A Highlander Christmas by Sophie Renwick Cindy Miles Dawn Halliday

His voice trailed off, and his blue eyes skittered away, coming to an abrupt stop as they fixed on Logan.
    “This is Logan Douglas,” Maggie said. “He . . . saved me. Took me in near frozen from the snow. Logan, this is my cousin, Torean MacDonald.”
    Logan inclined his head at the laird but didn’t speak. He could see the family resemblance to Maggie in the dark hair, blue eyes and shape of the jaw, but Torean MacDonald was tall where Maggie was slight, with stick-straight hair and an overlong face in the shape of an exaggerated oval. He had an awkward, gangling look about him, as if he hadn’t quite finished growing into his adult features.
    “Where are you from?” MacDonald asked.
    “Near Wick,” Logan returned easily enough. “I’m on my way home from Sheriffmuir.”
    The young man continued to assess him, his head tilted slightly. “You were captured at Sheriffmuir?”
    “Aye.”
    “And you escaped from the governmentals?”
    “I did.”
    “Well done!” MacDonald gave him a sharp nod and glanced at Maggie as if suddenly remembering her presence. “And I thank you for caring for my cousin. I should be honored if you would join us for a night before you continue on your journey home.”
    “Thank you,” Logan said, though he would have stayed whether invited or not. He had no intention of leaving Maggie before he confronted the Munroe bastard.
    Clapping his gloved hands, Torean returned his attention to Maggie. “Come, cousin. I’ll take you home.”
    He held his hand out to her, but she merely stared at it, hesitating. “Torean”—she looked up at his face, a deep frown furrowing her brow—“did you sanction what Innes did? Did he take me from my cottage on . . . on your suggestion?” Her voice wavered, but she held firm, and Logan gazed at MacDonald to assess his reaction.
    Torean’s blue eyes darted to Logan, then fixed on his cousin. “This isn’t the time to discuss it, Maggie. Come. Why, you’re half naked, and those boots—”
    Maggie’s fists clenched at her sides. “We will discuss it now. I’ll not be moving until we do.”
    The man released a sigh. “Very well. Aye, I told him he should take you, but—”
    “You bastard!” She flew at him, her little fists pummeling at his chest. Logan crossed his arms and watched, prepared to cut in to protect her should this fool make a move to hurt her.
    He didn’t. MacDonald merely plucked her away from his body and held her at arm’s length as she kicked at his shins. “You foolish, stupid idiot!” She stomped on his booted foot. “This is your fault! He tried to rape me—do you know that, Torean? How could you encourage such a brute? He . . . he hurt me.”
    “Oh, come now,” MacDonald soothed. “He can’t be so very bad. Surely you’re exagger—”
    “He’s a despicable worm,” Maggie spat.
    “He was distressed when he lost you. He’s been roaming the countryside for days searching for you—”
    “Nonsense! He was in a warm bed tupping whores at Mal muirie’s.”
    Torean frowned in apparent confusion. “He has been so distraught, Maggie. He’ll be so happy—”
    “Happy?” Maggie gasped. “It is because of him I was in danger to begin with.”
    Torean stiffened, and his voice hardened. “He’s my friend and my tacksman. And he’s a perfect match for you.”
    “He’s a loathsome brute, and I will die before I allow him to touch me again!”
    Torean released a breath through pursed lips. He glanced at Logan, clearly discomfited by the personal nature of this conversation in the presence of a stranger, and then returned his gaze to his cousin, lowering his voice. “We need this match, Maggie. We need to keep the clans tightly connected, especially with—”
    Logan took a step toward them. “Did you hear what she said?” he snarled. “The man hurt her.”
    Torean’s gaze shot back to Logan. “This is a family matter. Surely none of your—”
    “I saw what he did to her,” Logan said icily.