Forbidden Night with the Highlander Read online

  The handsome Highlander who seduced her...

  ...is the very man she must marry!

  In this Warriors of the Night story, Lianna MacKinnon seeks to avoid her betrothal to a Norman lord by giving herself to an intriguing stranger. But afterward, she discovers her sensual lover is none other than Rhys de Laurent—her betrothed—in disguise! They’ve already had their wedding night... Now there’s no escaping their marriage vows!

  “What if you wed a man like me?” he murmured, his lips against hers. “Would that be so terrible?”

  With that, he claimed her mouth. He kissed her gently, not wanting to frighten her. At first, her lips didn’t move, so startled was she. But as he learned the shape of her mouth, teasing her, gradually she began to respond.

  She twined her arms around his neck and tentatively moved her mouth against his. He stroked back her hair, encouraging her without words. His wife-to-be did have a more sensual side to her, and when he drew her body against his, she clung to him.

  “I shouldn’t do this,” she whispered. “I am betrothed to another man.”

  “And what if that man were me?” he asked, sliding his hands down her spine. “Would you be so reluctant to wed?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  Author Note

  Forbidden Night with the Highlander is the second book in the Warriors of the Night series.

  In this book, the Scottish heroine, Lianna MacKinnon, has OCD tendencies, and I wanted to pair her up with a man who would love and accept her for who she is. All her life she has been betrothed to Rhys de Laurent. Despite every effort to avoid the marriage, she has no choice but to wed her Norman enemy. And yet, she discovers that beneath his strong, serious ways, Rhys is a warrior with a kind heart, a man who appreciates her and respects her.

  Look for the third book in this series, Forbidden Night with the Prince, which tells the story of Joan de Laurent and her Irish prince. Book one in the series is Forbidden Night with the Warrior, the story of Warrick de Laurent and Rosamund de Courcy. If you’d like me to email you when I have a new book out, please visit my website at michellewillingham.com to sign up for my newsletter. As a bonus, you’ll receive a free story, just for subscribing!

  Michelle Willingham

  Forbidden Night with the Highlander

  RITA® Award finalist Michelle Willingham has written over twenty historical romances, novellas and short stories. Currently she lives in southeastern Virginia with her husband and children. When she’s not writing, Michelle enjoys reading, baking and avoiding exercise at all costs. Visit her website at michellewillingham.com.

  Books by Michelle Willingham

  Harlequin Historical

  and Harlequin Historical Undone! ebooks

  Warriors of the Night

  Forbidden Night with the Warrior

  Forbidden Night with the Highlander

  Warriors of Ireland

  (linked to The MacEgan Brothers)

  Warrior of Ice

  Warrior of Fire

  The MacKinloch Clan

  Claimed by the Highland Warrior

  Seduced by Her Highland Warrior

  Craving the Highlander’s Touch (Undone!)

  Tempted by the Highland Warrior

  The MacEgan Brothers

  Her Warrior Slave (prequel)

  Her Warrior King

  Her Irish Warrior

  The Warrior’s Touch

  Taming Her Irish Warrior

  Surrender to an Irish Warrior

  Warriors in Winter

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  Get rewarded every time you buy a Harlequin ebook!

  Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards

  http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010002

  To Jamie Coldsnow, a friend who has made me laugh over the years and who has always been there for me when life got crazy.

  Thanks for all that you do for me and my family.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from A Warriner to Tempt Her by Virginia Heath

  Chapter One

  Scotland—1171

  ‘My daughter is...not like other women.’

  Rhys de Laurent eyed the Scottish chief, Alastair MacKinnon, wondering what the man meant by that statement.

  There was a pained look upon the MacKinnon’s face, but Rhys waited for the chief to continue. When there came nothing further, he prompted, ‘Is she shrewish or is her face marked by pox?’

  Alastair shook his head. ‘Nay, she is fair of face. But you’ll ken what I mean when you marry her. She is different.’

  Rhys was not eager to claim the Scottish bride promised to him since her birth. He had travelled north for nearly a fortnight to Eiloch, Scotland, and he had no desire to live in this godforsaken land, half a world away from his family.

  But he had come here for the sake of duty and obligation. He was a man who honoured promises, though he was not certain he would go through with the marriage as of yet.

  Truthfully, he was here for his younger brother’s sake. Warrick had no land of his own, due to an estrangement with their father. These lands in Scotland would give his brother a place to live in peace, and Warrick could help to defend the fortress when it was necessary. It might be that his brother could marry the bride, if he could coerce the young woman’s father into changing the agreement.

  The MacKinnon lands held value, and in the midst of unrest between the Normans and the Scots, Rhys knew his responsibilities. His father had made an alliance that depended on this marriage.

  But he was uneasy about wedding a woman he had never seen before.

  ‘I want to meet with my bride before I agree to the formal betrothal,’ he told the chief. ‘Both of us deserve that much.’

  A tight expression crossed Alastair’s face. ‘That would no’ be wise. Lianna has said she willna marry a Norman.’

