The Chief by Monica Mccarty

emotions and not think about killing or dying. As chief, he had the same responsibility to his people.
    The recent truce had been at Muriel’s urging. He’d welcomed an end to the feuding, for his clan’s sake, but the MacRuairis were still his enemies.
    MacDonald turned to Lamberton on his other side, and Tor found his gaze slipping to the lass. It wasn’t the first time. She sat beside another girl—the angelic fair-haired lass she’d been with earlier—at a table close to the dais, meaning that she had to be of some importance. A relative of MacDonald’s, perchance? He couldn’t get a good look at her face, despite her nervous habit of tucking her hair behind her ear. She kept her sable head averted each time he glanced in her direction. But he remembered well enough what she looked like.
    Beautiful. Not in the classical fashion of the blond beautybeside her, but in a much more visceral, cock-hardening way. It wasn’t just the lush, well-curved body, evident even beneath the modest green silk cote-hardie that she wore, but the wide, red mouth and the exotic tilt of her dark eyes.
    He frowned. But she was small and young. And despite her seductive beauty, obviously an innocent—she had that wide-eyed, startled look of a girl raised in a convent and brought out into the world for the first time. She’d probably shake with fear if he whispered “boo.” Not the kind of woman to typically catch his eye.
    At that she had surprised him, but the desire pooling full and heavy in his groin was proof enough. The reaction was understandable. Though he had a leman to take care of his needs, it had been some time since he’d felt the urge to bed her. The oversight was obviously making itself known.
    He’d have to do something about it.
    He turned his gaze from the lass, only to find his host watching him again. “They are both very beautiful, aren’t they?” MacDonald asked, not expecting an answer. “But I think it’s the delectable dark-haired morsel on the right who has caught your eye.” The older man shook his head. “I can’t fault your taste; she’s stunning.”
    “Who is she?”
    MacDonald arched a brow. “She’s the one who interrupted the fight, isn’t she?”
    “Aye.” That smile that was beginning to annoy the hell out of him. “And you find that amusing?”
    MacDonald laughed and shook his head. “Nay,
that’s
not what I find amusing.”
    It was becoming harder and harder to remember that he was MacDonald’s guest. Tor had always respected the older warrior, but at times Angus Og could be as provoking as his bastard of a cousin. He was done playing games. “Then what is it?”
    MacDonald shrugged. “If you want her, she can be yours.”
    Tor frowned. A harlot? Could it be she wasn’t as innocent as she looked? His gaze slid back to her. Nay, it had to be something else.
    All of a sudden he understood his host’s amusement.
    His mouth fell in a hard line. “Fraser’s daughters?”
    MacDonald nodded. “I thought you might wish to reconsider.” He lowered his voice. “Say the word and she could be in your bed before the week is out.” Tor clenched his jaw, his body responding to the thought as his head could not. “The lass is a prize,” MacDonald urged. “Not only a beauty but rich in land and the daughter of an important nobleman. You would be hard pressed to find a better match.”
    Tor’s jaw hardened. He was angry not only because he’d allowed his interest in the lass to show, but because in doing so he’d given MacDonald what he thought was an opening. But MacDonald didn’t know him at all if he thought he could be so easily turned. “Except that it comes at too much of a cost.” He gave his host a long look. “I told you before, I’ll not be drawn into Scotland’s war; I’ve enough troubles of my own. If you thought a beautiful lass would sway me, you were mistaken. If I want a lass in my bed, one will do as well as any other. I don’t need to jeopardize my clan