My Fierce Highlander (39 page)

Huntley pulled a pistol from his doublet.
No!
Gwyneth charged him with the sword. The blade pierced
through Huntley’s belly and drove into the wall behind him.

He screamed.

Alasdair snatched the pistol from Huntley’s
hand before he could use it.

Gwyneth released the sword and backed away.
What have I done? I have killed a man.

Huntley crumpled to the floor cursing,
writhing and trying to pull the blade from his belly. Blood gushed
from his wound and his hands.

A sob clogged in her throat. Not because
Huntley was dying. But because she had been forced to kill a
person. “I had to,” she told Alasdair. She’d had to protect the man
she loved. And her son.

“Aye, you did good, my wee warrior.” Alasdair
gathered her to him and pressed her face to his shoulder. But his
wound was bleeding badly.

“Your chest,” she gasped. “And your arm.”

“Don’t worry. I’m well.”

Angus barged into the room. “Donald MacIrwin
is dead!”

Alasdair turned. “I thank you, Angus. ’Twas
an act of justice. My father will no doubt rest in peace now.”

Gwyneth whispered a prayer of gratitude that
they were safe at last.

Rory tugged at their arms and Alasdair picked
him up.

Tears of happiness, gratitude and a hundred
other emotions burned Gwyneth’s eyes.

“I knew you would come,” Rory said. “I knew
you would!” He buried his face against Alasdair’s neck and hugged
him tight.

“Och, lad. You are like a son to me.” He drew
Gwyneth against him once again. “My family has been returned to
me.”

***

Four days later, Gwyneth rode pillion behind
Alasdair, her arm around his waist. The thick cushion beneath her
derriere made the ride quite comfortable.

The blueness of the sky hurt her eyes, and
the crisp, hay-scented air soothed her senses. To the north, ridges
and hills foretold of the majestic Highlands to come. Indeed, she
was going home with the man she loved.

Home with my fierce Highlander.

When she could not contain her joy, a chuckle
escaped.
I am the luckiest woman on earth to be blessed with
such a man.
She slipped her fingers between the buttons of
Alasdair’s doublet and, below his healing wound, gently stroked his
chest through the linen shirt. She could scarce go five minutes
without touching him to reassure herself he was truly here with
her.

He cast a sly glance back at her. “You’re a
naughty lass,” he murmured too low for the others to hear.

A thrill shot through her. “Maybe so, but you
taught me to be that way.”

He chuckled.

She turned to see if anyone was watching.
Rory rode with Angus. And the rest of the clansmen traveled along
with them, too, some in front and some further back. She’d also
brought a governess and a tutor for Rory. Losing her maid had been
a terrible blow. She was a sweet woman who had been so good with
Rory. When Maxwell Huntley had broken into their darkened room,
he’d probably thought Anna was Gwyneth and slit the maid’s
throat.

With these dark thoughts, Gwyneth fought back
the fear that gripped her and reminded herself it was over. Huntley
could no longer hurt any of them. Nor could Donald.

It had taken four days to deal with the
authorities and the dead bodies, a funeral and proper burial for
Anna. None of the MacGrath clansmen had been killed, thank God,
though she’d had to see to their many wounds.

Two of her MacIrwin cousins had survived the
skirmish in the inn. Before they’d been hanged, they confessed that
Maxwell Huntley had known Gwyneth was traveling to Edinburgh to
testify against Donald MacIrwin. He knew Alasdair would be there
and that this was his last chance for revenge before he planned to
flee to Spain with Rory. Huntley’s wealthy friends in London had
helped him escape the Tower. He’d sailed north and bribed the
guards to free the MacIrwins.

“And where is Lachlan?” Gwyneth asked
Alasdair.

“You haven’t heard?” He laughed. “You won’t
believe what a tangle Lachlan has gotten himself into.”

“Tell me.”

“Och! ’Twould take all day.”

“You can tell me tonight, then, in our
tent.”

“I will be too busy to speak of Lachlan
tonight.” He winked.

She pinched him. “Are you certain? Mayhap I
will be too sore from riding to move tonight.”

He sent her a wicked grin. “I ken well how to
soothe your aches, m’lady.”

The End

Look for
My Wild Highlander
,
(Lachlan’s story) next in the series.

About the author: Vonda Sinclair’s favorite
indulgent pastime is exploring Scotland, from Edinburgh to the
untamed and windblown north coast. She also enjoys creating hot,
Highland heroes and spirited lasses to drive them mad. She is a
past Golden Heart finalist and Laurie award winner. She lives with
her amazing and supportive husband in the mountains of North
Carolina where she is no doubt creating another Scottish story.
Please visit her website to learn more.

http://www.vondasinclair.com