Claiming the Highlander

  Kinley MacGregor

  Claiming the Highlander

  To Monique, who couldn’t wait to read Braden’s story; Nancy for all the sage advice and laughs; Lyssa for all the hard work and valuable insights; my friends who kept me sane during the insanity: Rickey, Celeste, Valerie, and Cheryl.

  As always, to my boys: Cabal, Madaug and Ian; my mother; and most especially, to my own hero, Ken, who taught me to believe in everlasting love when I was sure it had long forsaken me. You gave me wings to fly and the freedom I needed to explore my boundaries. Thank you.

  A special thanks to my contest winners who named the various characters of the book:

  Pat Gamberi: Aisleen

  Fatin: Ceana

  Leslie Hiatt: Lochlan

  And most of all to you, the reader. May love and happiness always be yours.

  CONTENTS

  ONE

  Handsome as sin and more dangerous than the devil himself,…

  TWO

  Lochlan MacAllister was a practical man. A reasonable man, according…

  THREE

  Braden MacAllister could very well mark the end of all…

  FOUR

  Braden immensely enjoyed the sight of Maggie leaving the women’s…

  FIVE

  Weary and frustrated, Lochlan pushed open the door to his…

  SIX

  Braden walked the well-worn path back to the kirk as…

  SEVEN

  Hours later, as the sun set over the lush, rolling…

  EIGHT

  By the time they finally stopped for the night, the…

  NINE

  “Well, well,” Sin said to Braden, mocking the leader’s words…

  TEN

  “Braden,” Maggie called. “I need you. Help!”

  ELEVEN

  Maggie spent the entire evening trying to avoid Braden as…

  TWELVE

  “Och, now, what a big, bonny man, you are,” Tara…

  THIRTEEN

  Braden didn’t know which of them was more stunned by…

  FOURTEEN

  Sin darted away from the women to the back of…

  FIFTEEN

  They traveled through the night and well into the next…

  SIXTEEN

  As they dressed, Maggie could feel Braden’s tenseness; it seeped…

  SEVENTEEN

  Once the plans had been made for the following day,…

  EIGHTEEN

  Maggie came awake slowly to the sound of Braden’s gentle…

  NINETEEN

  Braden froze as reality crashed through him. He quickly calculated…

  EPILOGUE

  Two months later, Maggie stood in the midst of her…

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BOOKS BY KINLEY MACGREGOR

  COVER

  COPYRIGHT

  ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

  Chapter 1

  London, during the reign of Henry II

  Handsome as sin and more dangerous than the devil himself, Braden MacAllister had but one affliction in life.

  He adored all women.

  At a score and five years, he had claimed more hearts than anyone could count and charmed more women than there were stars in the heavens. It was said that on the hour of his birth, the midwife had been enthralled by the newborn’s playful air. The woman, who had helped bring over three score wee bairns into the world, had instantly proclaimed Braden a bane to any lass foolish enough to give her heart over to one such as he.

  For the boy had the devil in him. ’Twas plain for any to see.

  Braden himself didn’t know why women fascinated him so. He only knew that he adored them all—young, old, single or married, beautiful or plain. It mattered not, for each woman possessed a special flame within her that he found irresistible, and in return, women were fascinated by him.

  Wherever he went, feminine heads came together with gasps and giggles as they relayed his reputation to each other. Those who knew his bedroom skills firsthand lorded it over those who only knew him by rumor.

  Braden always responded to the women he met with a roguish smile. Never was he too busy to stop along the way to pass a moment or two with a willing female.

  Indeed, he lived for the sensual. Lived for the sound of soft, feminine sighs of pleasure whispered in his ear as he reveled in the giving of pleasure to his lover. He could never consider himself well sated until his partner had found her own satisfaction at least three or four times.

  And Braden loved to be well sated.

  His family claimed it was a terrible addiction he had.

  For his life, he didn’t know what it was about women that captivated him so. Perhaps it was the smell of them, the feel of their soft, supple limbs sliding against his naked skin.

  Nay, he decided, ’twas the taste of women he loved best.

  And right now he was surrounded by three women who were vying for his attention.

  The Ghent sisters.

  Well, only two of them were still from Ghent; the other, Piety, had married Rufus of Nottingham the winter past. And though Braden liked the old earl a great deal, it really was a shame for such a vibrant young woman to be shackled to a man thrice her age. Especially when said man spent more time tending his hawks and hounds than he did doting on his beautiful bride.

  Piety, in great contradiction to her name, had been making advances toward him ever since his arrival in England three months past to visit with his brother and swear homage for his English lands to King Henry II.

  Ever one to avoid unpleasantness with the English when he could, Braden had deftly sidestepped the young woman’s seductive contrivances and machinations.

