Loving Her Highland Enemy, Samantha Holt [rainbow fish read aloud txt] 📗

safer to work in his quarters, away from the influence of others.

“How goes the preparations?” his father asked, peering up from the map in front of him.

Uncle Kam straightened, pressed a hand to the back of his neck and grimaced. “Any sighting of the Sinclairs yet?”

Tavish shook his head. “I rode out to the headland but no sign. A fine thing as Bram has only just finished decorating.”

His father cursed under his breath. “Och, we’ll no’ be ready in time at this rate.”

Tavish shrugged. “We’ll offer them a warmer welcome than they deserve after everything they’ve said about us.”

“Ye’ll be good and kind to them, Tavish,” his uncle warned. “The Sinclairs have been through a lot.”

“Aye, and they blamed us for it all.”

His father shook his head with a sigh. “Mac Sinclair was counted as a good friend to us once upon a time. I would like us to return to the old ways, no’ just to end this strife.”

“Aye,” his uncle agreed. “We need to put an end to this and be united against the Campbells. They’re growing bolder by the moment.”

Tavish shoved a hand through his hair. He glanced between the two men he admired most in life. His uncle, slightly wirier than his father, was only a year younger than Tavish’s father and they were as close as brothers could be.

Though his father was the Earl of Falrigg, in reality, the position had been occupied by both men for many years, with Uncle Mac advising his father on his every move. Tavish only regretted he didn’t have a brother who could offer such support when he took up the lairdship but alas, he had several sisters, and as much as he adored them, he wouldn’t trust any of them to offer him advice.

Hell, he’d just caught Alanna slipping a frog into Fi’s bed.

His uncle and father were not only alike in age and temperament but looks. Both had a full head of thick white hair and dark eyes, their faces lined with years of fighting and leading the clan. His father had a scar from battle stretching across one cheek while his uncle had one along his neck where an enemy had almost slit his throat. Thankfully, their fighting days were in the past, and with any luck, this union with the Sinclairs would ensure Tavish did not have to worry about warfare for much longer.

“I’ll do all I can to ensure Leana Sinclair wants me but I’ll no’ force a girl into marriage,” Tavish said.

He’d never thought much about marriage but a union between two clans wasn’t unexpected. He enjoyed the company of women and they usually enjoyed his. But he’d seen a marriage or two where the woman barely tolerated her husband and he didn’t much fancy an arrangement like that.

“If the chief is clever, he’ll push for this union even if she cannae stand ye,” his uncle said.

“And she’ll like ye just fine,” his father said with a wave of a hand. “Yer tall and strong, and ye have my fine looks.”

“Yer once fine looks,” Uncle Mac corrected with a grin.

“Och, Tavish’s ma cannae keep her hands off me. ‘Tis ye who has no wife to come home to.”

Tavish shook his head. “I dinnae want to hear about yer bedsport with my ma.”

“I only have no wife because I’ve been too busy aiding ye all these years,” Uncle Mac rejoined.

“Well, ye’ll be one of the few unmarried Maclean men after Yuletide.” Tavish’s father rose from the table and put a hand to Tavish’s arm. “Make us proud and woo this lass. Lord knows, I’ve seen ye charm many a woman. I’ve no doubt ye’ll manage with this one.”

Tavish nodded. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was fulfil his duties to his clan. Even if Leana didn’t fall head over heels in love with him at first, he’d bring her around somehow, of that he was certain.

Chapter Two

The approach to Blair Castle left Leana feeling less than ready for Yuletide. She peered up at the gray cliffs towering over the tiny boat. The giant slabs of stone stretched high into the sky and then plunged down into a foam of angry white water. Scarred with dark caverns, the jagged rock surface appeared impenetrable. Only when the boat neared could she make out the thin steps leading to the castle entrance—a castle that could scarcely be viewed from so close but when they had been farther away she saw the stone keep sprawled across the headland.

Leana could well understand why even the strongest of clans had enjoyed no success in ousting the Macleans from their land. She also understood why her father had never taken his opportunity for revenge. Their numbers were still not what they should be, even with some of their boys now men and excellent fighters. A siege would have been impossible.

But she was being invited in willingly. Now was her chance.

Salty water splashed her face and she swiped away the droplets, drawing up her shoulders and shoving down the knot tightening in her stomach. She wouldn’t let towering cliffs or impenetrable castles diminish her determination. She’d waited so long for this chance and she was going to make sure the Macleans paid for what they did. She might not be willing to kill innocent women and children as they had but she could make her mark. All she needed to do was get close to the laird.

Slipping her hand into her pocket, she fingered the rough fabric of the tapestry. She didn’t need to glance at it to recall how it looked. She’d spent many a night and day staring at it, following the delicate lines of the stitching until it ended abruptly in a blackened mess of singed fabric. Every time she studied it, she recalled her vow for revenge.

It was finally time and she wouldn’t let this slip through her fingers. Even if it meant being pleasant to the