Page 7 of Highlander’s Vengeful Seduction

Donal could feel the heat between them where their hands were touching, and he could also feel his heart jump up to his throat. He’d often heard of the metaphorical fluttering in a lovestruck man’s stomach, but he had never been that kind of man. At least not until that very moment, when he had Vanora so close to him that he could smell the alcohol on her breath, and beneath it, a hint of flowers.

Their gazes never wavered, and as they danced, they only looked at each other. Donal could lose himself in those eyes. He wondered how he had not noticed them before, how he had not seen how warm and kind they were.

Only they weren’t, not really, Donal reminded himself. Those were the eyes of a cruel, wretched woman. And now her charms were working on him, too, just like it had worked on his brother, and just like it worked on everyone else.

Vanora could be a witch, for all he knew. There really was no other explanation for the way that she made him feel, making him weak in the knees and suddenly occupying his thoughts in a very different way than before.

Even if she was not a witch, the fact that there was simply something about her that took his breath away and almost made him forget the real reason why he was there in the first place was suspicious. Had she not become the most likely suspect for Ronald’s death in Donal’s eyes, he would have done anything she asked of him. He would be like the other men in the room, begging for a dance, for a sliver of her attention.

As they danced, Donal’s eyes never left Vanora’s. He watched her carefully, looking for something, anything that could confirm her guilt, but there was nothing in her gaze other than a tinge of regret. The small, sad smile that she gave him could have turned Donal into her slave, he thought, made him eager to do anything to wipe it off her face and replace it with one of happiness. He had to keep reminding himself that he couldn’t fall in love—not with Vanora.

The song came to an end too soon. Before Donal knew it, another man was swooping in and asking for the next dance, which Vanora graciously offered him. Donal had no choice but to return to the laird’s table. By that time, Angus and Vika were huddled together, lost in a conversation of their own.

Donal was left with his thoughts and his wine, then, which was never really a good thing. The more he drank, the more he wanted to march up to Vanora and demand an explanation about her relationship with his brother. He only barely managed to control himself. In the end, he decided that stumbling back to his room for the night was the best option, and he left the feast before it had even ended, staying in the shadows as he walked back so that he would not have to face any of the clansmen on his way.

Once he was in his room, after his head finally hit the pillow, he pulled the letter out of his pocket and read it once more. It hurt to read it again, more so than usual now that he had seen Vanora and had spent time with her. How could a young woman so lovely be so foul as to drive a man to his own death?

How many more hearts was she going to break? How many men would end up dying at her feet after she would reject them, heartbroken and unable to bear it?

If it was up to Donal, then none.

Chapter Four

Practicing with the General of the MacMillan clan was always a pleasure. Donal had always loved spending time with Cormag, ever since meeting him all those years ago; ever since Cormag had defeated both himself and Ronald at the same time when they had first trained with him as boys.

It was at that moment that Donal knew he was in good hands. He soaked up every bit of experience and skill that he could get from Cormag.

He was getting older, deep lines surrounding his eyes, and Donal could get a glimpse of what Vanora would look like when she reached her father’s age. The two of them looked remarkably alike, and Donal would have bet a big sum that Cormag was a heartbreaker himself when he was young.

Even though it had been decades since then, Cormag was still just as fierce as ever. It took only an hour of practice for Donal to be out of breath, reaching for the nearest wall and leaning against it to rest.

Much to Donal’s dismay, Cormag was still bursting with energy, as though the years under his belt did nothing to slow him down or tire him.

“Are ye giving up already, lad?” Cormag taunted him. Donal could do nothing but grit his teeth and push himself off the wall, jumping right back in their friendly battle.

Donal spun his sword in his hand, jumping back into his fighting stance. “Did I ever give up so easily before? No…I’ll fight ye until I win!”

The laugh that Cormag gave him was a deep, reverberating one, reminding Donal of a wild animal’s roar. The two of them jumped towards each other, swords clashing against each other with a deafening clang, and began to fight as though they were truly trying to kill each other.

Perhaps Donal was trying to kill Cormag, just a little bit; the old man had been besting him for the better part of an hour.

“Ye canna beat yer teacher,” Cormag said, every pore of his body exuding pride as he cornered Donal. “Yield!”

With a grunt, Donal kicked Cormag, forcing him to stumble backward, before attacking him once more. Cormag took a second to catch his breath and then threw himself back in the fight, meeting every single one of Donal’s moves with his own blade.

It didn’t take long for Cormag to get the advantage, and once he did, he held his sword over Donal’s heart.

“Yield!”

Donal considered his options carefully. His gaze darted around the courtyard, noticing quickly that he and Cormag had attracted an audience. In fact, Donal could see Vanora among the people watching their practice with keen, fascinated eyes.

Donal couldn’t lose, no matter what; not in front of several of the MacMillan clansmen, and certainly not in front of Vanora, even though he didn’t know when he’d even started to be so concerned about how Vanora perceived him.

Some things were better left unpondered, deep in the crevices of Donal’s mind.

“Never!” Donal shouted, and he pushed Cormag’s sword away with his own before grabbing his trusted sgian-dubh from his hose and holding it up against Cormag’s neck.

The two of them stayed still for what seemed like eons to Donal. In the end, Cormag ended up simply discarding his sword aside with a small smile, giving Donal a pat on the back.