Page 2 of Kidnapped By a Highland Shadow

Arran frowned. What kind of question was this? Why should he care what family their enemy had? Arran’s work was to kill, to stab, to hack, to chase. He fought; he was a soldier. That was what he was good at. If diplomacy had ever been an option, this feud would never have become so complex.

These days, hardly anyone from the McTavie or Stewart clans could have said what had originally started the blood feud. Arran thought that it was something to do with a land dispute, but it was far, far beyond that now.

“His wife’s dead, I think. I don’t know whether he has children,” Arran answered.

Stewart sighed impatiently, and Arran knew he’d given the wrong answer.

“He has one daughter.”

“A child?”

“The girl’s twenty or twenty-one, I forget which. The point is, she’s a grown woman and ripe for mischief.”

Arran’s red brows knitted together in a frown. He wasn’t sure he liked that. Mischief wasn’t Arran’s sort of thing. Plain, straightforward combat was where Arran shone, not deceit and underhanded dealings.

Of course, this was Laird Stewart, who rarely dealt in any dealings except the underhanded ones.

So, Arran gave the expected response.

“What sort of mischief?”

Stewart’s craggy face split into an unpleasant smile. “That’s my lad. Now, here’s what I thought. Old McTavie is a soft-hearted fool. If we can lay hands on his daughter, he’ll dance when we say so. He might be open to an agreement. If not, we can always lure him here and deal with him then. Either way, I’m tired of this feud, and I want a quick end. It’s this or surrendering, and I’m sure you can guess that’s not an option.”

“We kidnap the girl, then?”

“Just so. I’ll leave the details up to you.”

Arran paused, rubbing a knuckle along his smooth, square jaw, irrationally wishing he hadn’t shaved that morning. Stewart liked his hired men to have a rugged, intimidating look, preferably with scars and broken noses.

Well, Arran’s nose had been broken at least once, but he’d set it straight, and most of his scars were hidden under his clothes. So, with his clean chin and unscarred face, Arran felt a little…lacking, somehow. Like he had to work doubly hard to prove himself as if a young, handsome face was some kind of a shame. He was barely twenty-six and a good decade or so younger than many of the famed Stewart warriors.

“So, how do you want me to do this?” Arran asked. He didn’t relish the idea of hurting a woman, but nobody said no to Stewart. It simply wasn’t worth the consequences.

“Keep it quiet. You’ll need to get close to the McTavies, and I can’t risk McTavie getting his hands on you.”

“How many men can I take with me?”

“None.”

Arran sucked in a breath. “What? No one?”

“No. Wasn’t I clear? We cannot risk the McTavies finding out about this. I mean it, Arran. This may be our only chance to get the upper hand over those brutes.”

“Do you think it will work?” Arran asked. “I never thought that McTavie himself was much of a family man. I mean, I didn’t even know he had a daughter.”

Stewart snorted. “Aye, he’s not one for quiet nights around the fire, dandling a bairn on his knee. I remember him raging over not having a son and just one girl. His wife was a weak, pasty thing. It was probably a relief to them both when she died. His daughter probably raised herself, so she’s likely half-feral.”

Arran scratched his head. “So, I’m just to pick her up and bring her back here?”

“That’s it.”

“Where is she?”

“Well now, I don’t know. Probably near where McTavie lives.”

Arran looked up with a start. “What? That’s…”

“Dangerous? Aye, I know. That’s why I’m sending you. Is there a problem?”