Alexander’s green eyes were filled with peace as he watched the couple from the now almost empty table. All would be well. Makenna and Colin were both stubborn and prideful, but their passion and honor would see them through. And if they continued to lower their defenses, they might even find the rarest thing this world had to offer—love. The special love one discovers only with one’s soul mate.
Colin had loved Deirdre and she him, but their love and marriage had been based on need and protection. Makenna would meet Colin as an equal. She would be able to share his burden, protect him in ways he never knew he needed, and he would do the same for her in return.
Alexander wished he could live long enough to witness this transformation, but it was not meant to be. The squeezing pains in his chest had been growing all afternoon. It was painful to breathe, and now the burning sensation in his upper abdomen was spreading to his arm, neck, and jaw.
His eyes roamed to his other daughters. Edna could not be here, but he knew that she had found happiness at the abbey. Ula and Rona would have to adjust somehow, for Colin would not be as susceptible to their ploys as he always had been.
Most everyone was on the floor. All except one. Alexander stole a glance to the man who had chosen to remain seated at the table.
Leon MacCuaig.
The young man had physically matured over the past few years. With light brown hair and deep-set black eyes in a rugged face, he was undeniably handsome. He was also pitiable.
Alexander had tried to guide the young laird after his father had died, but Leon enjoyed commanding others versus listening. He had grown to be a callous leader, ruling by fear rather than trust. Sitting quietly for most of the afternoon, he had not fooled Alexander or Colin for a moment. MacCuaig had remained at Lochlen to discover which and how many Lowland lairds would ally themselves with the Dunstans once a Highlander was in charge. Colin wanted to observe MacCuaig’s reactions and agreed to let him stay.
Alexander gripped the arm of the chair and stood. He fought the dizziness and ordered his body to comply with one last command. He would walk to his chambers without assistance. Scottish pride demanded no less.
Chapter Three
Leon drummed his fingers idly against the wood table, oblivious of Alexander Dunstan’s look of pity or his disappearance. His attention was solely on the Highlander flaunting his obvious attraction for the woman that should have been his wife. Blatant hatred filled him as he stared at the merry couple, and he cared little who saw it.
Today, Makenna Dunstan had unmasked her beauty to all. And though many had been surprised by her physical transformation, Leon had not been one of them. He had known for years what a unique and striking woman she was. That alone should have entitled him to her hand and not the arrogant Highlander.
Leon clenched his jaw as another Dunstan soldier called out. With each story praising Colin’s leadership and skills, Leon loathed the Highlander a little more. For two years, he had been hearing about McTiernay and the fictitious tales that surrounded him. No one could be that good at discovering raw talent.
Twice, Leon tried to plant one of his own men within Colin’s ranks to uncover the truth behind the Highlander’s methods. Both times, the soldiers had disappeared, forcing Leon to rethink how he was going to outwit Colin McTiernay.
His next idea had been simple. Leon had never encountered anyone who could best him one-on-one with a sword. He would goad McTiernay until his pride demanded revenge, and then strip the Highlander of not only his arrogance, but also his life.
But before he could put his plan into effect, the news came.
The Highland creature was to marry Makenna Dunstan, the woman everyone knew Leon had claimed to be his. Leon had worked for too long toward a union between him and the red-haired beauty. So much had been overcome to be stripped away so easily by the hands of an outsider.
MacCuaig watched as the couple moved more slowly. The sexual tension between the two was palpable even halfway across the room. Leon clasped the quaich in front of him and tried to keep from shaking with rage.
That was supposed to be him.
He was the young, good-looking, powerful, Lowland laird. All women wanted him, desired him. They begged for chances to be near him. “Soon Makenna will as well,” Leon promised himself.
McTiernay might think he had won, but he would soon learn differently. The clueless Highlander was ill prepared for his future. Leon MacCuaig settled back in the deep chair and forced himself to appear relaxed. Colin’s army might be loyal, but they were few in number. Not nearly enough to stop Leon from taking everything McTiernay possessed.
“I shall pluck them from your fingertips, one by one. First the clan, then the castle, and finally…Makenna,” he swore quietly to himself before downing the rest of his mead.
Colin whipped Makenna around in his arms, once again mesmerized by her beauty. Two years he had lived at Lochlen and never once had he heard Makenna laugh as she was doing tonight. Only once had Deirdre acquiesced to a big festival in the castle the winter before she died. They had celebrated Twelfth Night, the last day of the Epiphany. It had been a joyous evening for the clansmen, but Makenna and Colin had elected to watch rather than participate.
Deirdre was recovering from a bad cold she had been fighting for several months and didn’t want any type of activity. She had only agreed to the festival because of Makenna, who knew how much the clan needed the release a celebratory gathering would bring. Makenna, in turn, had stayed by Deirdre’s side tending to her needs so the lady’s maids could participate in the festivities.
Looking at Makenna now, twirling with an easiness that made her eyes sparkle and dance in delight, Colin realized that he had not been Deirdre’s only willing captive—Makenna had been ensnared as well. She had placed her life on hold and had put Deirdre’s happiness ahead of her own. Not until tonight did Colin grasp how unfair it had been to the lively beauty.
Colin felt Makenna sashay by him to the beat of the pipes and then back again. He inhaled deeply. Instantly he was reminded of the previous night and the last time he had enjoyed the fresh clean scent of her skin and hair. Makenna moved toward him and out again, making innocent contact. The brief touches were driving him mad. Each time her small, firm breasts grazed his lower chest, Colin fought his need to gather her in his arms and march out of the hall uncaring of what the guests and his men would say.
Makenna drank in the feeling of being with Colin. She loved to dance, and Colin was an artist on the floor. Like everything else he did, Colin moved effortlessly to the rhythm regardless of its speed. He would bring her in and spin her with an intoxicating level of control.
When the men had thrown down their swords, Colin’s face had alit with a delight she had not known him capable to possess. At first, she had watched the intricate quick movements of his feet with awe and admiration. Then he had laughed aloud, revealing two dimples as his face split into an infectious grin.
Makenna had seen him smile many times in the past, but until tonight, she could not recall it reaching his eyes.
Colin swung her about, pulling her closer each time. Her pulse raced and she knew Colin’s did as well. No one would discern it by looking at him. Outwardly, he appeared happy and relaxed, but Makenna felt the growing tautness of his frame.
And she knew why.