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

where the fires were lit and the bright, beautifully decorated hall offered a warm, wonderful retreat from the bitter winter weather and austere seas.

But that meant spending time with Tavish.

She’d done her best to avoid him since the morning meal. He’d tried to approach her, and she’d been too aware of everyone’s eyes upon her, waiting to see if they’d make a match. It had taken all her willpower not to jump up from the trestle table and run for the hills.

She couldn’t believe he’d figured her out! It made what she wanted to do all the more difficult. Especially if he revealed her for who she really was. The Macleans would know something was afoot if her true identity became apparent and she would never get her revenge.

A gust of wind whipped about her, sending her hair curling around her face. She pushed it back and grimaced when Maggie caught her eye.

“We really s-should return inside now.”

The maid’s cheeks were splotchy red while the rest of her face remained deathly pale. Even bundled up in as many layers as possible, she shivered in the cold.

“I could do with a little more fresh air,” Leana said.

“I t-think we’ve had enough.”

“I could do with some more.”

“I dinnae know why ye would not wish to spend time with Tavish. He’s quite the handsome man, and so strong.” Maggie’s eyes gleamed. “When he lifted you so, I thought I might very well faint. He’d make ye a fine husband.”

He was all of those things, she couldn’t deny that. It didn’t help matters much. If only he was stooped and ugly and pockmarked. It would make her plans that much easier if she didn’t feel all odd and fluttery around him.

Fluttery. Sweet Maggie, what a fool she sounded. She’d not have her head turned by mere muscles and braw looks. Attractiveness meant little to her and she had not spent years learning to be a fighter only to have her one chance at revenge stolen from her because of a pair of warm, dark eyes and a dimpled chin.

“Leana?” Maggie prompted. “Do ye no’ find him handsome?”

“I...do I suppose,” she admitted.

“Ye’d make a fine pair.”

The next gust of wind whipped up snow from the ramparts and sent it in their direction, creating a miniature snow flurry about them.

“Good Lord, ‘tis cold!” Maggie declared.

Leana sighed. “Ye return inside and warm yerself. I intend to continue my walk around the walls.”

Maggie eyed her for a few moments, likely debating whether it was worth arguing, then her shoulders dropped. “As ye will. I’m going to sit by the fire and take a dram of mead.”

Leana smiled. “Ye do that.”

She watched Maggie amble down the steps until out of sight. Regret dug into her gut like a thorn burrowing under her skin. Maggie was the closest thing she had to a friend. It had been too hard to grow close to anyone while pretending to be Leana and she had lost all her childhood friends to the fire.

She longed to confide in Maggie, tell her all her deepest darkest secrets—even the truth behind why she’d agreed to come here and let there be talk of a betrothal between the Macleans and the Sinclairs. Mayhap it would unburden some of the guilt swirling around inside like the snowstorm whipping about her feet. She’d expected the Sinclairs to live up to their keep and their reputation.

Dark, dangerous, brutal.

But instead, they were warm, full of laughter and welcoming.

She curled her lip. It was easy to be warm and welcoming when they hadn’t suffered as her clan had. It had taken years to recover from losing so many of them and too many had been lost to skirmishes after as they fought to preserve what they had when everyone thought them weak.

She could not be weak. She would not be weak. Revenge was going to be hers, no matter how pleasant the laird and his family appeared.

No matter how much it made her hurt to think of taking away Tavish’s father.

Movement caught her eye and her stomach sank down to her boots. Of course he would be here. She twisted away from Tavish, moving swiftly along the ramparts. She heard his crunching footsteps approach and came to a halt. There was no escaping him.

Turning, she peered up at him, bundling her cold hands together under her cloak. Perhaps if she could not escape him, she could send him away.

“Yer maid said ye were here,” he said. “‘Tis a wee bit cold for a walk do ye no’ think?”

“I dinnae care about the cold.”

His assessing gaze travelled up and down her body. She tensed her muscles in an attempt to remain still.

“Yer shivering.”

“I am not,” she rejoined.

His lips quirked. “Ye most certainly are.” He swept a hand across his face, drawing her attention to the sizeable width of them.

Leana recalled how they’d clasped her waist, making her feel anything other than the strong, courageous woman who was going to repay the Macleans for what they did. She’d never felt wee and delicate like that in her adult life, despite her stature. Sometimes, she suspected the fire had hardened her, as though it had melted her into a new person and then put her outside to harden.

Tavish made her feel small and strangely soft inside.

She didn’t like it, and she wouldn’t let herself like it. Not one bit.

✽✽✽

TAVISH NOTED THE stubborn rise of her chin and the little spark in her eyes that he was beginning to enjoy. He had yet to decide what the devil he was going to do about Leana—or Nessa as she was really known.

It was no secret there had been bad blood between their clans ever since they’d accused his clan of starting the fire but mayhap she’d come here, as Leana, to ensure the rift was over. In a strange way, it made sense. His father wouldn’t want him marrying a mere kitchen lass and Mac Sinclair was no fool—he’d know that having his daughter still alive