Free A Highlander Never Surrenders by Paula Quinn

moon.” He sheathed his blade and grinned openly at Claire.
    “I have not been tumbled,” Claire corrected and snatched her cap from Graham’s fingers. “Save for when he tripped over me.”
    “How the hell have ye been, Graham?” Ignoring her outburst, Angus dismounted with a heavy grunt. “ ’Tis been near a pair o’ years since we’ve seen ye at Camlochlin. Does Robert ride wi’ ye?”
    “Aye, he sleeps in a nearby glade,” Graham said, leaving Claire’s side to be hauled into Angus’s crushing embrace. “What brings ye so far south?” he asked when his giant friend released him.
    “We travel to Edinburgh,” Angus told him. “Callum was invited there by the governor, but he refuses to leave Kate or their babe. He sent us to—”
    “General Monck sent fer Callum?” Graham’s jaw was rigid when he turned to Claire. “Fetch Rob.”
    “Nae need. I’m here.” Robert sprinted forward from the trees. After a brief but friendly reunion with his friends, and assurance that his sister and her son were well, he repeated Graham’s query, asking what the MacGregors were doing near Edinburgh.
    “Monck has asked to speak with Callum,” Graham filled Robert in while Angus slipped his hand into his plaid to retrieve a pouch of brew.
    “For what purpose?” Robert asked, looking at Angus at the same time Graham did.
    Angus swiped his knuckles across his mouth, then returned the pouch to its hiding place. “The general needed Callum’s aid.” Before saying anything more, he turned his head left, then right. “Might we get off the road and discuss this? There could be enemies afoot.”
    Nodding, Graham led the entire troop back to the campsite. After refusing Robert’s offer to break fast with the roots he’d collected, Angus and the others sat around the dying embers of the campfire.
    Now, with the veil of darkness fully behind them, Claire studied the Highlanders before her. So, these were the MacGregors. Seldom seen after the proscription, save for when a handful of their rebel warriors were butchering English and Scottish nobles alike, their propensity for violence made them a legend to be feared in the Midlands. Claire wasn’t afraid of them, though. No, she felt a kinship with the outlawed clansmen. They had fought back when all had been taken from them. Just as Connor had taught her to do. She was sizing up the dark-haired one called Brodie when his cool gaze met hers. He gave her a slight nod, as if recognizing the belligerence in the tilt of her chin.
    “Now tell us what Monck wanted with Callum,” Graham asked the men.
    “Who is Callum?”
    Every eye turned to her, and for a moment Claire felt utterly exposed, acutely aware of the attention the men finally gave her.
    “Who is the wench, Graham?” Angus’s eyes narrowed on her, taking in every inch, including the sword resting at her side. His deep auburn hair hung past shoulders a yard wide. His hard expression was made more dangerous by the long scar marring the left side of his face. Claire fought the temptation to look away from his piercing appraisal.
    “She is King Charles’s cousin, Claire Stuart.”
    Claire shot Graham a look of murderous intentions, which he answered by winking at her.
    “Och, is she kin to the Lady Anne Stuart?”
    Claire blinked and turned to him slowly. “What do you know of my sister?”
    “We’ve come to fetch her,” Angus explained. “Callum . . . he is our laird,” he added for Claire’s clarification, “received a missive from Monck requestin’ that he come to Edinburgh to retrieve the lady and bring—”
    “He gave my sister to your laird?” Claire bolted to her feet, and for the first time since Graham met her, panic marked her features. She looked around as if not knowing which direction to take when she fled. Then her lips tightened and her hands balled into fists. “I will kill him slowly for this.”
    “Does she speak o’ Callum?” Angus leaned closer to Graham and whispered.