Her Highland Rogue: A Wild Highland Guardian Novel by Violetta Rand

ye.”
    “Look at me, Aileana.”
    She did.
    “You will meet me by sunset at the entrance to the great hall. Before the commencement of the eventide meal.”
    She bit her lip. “But I’m expected to help prepare the food, then serve it.”
    He studied her curiously. Intelligence dwelled behind her expressive eyes. Yet somehow she maintained an endearing naivety that made him smile. She didn’t understand what marrying him meant. “Your duties are suspended, lass. Now the women will be expected to serve you like a queen. And if one dares to disrespect you in my presence, or within earshot of any of my captains, the punishment will be severe.”
    “You’d do this for me?”
    “You’ve forgotten what a devoted man I am, Aileana. But I blame myself. For too long I’ve shunned my responsibility and acted more a king’s fool than the laird’s son. People will talk behind our backs. What matters is how we present ourselves. Will ye embrace the idea of me becoming your husband? A united front will protect us, but if we appear disingenuous, the gossipmongers will feed on our weaknesses.”
    Her tearful gaze surprised him. He wanted to comfort Aileana, but when he opened his arms, she retreated a step. “Not now,” she said. “May I go?”
    “There’s one last thing I must tell you.” Sympathetic, he still couldn’t put off the truth any longer. “My father will announce our betrothal tomorrow night.”
    “Of course,” she said, then walked around him and left the room.
    Did she think him less affected by their situation? Hours ago he was a free man. There were still beautiful women he wanted to bed. Places he wanted to go. But all those selfish needs were buried the moment he pledged himself to Aileana, both victims of circumstance. Yet the more time he spent with her, the more he liked the idea of taking her as his bride. No other woman had inspired his fierce protectiveness to come out. And when he imagined Broc’s filthy mouth kissing her, it fueled his rage.
    He made his way back to the great hall, where preparations were under way for the retinue that would arrive later this afternoon. Peace in the western Highlands was tentative. And with the crown solidifying its ties with the MacKenzies, anyone that served that clan faced the same threats they did. Plans must be made. Treaties and oaths must be renewed. For as long as Errol could remember, the MacRaes were considered the Mackenzies’ shirt of mail. And that kinship could never be broken. Tested, but never severed.
    “Master Errol.”
    What did Cameron want now? Hadn’t he fulfilled all his father’s wishes already? Just as Aileana requested, he too needed time alone to think. “Did I forget something?”
    “Nay.” The man’s eyes were bloodshot.
    Errol gripped his arm. “What is it?”
    “Your father. Please, come quickly. He collapsed.”
    The news pierced his heart like an enemy’s arrow. He flew up the stairs and into his father’s chamber, finding him sprawled unconscious on the floor, a trickle of blood stained his chin. Servants filed into the room. Errol knelt and gently lifted his sire off the ground. He carried him to his bed and Cameron whipped the fur aside. Positioning him on his back, Errol then arranged some pillows under his head.
    “Bring the healer,” he barked at the closest maid. “And fresh water and linens so I can clean his face.”
    Laird MacRae was not a young man. His illness had taken hold six years ago, starting with a hacking cough in the dead of winter. The following spring, he seemed to recover, but as the months passed, he lost his hearty appetite and weight—the first signs that death lingered. But consumption couldn’t cripple his da, the man refused to stay abed for more than a couple days at a time. Clan business required his presence, so he sat in the great hall like any laird, settling squabbles between his tenants and welcoming chieftains from neighboring lands.
    But this moment had been fast coming.