Page 36 of It’s in his Highland Kiss

How will I ever face him again?

Chapter Sixteen

Eiric had left that corridor as though he was being chased. How could he have stayed after Marion’s plea to not say a word about what had happened between them?

And how could he have been so stupid as to think that she would want something like that? Sure, she had seemed eager at first, and had even asked him to not stop, but in the end, she had come to her senses.

It was a good thing that those maids had come when they had, as Eiric was certain that he and Marion would have made a big mistake had they been allowed to continue uninterrupted. He should have never kissed her, and he should have never even thought about her in such a sexual way.

Perhaps Marion thinks we’re too closely related for anything to happen between us.

It was hardly odd though, and he knew of several distant cousins, just like themselves, who were married in the Highlands, and from what he had heard, the English allowed for even closer relations in their royal lines.

None of it really mattered, of course. The matter of the fact was that Marion didn’t want him, that she didn’t see him in that way, and, perhaps, it was all for the best.

His Father would be furious if he found out about his feelings for her, not only because he wanted him to have a clear head while at war, but also because he was bound to want him to marry a woman for political reasons, to secure an alliance with one of the other clans.

He had no use for the English, and Marion’s family was just that.

As he looked at himself in the mirror, Eiric took a deep breath, trying to shove everything that had happened the previous night to the back of his mind. It was early in the morning, the sun barely peeking through the horizon, and yet he was already prepared to depart and head to the MacAuley clan, just as he had promised his Father.

With a final look at his reflection, he left his room and made his way outside the castle, thanking the stableboy as he handed him his horse. Before the sun could even properly rise, he was gone, and he didn’t know how long it would take him to return.

A part of him wished that he could have talked to Marion again before leaving. The two of them had had two arguments in the course of a few days, and then they had kissed—if he could even call it just kissing. It was an odd place to leave things between them, but he hadn’t had the chance to say anything to her.

It would have to wait, just like many other things in his life had to wait for the right moment. For the time being, he had to focus on convincing Laird MacAuley that his cause was just.

Eiric hadn’t made it too far from the castle when he caught a strange movement from the corner of his eye. For a moment, he considered heading back, but that would certainly alert whoever was following him to the fact that he had noticed them.

It must be brigands. Nothin’ I havena seen before.

He had fought brigands on his own many times, and they didn’t scare him. He simply kept a careful eye on the silhouette that was following him, while he tried to spot the rest of the men who were surely there, accompanying the one he had already seen.

His hand reached for his sword, but he made sure that his movements were small, as undetectable as possible. The man was still following him, slowing down when he did and increasing his pace when he put his horse to a gallop. There was no denying that the brigand had him in his sights, and Eiric had enough pent-up anger to take down him and any other man by his side.

Focused on the man behind him and on trying to find the rest of them, Eiric didn’t notice the rope on the ground. As his horse walked over it, it was pulled taught, and within moments, he was on the ground, his back hitting the soil so hard that it knocked the breath out of him.

His horse had thrown him off, surprised by the rope among its legs, and it was neighing frantically, trying to detangle itself from the trap.

Eiric jumped to his feet just as a man grabbed the reins of his horse and pulled it aside, allowing seven other men to surround Eiric, their swords drawn.

Sassenachs.

Those men weren’t brigands; they were soldiers. Eiric kept his eyes wide open as he pulled out his own sword, holding it tightly in his hand. If he was going to die in the middle of the road, killed by a bunch of Englishmen, then he would do so with dignity.

He wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“Laird MacAuley has changed his mind,” said a voice from behind him, and Eiric turned to see a man, who seemed to be a few years older than him, reading from a piece of paper. “He is withdrawing his support.”

The man stared at Eiric for a moment, and then he laughed, his wide mouth splitting his face in two as he did. It was a cruel sound, one that had chills running up Eiric’s spine.

“Did you really believe that?” the man asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “Well, well . . . you are all more foolish than I thought. I told my men that you wouldn’t believe it, but here you are, falling right into our trap.”

“What do ye mean?” Eiric asked, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “How did you know?”

“Well, I sent the letter, of course,” the man said, a satisfied smile spreading over his lips. “And you came running.”

“So Laird MacAuley never changed his mind?” Eiric asked. In retrospect, perhaps he should have considered the possibility that it was a trap. After all, Laird MacAuley had always been a supporter of the MacLeod clan, and he always gave his help when asked. Even though Eiric had had to work hard to gain his assistance, the laird had given him his word, and he was the kind of man who kept his word.