Read Online Her Wicked Highlander: A Highland Knights Novella by Jennifer Haymore - Free Book Online Page A

torn this hovel apart, and ’tis nowhere to be found, but you ken where it is, don’t you?”
    She’d had plenty of time to think about this. The dagger was a family heirloom, and, yes, it was valuable—something she’d always known she could sell if she truly needed the money. She’d never intended to, though, unless something catastrophic happened.
    Like her father, Aila had always felt a special connection to the King Richard Dagger. It was almost a thousand years old, and legend said it had passed from Richard the Lionheart to an Irish mercenary, and then it had mysteriously come to Scotland, eventually landing in the hands of the MacKerrick laird hundreds of years ago.
    The dagger had been passed down, son to son, for generations. Her father had no sons, only her, but that had never seemed to bother him. He had been happy that it would be in her hands someday. He’d only asked her to make him two promises. First, that she’d sell it if she ever truly needed to, and second that if she ever had a son, she’d show him its location and tell him its history before she died.
    Now, it was all she had left of her parents—indeed, of the entire MacKerrick family.
    But she wasn’t stupid. Sutherland would kill for the dagger, and she wouldn’t risk death for it. Her da wouldn’t want her to go that far.
    And yet, once Sutherland had the dagger in his hands, he’d probably kill her anyhow.
    “If I tell you where it is, what’s to stop you from hurting me?”
    His smile was completely false. “If you help me, why would I have reason to hurt you?”
    She leaned forward and lied to his face. “Do you think I dinna wish for an independent Scotland? Well, I do. I dinna care about the dagger—it is nothing to me. An ornament to admire. But if you can bring greatness back to Scotland with its help, then it is all yours.”
    She could tell he was having a difficult time not rubbing his hands together greedily.
    “Where is it?”
    She sat back, staring at him. She loathed every bit of him. Every inch of his pasty face, of his long-limbed body.
    “I’ll be requiring some assurances first.”
    He scowled. “I owe you nothing.”
    “’Tis my dagger,” she pointed out. “It’s been in my family for centuries.”
    “But only for safekeeping. It belongs to the man who is to liberate Scotland.”
    She sighed. “I will tell you where it is—and it isna here, by the way—and you will go retrieve it while I go my own way… in the opposite direction.”
    His lips twisted. “You’ll lie to me. You’ll send me on a fool’s errand, then disappear.”
    There was an edge to his voice, and she sensed the growing rage in him. The crazy fool was quick to anger. She needed to tread carefully.
    “I canna tell you where it is unless you guarantee my safety,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
    “I’ll let you go when it’s in my hands. I swear it.”
    She shook her head. “How do I ken whether you’re lying?”
    He straightened, growing several inches taller in height. “Do you imply I am a liar?”
    “Nay. But how can I ken it for certain?”
    His lips grew thin. “I am to be your laird, Aila MacKerrick. A laird doesna lie to his beloved people.”
    She considered this, watching him closely. Finally, she shook her head. “Nay. You need to let me go first.”
    He regarded her for a long moment, the look in his dead eyes sending skitters of alarm down her spine. “You’ll be regretting that decision,” he said. Then he reached across the table and grabbed her forearm, so tightly she was sure her bones would snap. She cried out in pain.
    “This is just the beginning.” He leaned forward, pinning her arm to the table and looming over it until his face was mere inches from hers. “Take me to the dagger, woman. I’ll let you go when it’s in my hands, and not a second sooner.”
    She hesitated. He slapped her, and then again, backhanding her. Her face whipped in one direction then the other. The now-familiar