The Highlander's Bride by Michele Sinclair Page A

Scotland was unhampered. She could see for miles. Out beyond were fingers of land, each jutting out to the sea in its own way. Some covered by trees, some with cliffs that seemed to go on forever. There were dozens of lochs nestled between. Some of the trees seem to touch the sky, and the rock formations were unlike any other. Wisps of clouds settled here and there, giving the whole scene an otherworldly look.
    Conor watched Laurel absorb the beauty of his lands. Her eyes drank in everything. Her smile spread over her whole face, and her entire body seemed to relax. Conor had known by Laurel’s previous interest in the land and beauty around her that she would understand his love for this place.
    “It is beautiful, Conor. I have never seen the like. Is it always like this?”
    “Aye, at least every time I have been here.” Conor was not watching the beauty around him, but the vision in front of him. She was slim and delicate, and her golden waves of hair were pulled back by a tiny bit of lace. Her eyes were the color of the lochs she was viewing. It was amazing how often her eyes changed depending upon her mood. He wondered what they would look like all full of passion. Then he wondered if someone else already knew.
    Laurel was completely unaware of Conor’s brazen gaze. “There is a magical quality to it. It’s like this place is frozen in time. And that you and I, here together, are separated from all the evils of the world,” she mused aloud.
    Conor dropped his arm to her shoulders. They stood for a long while watching the sun begin to set over the distant mountains. No words were said—no words were needed.
    Despite his desire to do otherwise, Conor interrupted the peaceful silence. “We need to leave now, Laurel. It will be dark soon.”
    Laurel took one last look around and nodded. In just the short time they spent there, she had found peace. It was as if her problems were now manageable. She now believed that she would be able to find and notify her grandfather without letting Douglass know.
    “Thank you, Conor, for taking me here,” she whispered as he took hold her hand to guide her as they descended. “It was just what I needed.”
     
    When they had returned to the edge of woods right before the clearing, she could hear the clashing of swords and several men fighting.
    “What is happening?” Laurel murmured, then cried, “Conor! They are fighting! Someone has attacked the campsite. We must help them!” Visions of Ainsley’s men being slaughtered a few days ago suddenly filled her mind.
    “Help them? They are just having a wee scrap to freshen their skills a bit. It is harmless.”
    She whirled to face Conor. “Harmless?” Laurel’s chin came up angrily, her sea green eyes sparkling with rage. “Men fighting with swords is fun and harmless?”
    When he just stared blankly at her, she raised her voice and said, “Fine. Someone has to stop them and I guess that leaves me.”
    She collided with Conor when he stepped into her path.
    “And what, love, do you think you are going to do?”
    Laurel closed her eyes in brief, heated frustration. “Conor, you are being exasperating again. Having to repeat myself for you is most annoying,” she said, her voice dangerously sweet.
    He continued to stand in her way. It was obvious that he was not going to budge or let her pass. So, she tried again.
    “I was just going to ask them to stop. And if that didn’t work, I would use stronger encouragement,” she answered, now through gritted teeth.
    Laurel was beginning to show her temper, and his rumbles of laughter were making it rise all the more. She reached into her dress and pulled out the pearl dagger she had taken when she had fled the Douglass castle.
    When Conor saw the small knife she held in her hand, he could hold onto his laughter no more. His amusement at her toy was so loud that it interrupted the sword practice his brothers were having with his guard.
    By the time his brothers had come to