  When he had received a letter earlier that day from Rufus requesting his presence to talk over some Scottish lands the earl was thinking of selling, Braden had thought little of it. Until he had arrived to find the three women in residence while the earl and his brothers had departed that very morning for France.

  Braden’s first inclination had been to leave. But what mere mortal man could refuse such fruits of heaven when they were literally laid bare before him?

  It was certainly more temptation than Braden could resist. Not that it took much in the way of temptation for a hedonist such as he.

  If the women were content to seduce him, then he was certainly content to be seduced.

  The three women pushed him down on the bed and were starting to make free use of his body for their pleasure. Delighted to let the ladies have their way with him, Braden relaxed and simply enjoyed what they offered.

  “Milord,” Patience purred as she dropped his dark blue surcoat to the floor. “Tell us again how you slew the Kilgarigon Dragon.”

  Prudence tugged at his right boot until she bared his stockinged foot. “I prefer the tale of how you dispatched that highwayman on your way to London.”

  Piety slid her hands over his thighs to the back of his hips. “And I prefer this tail, right here,” she said as she grabbed two handfuls of his buttocks.

  “Ah, ladies, ladies,” he sighed contentedly. “Where shall I begin?”

  Lifting her kirtle to gift him with a luscious view of her bare bottom, Piety moved to straddle his waist. She wiggled her hips suggestively against his, then settled the yellow material down around her. She peeled back a portion of her kirtle to expose the curvaceous swell of her well-rounded bosom.

  “Why not begin here?” she said, brushing her hand over the top of her left breast.

  “Aye, that looks like a fine place to start,” Braden said huskily.

  But before he could oblige the countess, the door to the room burst open.

  “Piety!” came the outraged bellow.

  Braden propped himself up o
n his elbows to see Rufus standing in the doorway, his lips grim. The earl’s face was redder than the embers of the fire, which made his well-trimmed white beard all the more apparent.

  Braden growled low in his throat. Couldn’t a man have a moment’s worth of fun without some angry father, husband or brother rushing in and demanding his blood?

  Well, if you’d marry the woman first, brother, you’d not have that problem. Braden flinched at Sin’s familiar words in his head.

  Och now, what did his brother know of it? Sin spent just as much time avoiding holy matrimony as Braden did.

  Piety scooted off his lap with an indignant shriek while the other two women made haste for a nearby corner. The light of the chamber’s fire and tallow candles highlighted their quivering shadows against the wall.

  Braden sighed in regret. Well, it had certainly been fun while it lasted.

  What was it with husbands who couldn’t be trusted to go out of the country when they said they would?

  One would think a man would have more respect than to barge into his wife’s chambers without being announced. Why, such a thing was downright rude.

  “How dare you!” Rufus snarled as he stormed into his wife’s chambers.

  Piety met Rufus in the center of the room, hands on her hips. “How dare you!” she shouted as she moved to confront her irate husband.

  She caught Rufus by the surcoat as he made for the bed and swung him about to face her. “You tell me you’re leaving, only to return the minute I have a little fun. I’m beginning to think you lie to me just so you can come home and spear whatever man I’ve caught!”

  Braden cocked his brow at her words. Just how many men had the countess caught?

  Rufus narrowed his glare on his wife. “Woman, I swear, if not for your father’s wealth and the fact that I know he’d be a mortal enemy, I’d have thrown you out the first week of our marriage or beat you until you couldn’t stand.”

  “Well, then, ’tis a good thing I come to this marriage well connected, isn’t it?” She gestured to where Braden was still lying on the bed. “You know, I’m beginning to suspect that you like to skewer young men just for spite.”

  Rufus puffed his chest out in anger. “I’d have no cause to skewer him if he hadn’t skewered you first!”

  If only I’d gotten that far, Braden thought regretfully. Unfortunately, the earl had atrocious timing. In truth, he had yet even to kiss the lass.

  Braden rose slowly from the bed. “Perhaps I should be going.”

  “Perhaps you should be dying,” Rufus said as he pushed past his wife.

  Having found himself in a similar situation on more than one occasion, Braden knew the best course of action was not to panic. Indeed, cool rationale would save his head from being separated from his shoulders.

  And the last thing he wanted was to die on English soil. If he had to die, then by all that was holy, ’twould be with Scottish soil beneath his feet.

  And preferably with a Scottish lass moaning in his ear.

  “If it’s just the same to you, Rufus, I’d rather wait a few more years before I meet my maker.”

  “Then you should have kept your hands away from my wife.”

  Actually, Braden was the one who’d been fondled, but right now didn’t seem like the time to point that out. Not to mention the fact it would be less than gentlemanly to compromise the lady any further.

  For all her brashness, Braden did, in fact, like Piety, and the last thing he wanted was for her to be harmed in any way.

  Piety took refuge with her sisters in the corner while Rufus unsheathed his sword.

  Braden assessed his opponent.

