A Highlander for Christmas by Paula Quinn Page A

pistol aimed at his guts.
    Andrew sprang to his side, much to Finn’s surprise. To the untrained eye, Leslie appeared unmoved by the event. But Finn noted her stiffened spine, shallow breath, and pale knuckles while she squeezed her hands together.
    He expected her to be strong, intelligent. He didn’t expect her to speak up.
    “Before you shoot him, my lord,” she said, betraying her fear and anger with the slightest crack in her tone, “you should know that he is Finlay Grant, bard of the chief of the MacGregors of Skye, son of Graham Grant, who for over a score of years led the Devil MacGregor’s charge against the Campbells and who personally aided Charles Stuart back to the throne.”
    Finn didn’t care who was watching; he stared at her openly, wondering why she would give him and his identity up so easily. Had she truly accepted her fate then? Did she not love him as she claimed before Camlochlin’s entire Hall?
    “Before he appeared at the table,” she continued to Douglas, ignoring Finn’s attention and disheartened expression, “you were asking Alan for the whereabouts of the MacGregor holding.” Her gaze cut to Finn’s beneath her long veil of lashes. “As I told you, my lord, we were blindfolded on the way in and the way out. Mr. Grant, on the other hand, could prove far more useful.”
    He was a fool to have doubted her and would make it up to her for the next year. She had just given his enemy a reason to keep him alive. He would have bowed to her masterful mind. But he didn’t move, preferring pistol fire to his innards rather than the smile gracing Leslie’s lips. A smile she offered to her newly betrothed.
    “I may need to torture him for the information,” the marquess told her.
    She shrugged her shoulders. “If you do, then be prepared to kill all his kin once you find them. How many would you say there are, Andrew? Four hundred?”
    “More likely five,” her brother corrected.
    “Yes, more likely five,” she agreed. “And every single one of them, man or woman, will hunt you down until you’re found, and then they will butcher you for what you did.”
    “You protect him,” the marquess accused her, moving the barrel in her direction.
    “I protect you .” She stood to her feet and shook her head, looking down at him. “What becomes of my family after you and every other Douglas in Dumfriesshire, and likely all of England, are butchered in your beds? I lived with the barbarians. I am afraid of them, as you would be if you weren’t a prideful fool.”
    Finn recognized the glimmer of amusement and interest in the marquess’s eyes while he sized Leslie up. Finn didn’t like it, since it was the same amusement and interest he felt toward her when they first met. It wouldn’t do to have the marquess lose his heart to Leslie. He’d be that much less willing to part with her.
    “And you.” She turned her glacial gaze on Finn. “You have seen me in Skye. Our paths crossed when I left with my family and you returned from wherever you had been. We all enjoyed your entertainment tonight but I am betrothed to the marquess and your flowery words fall on deaf ears. Do not waste them on me again.”
    Finn watched her leave the dining hall with her kin and did his best not to let his gaze linger on the sway of her fine hips. He carried his grin to the marquess and let it fade just a little at the pistol, back to pointing at him.
    So, Douglas wanted the whereabouts of Camlochlin, did he? Most likely to give it to Prince William and to the enemies of the MacGregors.
    Finn had to move quickly. His task would be easier now that she had provided the armor he needed. He’d thank her for it later.
    “’Twould seem ye and I both have something the other wants.”
    The marquess laughed and tucked the pistol into his breeches. “And what, pray tell, do you want in exchange for betraying your clan and bringing me to their home?”
    Turning to look over his shoulder at Leslie climbing the