Loving Her Highland Enemy by Samantha Holt (best thriller novels of all time .txt) 📕

they were softer.  He also remembered...well, he remembered that they didn’t belong to Leana.

Leana Sinclair was many things but she wasn’t Leana.

He had little idea how they’d managed to get away with it all these years but as similar as they had looked, this was most certainly Nessa—the child of a servant and Leana’s companion for the most part.

He shoved open the door to her chambers and gestured inside. A fire blazed in the hearth and the shutters were closed to keep the warmth in. Candles and oil lamps had been lit as soon as they’d seen the boats approach, and fresh blankets were laid upon the generous bed. Furs adorned the wooden floor while a chest had been cleared for her belongings, its lid open in invitation. His mother had wanted this room to be perfect for his intended bride and she’d done a fine job of making it appear inviting.

She had no idea they’d invited an imposter, however.

“There’s a pallet for yer maid,” he said, motioning to the bed made up on the floor.

“She’ll be some time I fear. Maggie isnae made for steps.”

He let his lips tilt. “Aye, they’re not for the faint of heart.”

She moved into the room, avoiding his gaze. Every movement she made, he could not help but watch. Where had the wild child who always made him play battles and pretend to die gone? And why in hellfire was she pretending to be Leana?

As far as he knew, Leana had been the only survivor. There had been no word of Nessa being alive after the fire so he’d assumed she’d perished. Only two scenarios came to mind—both had survived and Nessa was being sent in her place or Leana had been the one to perish and Nessa had been playing pretend all these years.

Either option meant the Sinclairs were lying to them. He’d have to be cautious.

“It has been many years,” he commented while she moved about the room, running a finger over the tapestry on one wall.

“Aye.”

“Ye remember playing together as bairns?”

“Aye.” She glanced briefly at him then turned her attention back to the tapestry, scanning every inch of it.

Tavish frowned. The weaving depicted the hunt of a mythical creature with a horn upon its head. He’d never paid much attention to it and he couldn’t imagine why it caught her interest.

“We used to battle, do ye recall?”

Leana twisted, her hands clasped together in front of her. “Of course.”

“Ye always made me be the one to die.”

Her lips curved briefly before flattening into a line. “That was Nessa,” she said swiftly.

He damn well knew it. She’d wanted to agree with him. This had to be Nessa. He moved into the room and kicked the door shut.

Her brow furrowed and she held up both palms as he stalked toward her. She didn’t shrink back and instead lifted her chin to meet his gaze head on.

Aye, this was Nessa. She’d always had that fire in her eyes. He saw it even under the hardness. Everyone had said she’d be a handful when she was older, but it seemed the fire had stolen some of her spirit. Or perhaps it was the lie she was living that had done it to her. Either way, it made him want to summon that fire again and again.

“Tavish...”

“That was ye,” he murmured.

“Nay,” she whispered. “Yer mistaken.”

“Ye might have others fooled but ye cannae fool me.”

“I dinnae know what ye are talking about.” Her expression remained stoic but he saw the brief flare of panic in her eyes.

“We spent many a day together as bairns. Ye looked similar indeed but neither of ye could ever trick me. I know yer not Leana.”

“Dinnae be ridiculous. Nessa died in the fire.” She lifted her chin. “Everyone died in the fire apart from me. The fire that yer clan was responsible for.”

He curled his fists at this sides. He’d heard that accusation far too many times. He couldn’t claim to have never spilled blood but only ever on the battlefield, in defense of his clan. “We would never be so cowardly as to burn women and children.”

“We know ‘twas ye,” she spat out.

“It wasnae us, that much I can vow.”

She searched his gaze for a moment. “Of course ye’d deny it. Ye want my hand.”

“And ye are here to take it. Surely ye wouldnae marry a man ye thought murdered yer family?”

“I am doing what I must for the protection of my clan.”

“By pretending to be Leana?” He moved closer until there was barely an inch spanning them. The air between them heated, as though sparks had swept from the fire to fill the gap. He heard her breaths coming hard and saw the rise and fall of her chest.

“I’m no’ pretending to be anyone. I am Leana.”

He narrowed his gaze at her and waited but she held his gaze, refusing to back down. “Leana had a mark on her shoulder,” he said finally. “Show me that and I’ll believe ye.”

She laughed. “Ye wish me to bare myself to ye, Maclean? We’re not even betrothed yet.”

He let his lips curl. Aye, this was Nessa, he knew it. That was precisely how she used to speak to him. He’d wager his position in the clan on it.

“I know who ye are.”

She shrugged. “Ye know nothing.”

“And I’ll be seeing that shoulder,” he vowed. “Before we are betrothed.”

Her lips pursed. “Ye always were a dreamer, Maclean.”

Aye, that he was. And he reckoned he’d be dreaming of her creamy naked skin for the next few nights as well as wondering why the devil she had taken Leana’s place and if he could really trust her.

Chapter Three

Tugging her cloak tighter about her neck, Leana peered out at the rough seas. Fresh snow had fallen overnight, leaving the castle walls topped with an inch of white, and she pushed some off with a finger, then watched it tumble into the growling abyss of dark sea and white foam below.

She should be inside