Page 7 of Betrayed by His Highland Wife

"Och, I'm trying," gasped Nora, clinging to her horse with numb hands. They had ridden since daybreak, and she was beyond exhausted.

As usual, her father had little patience. Halting his stallion, he hovered in the rain, waiting.

"Well try harder, lassie! Ye're gonnae have to do better than this come yer wedding night."

He fixed her with such a glare that it blew all through her. Grasping the reins of her horse, Nora exhorted her exhausted mare to move faster. But she would not. Just like her, the dappled gray mare was all out. The poor beast almost flopped to the side as Nora slowed her horse on the moorside.

"I cannae," said Nora miserably. Inside, her heart pounded. The Duncan lands grew nearer, with the castle making a misty shape in the background. It cast a powerful chill over the landscape and over her.

Seeing her father's scowl, Nora continued. "An' it is too late now to make it there afore nightfall," she said.

"Och!" growled Laird Douglas impatiently. He was battling his beard, which was blowing madly in the oncoming winds. "It may nae have been if we'd been a wee bit faster!"

He looked frustrated but glancing up at the sky, it was clear that she was right. Night was coming, with thick spats of rain being dispatched from the darkening clouds. The winds were getting up. Shivering beneath her heavy plaid, Nora attempted to reason with her father.

"Father, we cannae get there this evening. Instead, we should try an' get some rest."

Her father harrumphed. He was not happy, but it was clear there was nothing more to be done.

"Och, alright," he said in terrible grace. With a massive huff, he patted down his horse and returned to Nora. "It will give us a chance to rehearse what we are going to do."

He stood beside her, his towering six-foot-four frame casting a shadow and more than a little intimidation upon her. All the same, Nora's heart gave a lively thump.

"Us, Da? Because I thought it was me alone that had to wed an' kill a man," she said with the utmost sincerity. There was a moment as Nora felt her father's glare. But Nora stood firm, her green eyes blazing fiercely.

Laird Douglas blinked. Perhaps he was blindsided by her question. Either way, he did not give the angry reaction Nora had perhaps been expecting.

"Aye, lass," he said, meeting her firmly with his gaze. "'Tis true, it will be ye who deals the final blow. Ye an' nayone else."

Slowly, Nora nodded. By now, the pair of them had come to a standstill and were standing in the howling landscape. All alone, just them. Nora experienced something she usually did not: kinship. They were together—no advisors, no counselors, no Sorcha in the background.

Just her and her father, alone.

The reasons for this were good. They were the only two people in the plot to bring the Duncans down. Consequently, the rest of the camp was traveling some way behind them, joining them later on.

Feeling her father just inches from her, Nora felt a pang. She wished she had the kind of relationship with her father that other daughters did: warm, ordinary, real. Instead, she was stuck with an angry, demeaning, and sheer hard work of a parent. Laird Douglas was not an easy man to have as a father. His interests were violence and war. They shared little in common, but a hatred of the Duncans was one of them.

Putting his hand shakily on his daughter's face, Laird Douglas appeared to think.

"Aye," he said, his gaze drifting off. "I ken. It's tough. Ye've got to bed him and then slay him. Nayone else can do it. An' then..."

Nora looked at her father. He did not often attempt to touch her. In fact, he did not often attempt anything much except shouting.

"An' then I race oot o' the castle, screaming murder. Aye, Father. I am nae daft enough to stay to get caught. I shall make sure that it sticks."

The laird smiled at her benevolently. A small bump of joy affected her.

"Good. That's my wee lassie!" Laird Douglas beamed. "An' do it ye will. Because ye ken how it matters to the clan."

Wind rippled across the darkening landscape. All was silent but threatening rain. For not the first time, Nora shivered.

"Aye," said Nora thoughtfully. "I shall do it because I dinnae ken that there's anyone who hates the Duncans as much as we both do."

The laird nodded thoughtfully. A strange pride surged in Nora's heart. The day she had been waiting for so long was near. For five years, she had trained in hunting and killing.

She had even killed a man, finally winning her father's praise.

"Ye will do it well, Nora, I ken. Ever since ye slit that bawbag's throat last year…"