Desiring the Highlander Read Free Page B

crashing thud. The others immediately rode off hoping to avoid being next.
    Cole screamed in fury and ran up to the Englishman hoping to find him alive. But revenge was not to be his. The arrow had pierced his jugular and the man was dead. Cole cried out and was about to behead him when suddenly his weapon was stripped from his hands. Turning to attack, Cole encountered Conor, who threw his sword down and gathered him in his arms.
    “It’s over now, Cole. It’s over. He’s dead.”
    Cole shook his head. “It will never be over,” he whispered. “And I won’t forget.”

Chapter 1

    Fàire Creachann Keep, off Loch Shieldaig, 1311

    Cole McTiernay leaned back in the worn chair and outstretched his long legs, crossing them at the ankles. He stared out one of the few windows in the keep that had not been broken by years of wear and neglect. Clouds had begun to thicken around the Highland mountains of Torridon, and with each minute that passed, their humid masses sank just a little lower down the rugged primeval slopes. It had yet to start raining, but drops would begin to fall any moment. The unusually cold and damp spring weather had done little to help the moods of those in the room—including his own.
    As choices go, it should have been a simple one and Cole was baffled why it wasn’t. Newly formed clans needed chieftains and chieftains needed an army, financial means, and the ability to make difficult decisions. All of which he possessed and Lonnagan did not. Those differences alone should have dictated who would be laird.
    But not for these stubborn people.
    When he had been approached to lead the nomadic clans of the northern Highlands, he had halfheartedly agreed. His men and their families desired a home and he, too, was restless and needed a change. Then word had come that another was being considered. And after ten days of endless discussions, Cole was no longer confident he was going to be the one selected. Even more surprising, he wasn’t sure whether he would be disappointed or relieved.
    Heavy footsteps came up from behind. Controlled and methodical, they could only belong to one man—his older brother. Cole craned his head, gave a slight nod in acknowledgment, and then returned his gaze out the window to the lapping waters of the sea. “Made a decision?”
    “No,” Conor grunted, not even trying to hide his frustration, “and you know why.”
    Cole sighed and bobbed his head slightly. “I’m leaving in the morning.”
    “None too soon. You and Dugan haven’t been making things easier.”
    “He’s easily provoked,” Cole replied with a slight shrug.
    Conor wanted to throttle his younger brother. The man had perfected the persona of one who was detached and unconcerned about the plights of others, but it wasn’t true. One only had to look into his eyes to see the sorrow Cole carried. An ache brought about from profound sadness. But Cole never would allow anyone to look long enough, deep enough, to see anything but indifference. Until he learned how to drop his guard, share his thoughts, and allow someone to grow close to him, his pain would never heal.
    Cole McTiernay was the third of seven brothers, and all could be exasperatingly stubborn when they wanted to be, but Cole was famous for his obstinacy, especially when it came to his hatred of all things English. Over the years, Conor and his brothers had tried to get him to open up. But each time they pushed, Cole would emotionally retract, burying himself behind some distant, impenetrable wall. Eventually, he and his brothers had stopped trying.
    Conor often wondered if that had been a mistake. Did they give up too soon? Or had they been wise to back off in fear of pushing their brother away altogether? Cole was an incredible soldier, a superb strategist, and a worthy leader, but as a man, he was hollow inside. He lacked something…something that made one want to face a new day. Conor had hoped this opportunity would give Cole the drive