Read Online To Desire a Highlander by Sue-Ellen Welfonder - Free Book Online

Conn, he placed a hand on the big man’s shoulder. “If MacGuire proves false, our swords will make him regret it. I’ve already dealt with his daughter. She’ll be wanting nae part of me after they leave.” He leaned in, close to Conn’s ear. “I say she’ll beg her father to sail now, before we even sit down to the feast they’ve prepared for us. And if not”—he shrugged, not liking the twinge of guilt that jabbed him on recalling how crudely he’d treated her—“you can be sure we’ll be gone before any nuptials can take place.”
    “I dinnae trust the man.” Conn remained adamant.
    “He’s a Hebridean chieftain like them all.” Roag released Conn’s shoulder and stepped back. “Mungo MacGuire is boisterous and proud. He nae doubt sings and tells tales, fights and drinks, beds women, and has more children than even his well-filled coffers can feed.” Roag knew such men from Stirling’s court. Chieftains,lairds, and nobles were aye the same, no matter if they were Highlanders, Islesmen, or Lowlanders.
    Conn frowned. “He’s up to trouble, I say you. Truth tell”—he grasped Roag’s arm again, pitched his voice lower than before—“I think he means to attack us when we sleep. You ken he’ll no’ be sailing away till morn. There’s a reason—”
    “Aye, he wants his daughter wed,” Roag said. “I dinnae see him as a murderer.”
    “Then why did I see his two men hiding crates in the heather?” Conn slid a glance to where the MacGuire chieftain now sat at the high table with a few of his sons and his daughter. “It was up on the high moors, it was, and the men weren’t his sons, but hard-faced oarsmen. The crates”—he turned back to Roag—“were just the right size to hold a stash of swords and axes.”
    “Then we’ll have men scour the moors at the same time others have a look at the ship.”
    Roag glanced aside, his attention caught by a movement across the hall.
    There where the wee serving laddie crouched beside Lady Gillian’s ancient dog.
    Only the boy was no longer kneeling. He’d stopped stroking the beast’s bony shoulders.
    He’d stood.
    And his bare feet hovered several inches above the floor. The faint shimmering Roag had noted earlier was more pronounced, the boy’s entire slight form shining as if lit from within. The strange light showed the ragged tears in his plaid, the tiny dirk glowing at his belt.
    He was the ghost boy of Laddie’s Isle.
    Roag stared at him in disbelief, watching as he faded to nothingness.
    Glancing at Conn, he saw that his friend hadn’t seen aught. He was staring across the hall, a suspicious eye turned on Lady Gillian’s sire. For all Conn’s size and might, he feared bogles. If he’d seen the ghost lad, he’d already be halfway back to the Valkyrie .
    The pleasure had been all Roag’s.
    He frowned, not surprised.
    Somehow he seemed the only one this wee, dismal isle wished to torment. But he could give as good as he received, so he’d pretend he’d seen nothing. He suspected he hadn’t. The long, arduous sea journey and the annoyance of arriving to discover an unwanted bride-to-be were simply taking a toll.
    No more, no less.
    Conn edged closer, his gaze still on the MacGuire chieftain. “There’s little a man willnae do if enough coin crosses his palm. Could be MacGuire and his tribe o’ sons are lying about the betrothal. Belike he’s using his gel as a reason to come here. Then he and his lads will have done with us in the night, before we can expose their crimes against the crown, our good King’s ships and men.”
    Roag frowned. “I hope you’re wrong.”
    “Most times, I’m no’.” Conn’s chest swelled a bit.
    “MacGuire isnae our man.” Roag was almost sure of it.
    He couldn’t say why—Conn rarely erred—but this time… He flashed a look at MacGuire. Try as he might, he just didn’t see the laughing, big-bearded chieftain as anything but a gregarious windbag.
    He also knew when to trust his