ye that I’ll be taking those back as well.”
“Finn, I implore you—”
The sincerity in his tone pulled Finn’s gaze to him.
“I wouldn’t see you come to harm.”
Finn smiled at him.
“And if we lose the Douglases support we can never return home. Surely, you, whose ancestors came from these hills, understand the pull of one’s birthplace.”
“Aye, I do,” Finn admitted easily. “But even the memory of a man’s birthplace fades when the heart of a lass becomes his home. Surely, after leaving yer home twice to keep yer woman safe, ye understand.”
Andrew stared him deep in the eyes for just a moment, then lowered his gaze and turned away. “Promises were put to paper. They cannot be undone. There are laws.”
“Those laws mean nothing at Camlochlin,” Finn reminded him. “Ye’re not a man with no choices. Ye just have to decide if yer sister’s life is worth less than anyone else’s in yer family.”
“Hers is worth more,” Andrew told him. “For it is she who keeps the rest of us from persecution, or even death.”
Finn set his cup down on the table. Was he supposed to see the light now? He stood from his chair. To suddenly understand why Leslie should be sacrificed?
“’Tis ye who put the rest of yer lives to threat with yer decision to return to Dumfriesshire. As the eldest, ye’re to guard them, not use them as pawns. The marquess doesn’t love her. He doesn’t even know her. Ye say he’s promised to keep yer kin safe, but what does he gain from this union?”
When Andrew didn’t answer right away, Finn continued on with what he had to say. “Return to Skye,” he warned, tired of being patient. The time to act had come. The only way to have her was to save her kin. Whether he wanted to presently, or not. The best way to save her kin was to get everything out in the open here in the Highlands, where he had a better chance of keeping them alive. “Whether yer sister returns to Dumfries with ye or not, my kin will keep ye safe…even from him.” He motioned with his chin to the marquess. “On that, ye have my word. But I put this to ye one more time, Andrew. Return to Camlochlin and be free of persecution and death at the hands of yer enemy. The choice is a simple one. Yer home, or mine?”
Andrew continued to glare at him, unwilling to give an answer, so Finn walked away, determined to see his task through. He would avoid actual fighting for as long as he could and hope that his kin arrived in time to keep his head off a spike in the inn’s front yard.
He smiled at Margaret and at Leslie’s mother when the sight of him coming drained the blood from their faces. He would do his best to keep them from harm but his main concern was keeping Leslie from the marquess’s bed.
“Fergive my intrusion.” He glanced down at Douglas and then flicked his gaze to Leslie. He did nothing to stop his expression from softening against her angry scrutiny. He knew he was lost to her. Love had caught hold of his heart and had taken complete control. It fired his thoughts, his passions, and his actions. “Have I seen ye someplace before, lass? Mayhap in a painting in a more heavenly kingdom than this one?”
Instead of arching a raven brow at him, Leslie could have gone pale like some of the others at her table. But there was a reason he’d fallen in love with this woman. “You think quite highly of yourself if you believe you descended from heaven.”
Honestly, how the hell was he supposed to keep from smiling at her like he had just laid eyes on the sun after a long, frigid winter? He looked away and tossed his quick, wide grin at the others instead, including the marquess and Andrew, who’d caught up to him. “I place blame fer such vanity at the feet of Heather MacDonald. She’s been known to liken me to starlight and—”
“What do you want at this table, thief?”
The flash of metal against the firelight drew Finn’s eyes to the marquess’s hand and the barrel of a
“Finn, I implore you—”
The sincerity in his tone pulled Finn’s gaze to him.
“I wouldn’t see you come to harm.”
Finn smiled at him.
“And if we lose the Douglases support we can never return home. Surely, you, whose ancestors came from these hills, understand the pull of one’s birthplace.”
“Aye, I do,” Finn admitted easily. “But even the memory of a man’s birthplace fades when the heart of a lass becomes his home. Surely, after leaving yer home twice to keep yer woman safe, ye understand.”
Andrew stared him deep in the eyes for just a moment, then lowered his gaze and turned away. “Promises were put to paper. They cannot be undone. There are laws.”
“Those laws mean nothing at Camlochlin,” Finn reminded him. “Ye’re not a man with no choices. Ye just have to decide if yer sister’s life is worth less than anyone else’s in yer family.”
“Hers is worth more,” Andrew told him. “For it is she who keeps the rest of us from persecution, or even death.”
Finn set his cup down on the table. Was he supposed to see the light now? He stood from his chair. To suddenly understand why Leslie should be sacrificed?
“’Tis ye who put the rest of yer lives to threat with yer decision to return to Dumfriesshire. As the eldest, ye’re to guard them, not use them as pawns. The marquess doesn’t love her. He doesn’t even know her. Ye say he’s promised to keep yer kin safe, but what does he gain from this union?”
When Andrew didn’t answer right away, Finn continued on with what he had to say. “Return to Skye,” he warned, tired of being patient. The time to act had come. The only way to have her was to save her kin. Whether he wanted to presently, or not. The best way to save her kin was to get everything out in the open here in the Highlands, where he had a better chance of keeping them alive. “Whether yer sister returns to Dumfries with ye or not, my kin will keep ye safe…even from him.” He motioned with his chin to the marquess. “On that, ye have my word. But I put this to ye one more time, Andrew. Return to Camlochlin and be free of persecution and death at the hands of yer enemy. The choice is a simple one. Yer home, or mine?”
Andrew continued to glare at him, unwilling to give an answer, so Finn walked away, determined to see his task through. He would avoid actual fighting for as long as he could and hope that his kin arrived in time to keep his head off a spike in the inn’s front yard.
He smiled at Margaret and at Leslie’s mother when the sight of him coming drained the blood from their faces. He would do his best to keep them from harm but his main concern was keeping Leslie from the marquess’s bed.
“Fergive my intrusion.” He glanced down at Douglas and then flicked his gaze to Leslie. He did nothing to stop his expression from softening against her angry scrutiny. He knew he was lost to her. Love had caught hold of his heart and had taken complete control. It fired his thoughts, his passions, and his actions. “Have I seen ye someplace before, lass? Mayhap in a painting in a more heavenly kingdom than this one?”
Instead of arching a raven brow at him, Leslie could have gone pale like some of the others at her table. But there was a reason he’d fallen in love with this woman. “You think quite highly of yourself if you believe you descended from heaven.”
Honestly, how the hell was he supposed to keep from smiling at her like he had just laid eyes on the sun after a long, frigid winter? He looked away and tossed his quick, wide grin at the others instead, including the marquess and Andrew, who’d caught up to him. “I place blame fer such vanity at the feet of Heather MacDonald. She’s been known to liken me to starlight and—”
“What do you want at this table, thief?”
The flash of metal against the firelight drew Finn’s eyes to the marquess’s hand and the barrel of a
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