  Rhys wasn’t surprised to hear it. ‘Which is why we should meet and get to know one another. She may change her mind, once we are acquainted.’ And he could discover if his brother might be a more suitable match.

  But the chief was already shaking his head. ‘Nay, if she sees you as a Norman, she’ll do everything she can to avoid the marriage. Better if you should dress like a Highlander and let her ken who you are as a man. You would find her more appealing.’ The Scot eyed him carefully. ‘Unless you are too proud to wear our clothing.’

  Rhys considered the matter. The chief was right that Lianna MacKinnon would judge him as an outsider, no matter what he said or did. Fear would govern her opinion, and that was no foundation for a marriage. But he was uneasy about the deception. ‘I don’t like the idea of lying to my bride.’

  ‘You need not give your name,’ Alastair said. ‘Trust me when I say that Lianna will soften at kindness. And then you may see her warm heart.’ The Scot studied him carefully. ‘I’ve heard a great deal about you, Rhys de Laurent. Most say you are a fair man, respected as a leader. I would never give my daughter into your hands, did I not believe it.’

 
He gave no reaction to the flattery, for he knew Alastair had no choice but to uphold the arrangement. If Rhys did not accept Lianna as his bride, then he had the right to take Eiloch back again and place Norman soldiers in command of the fortress. His own father, Edward de Laurent, could have done so a generation earlier, but out of respect for his mother, Margaret, he had not. Although she was Norman, she had loved her second husband, Fergus MacKinnon, and had spent many happy years in Scotland, as if it were her sanctuary.

  Alastair motioned for one of his men to come forward, and murmured an order in Gaelic. Rhys understood every word, for he had learned the Scottish tongue at a young age. His grandmother had insisted upon it, for the MacKinnons would never accept him as their leader otherwise.

  The servant disappeared to obey, and then Alastair turned back. ‘I think you will be pleased with my daughter as your bride, once you ken the sort of woman she is and understand her ways.’

  Rhys met the man’s gaze. ‘I will judge her for myself.’

  Alastair nodded. ‘She rides out to the coast every day for her noontide meal. You will meet her at the dolmen, but I caution you not to let her ken who you are. At least, not yet.’

  His servant returned with a shirt and trews similar to those the chief wore. Alastair held out the garments and said, ‘Wear this. And I’ll bid you luck with Lianna.’

  Rhys took the clothing and asked, ‘How do I know she will be there?’

  Alastair sighed. ‘My daughter is a woman with ingrained habits. She has taken her meal by the dolmen every day for the past year. Believe me when I have no doubt you will see her.’

  Rhys wasn’t certain what to make of that, but he inclined his head. ‘So be it.’

  * * *

  Lianna MacKinnon prided herself on order, keeping everything in its place. Her bedchamber had not a speck of dust upon the wooden floor, and every corner of the coverlet was tucked beneath the mattress. She ran a finger along the edge of a small table and found that it was spotless, just as it should be. The sight of the chamber filled her with satisfaction, and she felt a sense of contentment knowing that, at least within this place, she could control the life she lived.

  A knock sounded at the door, and her maid Orna opened it without waiting to be invited inside. ‘I’ve news for you, Lady Lianna. The Norman and his men are meeting with your father this morn.’

  A cold sweat broke out upon Lianna’s brow. Though the men had sent word of their impending arrival at Eiloch, she could not bear to think of it. The idea of marrying a stranger was a disruption she didn’t want to face. Though she had been promised to Rhys de Laurent since birth, she would do anything to avoid the marriage. And now, that moment was here.

  Lianna’s gaze flickered to the dirt tracks the older woman had brought into the chamber. She moved towards the broom resting on the opposite wall, feeling the desperate urge to clean the floor.

  ‘He will not be my husband, Orna.’ Lianna began sweeping up the dirt her maid had tracked in, forming a small pile as she moved towards the door. The older woman likely hadn’t noticed it at all, given her failing eyesight. ‘I will find a way out of this betrothal.’

  She refused to believe that anything else would happen. Over the years, she had saved every spare silver coin, planning to bribe Rhys de Laurent into abandoning this marriage. She had never bought gowns or ribbons, preferring to keep herself plain and save the coins for something far more valuable—her freedom.

  Her maid frowned. ‘It may not be possible, my lady.’

  Lianna found a rag and knelt down to wipe up the mud, cleaning the floor until it was spotless. ‘It will be.’ It had to be. For the idea of surrendering herself to a strange man was impossible. Rhys had been born and raised in England and knew nothing of their ways. He would not even be able to speak their language.

  Her insides twisted up in knots at the thought of wedding a stranger—or worse, sharing his bed and bearing him children. Fear gripped her at the thought. Her father had accepted it as a necessary arrangement, but she would not give up so easily.

  ‘When Rhys de Laurent hears my proposal, he will gladly return to England without me. My father will remain the chief of Eiloch, and everything will return to the way it was.’ Lianna clung to that idea, for it was the only future she wanted to imagine. She wanted her life to remain steady, in an ordered pattern, without straying from its path.