  As the youngest of five boys, Braden had been a warrior since he could first clasp a sword in his hand. In all the years of his life, only his brothers had ever been able to stand toe to toe with him in war. And the foolish Sassenach before him would prove a poor match for his skill.

  Though he’d never shirked from killing men in battle, it didn’t suit Braden to draw blood over so trivial a matter. A woman was not worth a man’s life.

  Now, if he could only convince the earl of that fact.

  Braden spread his arms wide. “Now be reasonable, Rufus. You don’t really want to fight me.”

  “Not fight you, you backward Highland barbarian? After what you were doing? I’ll see you in hell where you belong, you primitive, unholy dog.”

  Braden stifled his laughter. How charming. Insults. Too bad the man hadn’t had more practice. Braden’s elder brothers could well tutor him in ways to draw blood with the tongue.

  “Can we not be mature about this?” Braden asked the earl.

  “Mature, you boiled-brained fustilarian?” Rufus choked.

  Then, without warning, Rufus lunged with the sword.

  Braden sidestepped him easily enough, but since the point of the sword whistled just inches away from his throat, he decided it was definitely time he parted company with the earl.

  “Come, now, Rufus,” Braden said in an effort to distract the man from the fact he was inching toward the open doors of the balcony. “You know you’re no match for me. I could fight a dozen men such as yourself.”

  Rufus pulled back with a speculative smile.

  “’Tis good then, that I brought my three brothers.”

  Said brothers chose just that moment to enter the room and unsheath their swords.

  You just had to say that, didn’t you? Braden thought wryly.

  Braden paused as he summed up his new opposition. None of them could possibly be younger than two score. Still, by the way they held their swords, he could see these were trained knights and not dandies out to pay scutage to their English king for their service. These men had battled much and still trained for war.

  Not that it truly mattered, for he wasn’t afraid of mere knights. There would never be a day when such could ever lay low a Highlander. But Braden wasn’t a fool, and four trained knights against one half-dressed, unarmed Highlander were not the odds on which he was used to wagering.

  He decided to play to the earl’s good English breeding. “These odds really aren’t very sporting.”

  “Neither is cuckolding.”

  Well, so much for sport.

  Again Rufus lunged. Braden grabbed a pillow from the bed and deflected the blade with it. Jumping to the bed, he rolled across the mattress as Rufus brought the sword down for his shoulder. Rufus’s blade missed by a hair and tangled with the drapes of the bed.

  Braden came to his feet on the opposite side and glanced to where the earl’s brothers were moving in.

  “Braden!”

  Dropping the pillow, he turned to see Prudence in her corner, holding his sword. Kissing the hilt of it, she tossed it to him.

  Braden caught it by the hilt and thanked her an instant before one of the earl’s brothers charged him.

  He deflected the man’s blow with ease and twisted out of the corner. Before he could make his way to the balcony, he was set upon by all of them at once.

  Braden made a good showing, but with one boot on and one boot off, his hop-along stance made it rather difficult to keep up. Damn the English for their strange clothing. At home, he’d never been bothered by these uncomfortable boots, or so many other articles of clothing.

  To think they called his beloved Scots brethren backward. At least in the Highlands a man knew how to dress for convenience and health.

  And, most importantly, for unexpected trysts.

  As they fought, the earl lost his balance and stumbled, giving Braden the chance he needed to escape without shedding English blood.

  Twisting against the wall, Braden cut the cord to the chandelier.

  The earl and his brothers dashed apart as it crashed down, scattering tapers about the room.

  While they rushed about stamping out the small fires, Braden ran to where the three women were huddled in the corner. He grabbed his supertunic from Patience, his boot from Prudence, and his cloak from Piety.

  “A
dieu, my fair ladies,” he said with a smile, touching Piety lightly on the cheek in a gentle caress. “If you ever venture to Scotland…” He looked at the men who were heading back toward him. “Leave the husbands at home.”

  With that, he rushed through the open door to the balcony and jumped gracefully to the courtyard below.

  He gazed up at the balcony to see the three women looking down at him.

  “Remember us fondly,” Prudence called as she waved her hand delicately.

  “Always, my loves,” he said, smiling.

  Braden blew them a quick kiss, then pulled on his boot and made for the stable. He had little time to make his exit before the earl and his brothers would be after him. Not that he was afraid of them; far from it. He really could have killed them all, but therein lay the problem. He refused to kill a man over a dalliance.

  Women were fun. They were his raison d’être.

  However, no woman was worth his life, nor would he ever take the life of another man over a woman.

  That was one harsh lesson he’d learned years ago.

  Besides, ’twas time he headed home. These Englishwomen were enjoyable for a time, but in the end it was the Highland lasses he craved the most. What with their gentle, lilting voices and bright smiles, they were the gems of the earth and it was time he returned to them and their open arms.