A Highlander Christmas by Sophie Renwick Cindy Miles Dawn Halliday Page A

“Look at her eye, for Christ’s sake. There is also a dagger wound to her chest, and her leg was so badly bruised she could scarcely walk.”
    Torean’s lip curled. “My cousin can be rather feisty. I daresay it’s likely Innes’s actions were more a result of self-defense than violence.”
    Maggie gasped. Her eyes gleamed, but her face went utterly pale. She smacked Torean so hard on the shoulder that he stepped backward, frowning, and raised his hand to rub the area.
    “How could you say that?” she asked in a low, hurt-filled voice.
    “I won’t let it happen again,” Logan said, his voice quiet and grim. “I’ll see the man dead before I allow him to hurt her.”
    Torean turned his assessing gaze on him once again. “Who are you, exactly?”
    “Logan Douglas.”
    “He’s a laird of several thousand acres granted to his ancestors by King James II,” Maggie provided.
    Logan fought a flinch. It was unsettling to hear her proclaim his status in order for her cousin to treat him with a measure of respect when less than two months ago he’d owned nothing. Yet it was the way of the world. A man’s worth was measured by the land he owned and the number of cattle he kept.
    Logan narrowed his eyes at Torean MacDonald, who possessed far more than he did, but thus far had done nothing to earn his respect.
    “Is that so?” Torean fingered his smooth chin thoughtfully, as if to pretend it was as bearded as a wise old man’s. “And you’ll cause bloodshed on my lands to keep my man from marrying my cousin, even though I have already signed the betrothal documents?”
    Maggie groaned. “Oh, Torean. You haven’t!”
    “I have.” Again the young laird fixed his gaze on Logan. “Well?”
    “I will do whatever is necessary to protect your cousin.” He’d kill Innes Munroe without a shred of guilt or regret, if that kept him from hurting Maggie.
    “Hmm.” Torean tapped his chin, and then his expression slowly transformed until excitement flared in his eyes. “Hogmanay is in two nights. The clan has gathered. I daresay everyone would enjoy a little sport.”
    “What are you suggesting?” Suspicion clouded Maggie’s face.
    Torean shrugged. “Well, if this stranger chooses bloodshed, I must at least ascertain it is honorable, controlled bloodshed.”
    “Torean—”
    “A duel,” the laird pronounced. He turned to Logan. “What say you?”
    Logan shrugged. “I’m prepared to do what’s necessary to keep Maggie safe.”
    “Looks like you have a champion, cousin.”
    Maggie looked from one man to the other in exasperation. “For heaven’s sake, no. Absolutely not. Hell will freeze over before I’ll allow Innes Munroe to touch me again, so not only is this an absurd idea—i t is a meaningless one, too.”
    Logan disagreed. In fact, he thought it the ideal solution. He could stop Munroe honorably, without rousing the enmity of either the MacDonalds or the Munroes. The MacDonald clan was a powerful one, one that he’d rather keep on his good side.
    “Logan . . .” She’d correctly gathered that he was serious, and a hint of panic edged her voice. “What are you thinking?”
    “I’m thinking of your safety.”
    She blew out a breath through pursed lips. “What of yours?”
    “What of it?”
    “He could hurt you, you fool! Kill you!”
    He raised a brow. “Do you think so?”
    “Ugh!” She stomped her booted foot in the wet snow. “You are utterly arrogant.”
    Torean chuckled. “It’ll be wonderful sport, Maggie. Just think of it—everyone will be there to watch. We need the extra inspiration, you know that, after the failure of the rebellion. It’ll be a fine distraction.”
    She crossed her arms over her chest. Steam puffed from her mouth with each breath. “Your ‘friend’ could be killed, too, Torean, and all you think of is sport and distraction. Men! I shall never understand any of you.”
    She pulled her plaid tight and stomped off down the path, forcing the two waiting men