The Chieftain by Margaret Mallory

realized he was one of James’s warriors. All week, Ilysa had watched him leave the hall, time and
     again, shortly after Deirdre.
    “If ye intend to bandage my leg, you’d best be about it,” Connor said.
    “I fear Deirdre will make ye unhappy,” Ilysa said, dropping her gaze to her hands, which were folded in her lap, “and embarrass
     ye.”
    When he did not speak for a long moment, she glanced up at him. His eyes were so cold that she swallowed. What had she done?
    “Like my mother embarrassed my father? Is that what you’re saying?” Connor said. “You assume that being beautiful makes her
     untrustworthy?”
    Ilysa had not given his mother a thought.
    “You’re quick to judge the poor lass,” he said. “That is unkind of ye.”
    “I did not mean—”
    “I have much to do,” he said. “Ye may go.”
    “But your leg?” she asked.
    “I said, ye may go.”
    It was a clear dismissal, but she must tell him. Deirdre could already be carrying another man’s child. A chieftain, even
     more than most men, had to know that his heir was of his own blood.
    “Connor, I must tell—”
    “My close bond with your brother has made ye forget that I am your chieftain,” he said, his voice like the deadly calm before
     a storm. “A marriage alliance is a complex matter. I asked for your good wishes, not your advice.”
    “But—”
    “Go!” he thundered and pointed to the door.
    *  *  *
    “Connor is still alive,” Hugh said. “Ye failed to kill him.”
    Lachlan had suspected as much. He shrugged and glanced around the abandoned house Hugh was using as his base. It stank of
     dogs, unwashed men, and moldy rushes.
    “And they say you’re the best,” Hugh said, his voice dripping sarcasm.
    Lachlan met Hugh’s glare without showing any reaction. He had not done it for Hugh, and he did not give a damn what Hugh thought
     of him. A common enemy made them allies, but that did not mean he liked the man.
    “Ye said ye got two arrows in him, yet I’m told he’s walking around as if nothing happened,” Hugh said.
    “You’re perilously close to calling me a liar,” Lachlan said, moving a step closer. “Unless you’re certain that you’re better
     with a blade than I am, I suggest ye don’t.”
    Hugh’s men, a motley bunch of clanless scum, began reaching for their weapons but stopped when Hugh threw his head back and
     laughed. What in the hell was amusing? Hugh’s unpredictability was one of the traits that made Lachlan mistrust him.
    “You’re a tough son of a bitch.” Hugh tucked his thumbs in his belt and rocked back on his heels. “That’s what I like about
     ye.”
    Hugh’s woman, Rhona, a curvy lass with dark hair, sauntered over and put her arm around Hugh’s neck. That lass was trouble,
     and no better than Hugh deserved. Whenever she thought Hugh was not looking, she gave Lachlan the eye. Rhona underestimated
     Hugh, a mistake Lachlan did not make. Hugh had a sly cleverness, and he did not miss much.
    “Don’t worry, you’ll have another chance at Connor,” Hugh said. “Go to Trotternish Castle and offer him your sword.”
    Lachlan nodded because he had already decided to do exactly that.
    What troubled him was that the chieftain would require Lachlan to give his oath of loyalty, and it went against who he was
     to give a false oath. But sacrifices must be made. Killing the chieftain was a debt of honor, and this time he would complete
     the task.
    “We’ll get rid of him together,” Hugh said, his eyes gleaming cold like a snake’s.
    “I’ll tell ye again so that you’re sure to understand me.” Lachlan grabbed Hugh by the front of his tunic and pulled him up
     until they were nose-to-nose. “My dispute is with Connor, and Connor alone. I will do nothing that harms the clan.”
    Lachlan felt the prick of Hugh’s dirk against his stomach.
    “Keep your goddamned hands off me if ye want to leave here alive,” Hugh said.
    Lachlan had made his point and released