Free Return of the Highlander by Julianne MacLean

keep his word about sparing my father’s life if I marry his son. And I am required to trust that Gregory will be a good husband to me and a fair chief to the members of my clan. Also that we will all be able to go on and live in peace with the English.”
    “That’s a lot of trusting, lass,” Darach said skeptically. “You may want to rethink some of it.”
    A fierce gust of wind blew across the moor and blasted her cheeks with stinging raindrops. She shivered anew and found herself growing increasingly curious about the man Darach truly was beneath the cool, aloof exterior. “Clearly you do not have a trusting bone in your body. Why is that?”
    He shook his head at her, as if she should know better than to ask him that question. “You don’t know me, lass, and if you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ll be content to keep it that way.”
    With that, he urged his mount into a gallop and rode off to scout the forest ahead, leaving her behind, feeling disconcerted and bereft.
    The voice of reason in her head told her that he was right. She should not wish to know him. She should simply let him go and make no further overtures of friendship—because what would be the point in that?—but her emotions were becoming restless and willful. Something intense was drawing her to him. She was constantly aware of his presence, near or far, and wasn’t sure she could heed his warnings and resist the urge to learn what he was about.
    * * *
    That night, further tension persisted around the fire, though it was mostly Darach who was to blame. While Larena made a few attempts to include him in conversation, he remained unresponsive. He instead focused his attention on the task of sharpening the long, pointed blade of his knife.
    Logan, on the other hand, was his usual charming, jovial self, but nothing could alleviate the sense of ill feeling in the air.
    “I apologize for my brother,” Logan said eventually, speaking loud enough to reach Darach’s ears across the fire. “Sometimes he lacks good manners.”
    Darach’s eyes lifted. They were dark as Lucifer in the firelight. He gave his brother a hostile look of warning, then lowered his gaze and resumed the task of scraping stone over steel.
    “Looks like we’re on our own tonight, lass,” Logan whispered close in Larena’s ear while reaching for the wine jug. He held it out to offer her some, but she covered the rim of her cup with her hand. “No more for me. I want to be able to think clearly in the morning.”
    They were only three days’ ride from her home. Between now and then, she couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.
    “That’s probably wise,” Logan replied, replacing the cork and setting the jug on the grass. “And how about that bump on your head. Is the pain gone?”
    “It’s much better now,” she told him. “I feel more like myself tonight.”
    That was a lie, however, for none of her thoughts or feelings were making any sense to her, as she was forcibly repressing the desire to tell Logan to go off somewhere and leave her alone with Darach, as he had done the night before.
    Logan raised his cup to tap against hers and she made an effort to appear relaxed and indifferent about the circumstances. If Darach wouldn’t talk to her, she could at least engage herself in conversation with Logan.
    “Tell me something,” she said to him, leaning back against her saddle packs and sipping what was left of her wine. “Darach mentioned that you lost your father. What about your mother? Does she still live?”
    Logan regarded her with a devilish spark in his eye, as if he were intrigued by her question. Then he turned his attention to Darach. “Listen to that. The lass wants to know about our family. Should we tell her the whole tragic tale from start to finish, or would that spoil the evening?”
    Darach responded testily. “I cannot imagine the lass wants to hear any of it.”
    “But I do,” Larena said, sitting up. “Since we are traveling