The Highlander's Folly (The Novels of Loch Moigh Book 3) by Barbara Longley Page A

meant to restore balance, then I should be in thirteenth-century Ireland right now, because that’s where and when my dad was taken by the fae.”
    “Your sire was taken from his time as well?” This tidbit did naught to give him ease. Indeed, it only muddled Giselle’s true purpose even further.
    “Yeah. It’s a long story and not the point.” She blew out a breath. “Where do I fit into Giselle’s plot? What do you think she has in store for me?” She paused as if gathering herself, and then her sorrowful brown eyes sought his. “Will I be able to go home, do you think?”
    The vulnerability and insecurity he glimpsed in her expression turned his insides to porridge. The urge to protect and comfort her surged with such force, he could scarce prevent himself from snatching her from her horse and placing her on his lap. He wanted to hold her. Nay, ’twas far worse—he needed to hold her. He gripped the reins in his hands with such force the leather edges bit into his palms.
    He might not be able to read her emotions as he did with others, but it mattered not. She wore every one of them upon her comely features. Such an odd mix was she, entirely feminine, lovely, graceful and delicate, yet possessing the skills, courage and strength to rival any well-trained squire.
    Guilt, sharp-edged and swift, pierced his heart. Where did this inclination to hold Meghan come from? He was promised to Sky, and had been since the day she was born. He’d held her tiny, wriggling form in his arms and kent in that instant that they were meant for each other. He was as sure of it now as he had been then. Taking himself firmly in hand, he answered, “Och, lass, if I’d had even an inkling of what Giselle had in mind—”
    “You would have prevented the whole thing. I get it. Thanks. Just so you know, I don’t blame you for what happened.”
    “Nay? Still, I blame myself. I should have refused to do her any favors.” He surveyed their party to assure himself all was well. “If it pleases you, my lady, I’ll ride beside you awhile to ensure your bottom lip remains unmolested.”
    Her sudden burst of laughter went straight through him. Unbidden, the happy sound wrapped itself around his heart and wended its way to his very soul. He basked in the warmth and marveled at the sparkle in her eye—before his sanity returned.
    Shaking himself free of the heady sensations, he gathered his defenses, hardened his heart and firmed his resolve. A knight’s honor was his most valuable possession, and above all else, he was an honorable man.

    By the time they made camp for the night, the weather had turned. Damp chill and a thick fog cloaked the surrounding hills and forest. “Under the circumstances, I believe ’twould be safe enough to build a fire. The fog will mask the smoke, and the heat will be a welcome relief from the cold and damp.” Hunter glanced at Meghan where she stood shivering by the wagon.
    “Aye. ’Twould be good to sit before a fire this eve.” Tieren lifted the wagon’s tarp and withdrew a thick woolen blanket. “Come, my lady, rest a bit whilst the lads go about gathering wood.” He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders.
    “I should help,” she protested, glancing his way. “After all, I am Hunter’s squire.”
    “No’ this time. There are enough hands to gather tinder as it is.” Tieren removed the board from its brackets at the end of the wagon and leaned it up against one of the rear wheels. He shoved their gear back far enough to create a place at the end for her to rest. “Sit.”
    Meghan lifted her brow in question. Hunter nodded. “Do as he bids you, lass. As you said earlier, the day has been trying, to say the least.”
    She gathered the blanket around herself, and was about to scramble up, when Tieren lifted her by the waist and set her upon the spot he’d cleared for her. Hunter stifled the growl rising in his throat.
    Tieren smirked at him. “I’ll see to making ready our evening