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

But he had to be certain his assumptions were correct and if the damned lass wouldn’t speak to him, he’d have no way of knowing. So he’d been forced to chase her down.

“Ye should come inside where ‘tis warm.”

“I’m admiring the view.”

He peered over the ramparts with a smirk. Clouds lingered over the sea, hiding the horizon in a murky, smoke-like mist. In the summer, the seas turned a dark green, but at the moment, they were a steely, bottomless gray.

“I dinnae think there’s much to see.”

She narrowed her gaze at him. “Perhaps I enjoy views of the sea. Ye dinnae know me, Maclean.”

“I know ye, Sinclair.” He shifted closer, forcing her to crane her neck. “I know yer not who ye say ye are. I know ye used to have a wooden sword and tried to fight all the lads. I know ye had a fierce punch even for a little girl.”

Her eyes flickered, as though a shadow had passed over them. He tried to keep the triumphant grin from his face. He’d touched truth there.

“I never punched anyone,” she said tightly.

“Nay, Leana never punched anyone.”

“I am Leana.”

“Ye know there’s always that birthmark ye can show me...”

Her lips thinned. “Ye try yer luck too hard, Tavish. I hope no other lass falls for such nonsense.”

He lifted his shoulders. “A few do.”

“Well, ye can return to them.”

“I thought ye were here to discuss a betrothal but now yer sending me back to another lassie’s bed?”

She stiffened. “I was. I am.” Her throat worked. “But that doesnae mean ye can sway me into bed before negotiations have begun.”

“I’ll have my father talk to yer man straight away then. Would that please ye? Then ye can show me that mark sooner rather than later.”

Her cheeks reddened and he didn’t think she could blame the cold for it. He was no stranger to women and he knew precisely why she’d grown rosy cheeked—she was picturing them in bed together.

Tavish couldn’t claim he wasn’t doing the same. The feel of her slender waist beneath his palms had lingered with him and he kept catching the scent of soap emanating from her—a simple, fresh smell that made him want to bury his nose in locks that he discovered were tinged red under the candlelight.

“Well, would it please ye?” he pressed.

“A-aye that would please me.”

“Yer cold.” He tugged off his cloak and slung it swiftly around her shoulders, over the top of her own far-too-thin cloak. She tried to move away but not swiftly enough.

Leana scowled at him. “I told ye I’m well enough and now ye’ll be cold.”

“So ye care if I’m cold or no’? Mayhap we’ll make a match after all.”

“Why do ye care if we make a match?”

“The same reason yer clan wants it, I’d assume—to put an end to the rift.”

“And ye’d be able to take claim of leadership of the Sinclair clan,” she pointed out. “I’d image ye wouldnae mind that either.”

“If we had a son, he’d be Sinclair and Maclean blood. I image yer father wouldn’t mind that,” he countered.

She blinked a few times. “Yer making many assumptions.”

“Aye, just as ye are.”

“Ye Macleans are all the same,” she scoffed. “Ye’d love for the Sinclairs to bow to the Macleans.”

“So why exactly are ye here if ye have no desire for a union between our clans?”

She drew in a sharp breath and then held his gaze, giving him a cool stare. “Because of the Campbells, of course. They are the power in the area after all. Better we unite than be wiped out by them.”

“Aye, of course,” he murmured. He wasn’t certain he could believe her yet, especially when she was still determined to lie about her identity. As attractive as he found her, he’d have to be cautious. A bitter wind wound around them. “Ye should come inside,” he said.

“Nay, I am quite content out here.”

“Come inside,” he insisted.

She turned on her heel and moved leisurely along the ramparts, forcing him to follow.

“Leana,” he tried.

She ignored him.

“Nessa.”

Whirling on him, her eyes fiery. “I am no’ Nessa. She died in the fire. The fire that took my mother, my uncles, my friend. Nessa died that night and no one ever saw her again.”

Tavish lifted his hands in surrender. He was beginning to think that might be true. Whoever this was, it wasn’t Leana but she wasn’t the wild child he’d known before the fire either. He leaned forward. “Ye could always talk to me about it, ye know.”

A brow lifted. “Confide in a Maclean? Dinnae be ridiculous.”

“So ye do have something to confide then?”

“I have nothing, Maclean, and even if I did, I wouldnae be sharing it with ye, whether we were betrothed or no’.” Leana whipped around again, marching toward the door leading down into the armory. Before he caught up, she slammed the door shut on him. He took a few steps back and rubbed a hand over his face.

In the bailey, he heard laughter and glanced down to see his father and uncle.

“Better luck next time, lad!” his father said.

“Aye, ‘tis only the fate of the clan in yer hands, Tavish,” his uncle called up to him.

Tavish grimaced and shook his head. “Aye, thank ye.”

Chapter Four

“Ye look just like yer da, ye know.”

Leana smiled tightly at the man to her right. She’d heard that comment many times over the years. Her similarity to Leana had ensured no one had discovered their deception but the comment always dug deep, twisting the knife of remembrance that she’d not only lost her mother in the fire that day—she’d also lost her identity. No one would recall that her hair was the same color as her mother’s or that they shared the same nose. All that had been erased.

“Drink up, lass,” Bram Maclean encouraged loudly. “‘Tis Yuletide and what better time to indulge than Yuletide.”

Tavish leaned in from the left of her. “He’ll no’ give up easily, I fear. Cousin Bram