  Then she squared her shoulders and informed Orna, ‘It is time for my daily ride.’

  Today, more than ever, she needed to travel along the coast. The speed of the horse and the wind upon her face would help her to forget about the future pressing her into a corner.

  ‘And what if the chief summons you to meet your husband?’ Orna asked. ‘You must be here if he does.’

  Lianna shuddered at the thought of being displayed before the Norman like a prized sheep. ‘I am not married yet.’ She reached for her shoes that lay against the far wall, walking barefoot across her clean floor. ‘I must go.’

  ‘Please, don’t be making trouble for your father, Lianna. You must marry Rhys de Laurent and bear a son. Only then can we stay here, God willing.’ Her maid risked a glance at the door. ‘If you make him angry, the Norman lord will send us away, and we’ll have nowhere to live.’

  Lianna opened the door and paused. ‘Don’t be afraid, Orna. I will find a way to avoid this marriage and keep Eiloch in my father’s hands. No one will take over our lands, I promise you.’ Even if it took every last coin she possessed, she would bribe the man.

  Her maid eyed Lianna as if she were uncertain. ‘Should you not try to be the wife he wants?’

  No. She would not even consider such a thing. With a half-smile, she admitted, ‘Orna, I ken what I am. No man finds me appealing, and if my own kinsmen do not care for me, why should this one be any different?’

  She adjusted her woollen brat to cover her fiery red hair. It was difficult to tame, but she combed it seventy-seven times every morn. And she would do the same when she returned from her ride. ‘I will be back by this afternoon.’

  Her maid’s expression held doubt, but she said nothing. Lianna strode past the woman, carrying her shoes. She walked barefoot through the large gathering space, past her older brother and his men. Sían’s face curved in a knowing smile, and he lifted his hand in greeting. She nodded to her brother, feeling her cheeks redden as she overheard one of the men mutter, Thanks be, none of us has to wed her now.

  She didn’t know which of them had spoken but pretended that she hadn’t heard the barb. Holding her shoulders back, she glanced up at her brother, only to see him cuff Eachann MacKinnon. Though she appreciated his defence, Lianna was well aware that the men were laughing at her. She ignored them and put on her shoes before she walked down the stairs outside and stepped into the mud.

  They thought it strange that she kept to her habits, leaving every day at the same hour to go riding. Each day, always the same. But she liked having the same pattern. It was comforting to know what she would do every day.

  Sían lived his life from one hour to the next, never thinking beyond what happened today. His confident manner sometimes bordered on arrogance, but Lianna found that it was easier to quietly clean up the disorder her brother left behind than to defy him.

  Her father’s house was larger than the others, a tower fortification built of wood and stone. The dwelling could hold twenty men, with three smaller chambers on the second floor. Beyond that, several crofters lived in thatched homes set in a semicircle.

  Lianna spied her horse already waiting for her near the stables, and a kitchen boy hurried out to meet her. He held out the wrapped bundle of food, and she took it, knowing what was inside. One piece of bread, one hunk of cheese, and a small jug of ale—just as always. She thanked him and secured the bundle beside her saddle before mounting her mare.

  As she rode past the crofters’ homes, she studied each
one carefully for signs of neglect. Though Sían did not want her to interfere in the people’s lives, it was a necessary means of occupying her time. She knew which families had enough food stored for the winter and which crofters would face hardship. She prided herself in knowing the women who would give birth to new babies, and the names of the elderly folk who had died. Then she told Sían, and her brother made arrangements for the families. It gave her a sense of pride to know that she could take care of the others—even if they believed Sían was responsible for their welfare. She needed no accolades for her work, so it mattered not what others thought.

  Once she reached the open valley, Lianna urged her horse to go faster. The wind tore through her red hair, and she lifted her face high, revelling in the sensation. She gloried in the freedom, feeling the joy in having this moment alone.

  As they drew closer to the coast, she slowed the pace of her mare, turning in the direction of the dolmen. The stone altar had been there for hundreds of years—perhaps even a thousand—and she often wondered about the Druids who had placed it there.

  Each day, she took her noon meal at the dolmen, so she would not have to dine with the others and hear their talk. She preferred the solitude and welcomed it.

  But this morning, she saw a man standing beside the stone. Her smile faded, and a sense of unrest thrummed within her veins, for he was not supposed to be here. Who was he? For a moment, she wondered if he was Norman, but then dismissed the idea, given his attire.

  Although she knew every member of her own clan and of the MacKinloch clan who dwelled nearby, she had never seen this man before. And yet...it almost seemed that he had been waiting for her.

  She slowed her horse to a walk, wondering what to do. The man’s brown hair was cut short, and his beard held stubble, as if he had shaved it a sennight ago. But it was his eyes that drew her in. They were the dark blue of the sea, with an almost savage beauty in them.

  She nodded to him and was startled when he raised a hand in greeting. Every instinct warned her to leave, to abandon the dolmen and go back home. But instead, she drew her horse to a halt and stared at the man.