt like hostility washing over
     her. Then she was rocked by anguish as a vibrant blue color glowed behind the orange-red flames engulfing him.
    She gripped Lachlan’s arm to draw his attention. When he dragged his gaze away from Connor, his eyes held a fierceness that
     frightened her. But the anguish she had seen in his heart tempered her fear.
    “Whatever ye think ye know about our chieftain is wrong,” she said. “Connor is a good man.”
    “I’ve never met him before,” Lachlan said, fixing his gaze on Connor again. “I don’t think anything about him.”
    He lied.
    Ilysa felt the tension in Lachlan’s body as Connor turned his silvery blue gaze their way, then crossed the room to them.
     When the two men faced each other across the table, danger pulsed around them and echoed in Ilysa’s head like a drumbeat.
    *  *  *
    “I am Lachlan of Lealt,” the newcomer told Connor, identifying himself as being born near the Lealt River, which ran on the
     east side of the peninsula. “I hear ye have need of strong warriors and have come to offer my sword.”
    Lachlan was about Connor’s age, well built and nearly as tall. His honed muscles bespoke long hours of practice, and he had
     the hardness in his eyes of a determined warrior. Connor liked what he saw.
    “I’ve heard a good deal about ye,” Connor said. “They say ye have been protecting the homes of our people here.”
    “Not all of us fled in the face of the MacLeods.”
    No false modesty from this one. “If ye want to fight MacLeods,” Connor said, “I have need of you and