Free Taming a Highland Devil by Kimberly Killion Page B

His nostrils widened, but he held his tongue. His silence was as much an admittance of guilt as any words he might have spoken.
    “If the child she carries is yours, then ye will act accordingly and marry her.”
    “Nay!” Vanna sat up taller in the bed. Her slender brows wrinkled with upset. “I am marrying Laird Sutherland.”
    Effie snorted. The girl was delusional if she thought for one moment Effie would let her sink her claws back into Magnus.
    “I cannae marry her,” Ian protested. “I will be a disgrace to my clan.”
    “Ye will be a disgrace to your clan either way.” If Ian thought she would keep this secret, he was sorely mistaken.
    “Damn ye, Effie!” Ian raked his fingers through his copper-colored hair. “We will lose the alliance.”
    The web Ian wove ran a jagged path, but the alliance was far from lost. Beneath the horror of this transgression lay a victory for Effie.
    I’m eager to announce our union. It was Magnus’ words as well as his image in her mind that empowered her to stand up to Ian. “My marriage to Laird Sutherland will secure the alliance and protect our borders, but there will be no war, Ian. Our families have seen enough bloodshed.”
    Ian said nothing more, but Effie knew this battle was far from over. He wouldn’t rest until he’d avenged Da’s death.
    For now, Effie wanted rid of them. “Take Vanna and go home. I dinnae wish to see either of ye until spring.”
    With her head held high, she raised her skirts and exited the guest solar with Jocelyn and Sylvie at her sides. They followed her like the queen’s minions down the stairwell and through the main corridor toward the Great Hall.
    Jocelyn was the first to break the silence. “What do ye intend to do now, m’lady?”
    Effie smiled at both of them. “I’m going to find my betrothed.”

Chapter Eight

    Rage filled Magnus with such venom, he was certain he would choke on it. He’d never hated himself more than he did this day. The Devil of Dunrobin had finally paid for his lecherous ways and there was naught he could do but wallow in his suffering—and fight.
    A morning sun warmed the top of his head as he circled one of his warriors inside the training ring. The side of Magnus’ face stung and his ribs felt bruised and broken, but he didn’t look half as bad as his other kinsmen standing outside the stone boundary. With bloodied noses and colored eyes, they cheered on his current opponent.
    Gunner slowly stood upright and drew his sleeve over his bloody mouth. The man stood a head taller than Magnus and was twice as wide, but he was no match for Magnus this day. None of his warriors had been.
    “Where’s your fight, warrior?” Magnus taunted, welcoming the fray. “Come at me, ye bluidy ox.”
    Gunner snarled, raised his broadsword and charged Magnus like the bull he was. Gunner brought his blade down on Magnus, but he blocked the strike. The clash of steel shrieked through his ears, but didn’t deafen the memory of Effie’s cries.
    Blood rushed through his veins, his head, his heart. Sweat chilled his skin, but his fury remained thick and unyielding like a disease he would never be rid of. He widened his stance and thrust the tip of his sword, but stopped a hairsbreadth short of Gunner’s chest when the dunderheid failed to block.
    The man lurched back, fell flat onto his backside and dropped his weapon like all those before him. His surrender only provoked Magnus’ temper.
    “Ye will die if ye cannae wield your sword, man. Stand up and face me.”
    “Cease!” The order came from the distance, but was loud, demanding and female.
    His men separated, forming an aisle, and out of the masses of hulk and muscle appeared the woman who’d forever changed his world. Her presence both weakened his knees and turned his nerves to taut strings of iron. He was cautious, yet a part of him dared to hope she was not completely lost to him.
    Effie pushed her wild red locks from her face, then stepped inside the