Highland Warrior Woman (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

Highland Warrior Woman

Maeghan Fraser has just bartered her woven cloth for food and is kidnapped from the market by the evil MacLeod Laird and his commander. She puts up a fight and manages to escape, only to fall into the clutches of the Campbell clan.

Laird Calum Campbell and his brothers, Ewan and Hamish, stumble upon the battered and bruised angel in the forest. They take her back to their castle knowing she is the lass they have been waiting for.

The three Campbell brothers declare their intent to wed the angelic-looking Maeghan and don’t care about the rumors of her upbringing. They woo her into their beds, but they are so used to giving orders they aren’t quite sure how to capture her heart.

Danger from within threatens their Maeghan’s life, and even though the Campbells vow to protect her, sometimes a woman has to protect herself.

Note: There is no sexual relationship or touching for titillation between or among siblings.

Genre:
Historical, Ménage a Trois/Quatre

Length:
38,865 words
 

Becca Van

MENAGE EVERLASTING

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting

HIGHLAND WARRIOR WOMAN

E-book ISBN:
978-1-62241-898-5

First E-book Publication: December 2012

Cover design by Harris Channing

All art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

PUBLISHER

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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Highland Warrior Woman
by Becca Van from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

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www.SirenPublishing.com

www.BookStrand.com

HIGHLAND WARRIOR WOMAN

BECCA VAN

Copyright © 2012

Calum Campbell held up his hand in silent command to bring his brothers and warriors to a halt. The hair on the back of his neck prickled in warning that not all was right. Listening intently to the quiet, he realized he couldn’t hear any birds chirping nearby or the rustle of small animals in the underbrush.

Dismounting his steed without making a sound, he pulled his claymore sword from the leather scabbard belted at his hip. He studied the ground intently and saw, amid the crushed grass, the imprint of a small foot in the damp earth and foliage. Following the signs, he crept toward a large tree and heard the rapid breaths of whoever was hiding behind it.

He raised an arm and lifted a finger to indicate there was only one person nearby. Taking a step to the side, he gasped when his eyes landed on the small flaxen-haired woman leaning against the tree trunk. Her face was badly bruised, and one of her eyes was swollen closed. She was clutching at her stomach as if she was in great pain or about to be ill.

“Are ye all right, lass?” Calum asked gently.

She jumped about a foot into the air and then doubled over in pain and groaned.

“Easy, lass, I’ll no’ hurt ye,” Calum stated calmly and watched as the little color the woman had in her cheeks dissipated. Her legs began to buckle.

He moved quickly, catching her slight form before she hit the ground and hurt herself even worse. Being careful not to jostle her and cause her more pain, he resheathed his sword and placed an arm beneath her knees. The arm which had caught her around the waist he slid up to her shoulder.

He hardly felt her weight, but for some reason she felt so right in his arms. Frowning down at her plaid, he realized she was of the MacTavish clan and wondered what the hell she was doing so far away from home and obviously without an escort. She had been beaten so severely he could barely discern the natural shape of her face.

Calum vowed that, whoever she was, he would protect her with his life and the bastards that had hurt her would pay with theirs.

Earlier that day…

Maeghan Fraser slipped around the timber wall of a cottage and came in sight of her horse. She let out a quiet sigh of relief that old Bessy was where Maeghan had left her, grazing a deserted strip of pasture at the outskirts of the village. As she reached the mare, Maeghan glanced over her shoulder and checked that her purse of coins was still securely hidden beneath her plaid. A successful day’s trading wouldn’t have done much good if her horse was stolen, so she had left Bessy well out of sight of the activity of the village.

She patted Bessy’s neck, admitting to herself that only the most desperate horse thief would want her poor old mare. Bessy should have been left alone to spend the rest of her days grazing the green grass in the meadows, but it was the only horse she owned and she would never ask to borrow another mount.

As for coming to the village without an escort, Maeghan didn’t like to take the warriors of the MacTavish clan away from their training and duty.
I can look after myself.
She had her dirk and her wits, which were better than a lot of women’s.

She stepped up to Bessy to mount her, thinking already of what she would do when she got home, when a pair of hands grabbed her from behind. Maeghan yelled and felt herself shifted against a man’s solid body. One of his arms wrapped too tightly around her waist, and a filthy-smelling hand was clapped over her mouth.

She kicked her feet and twisted, digging her nails into the arm around her waist, but the man holding her seemed to be an immovable force. Even when her heels connected with his shins, he didn’t budge.

Bessy snorted, her eyes rolling nervously. Maeghan heard another horse nearby. If she could just reach her dirk, she could attack the man holding her, leap on Bessy, and be away.

Then another man stepped into view. He was well dressed. For a moment she couldn’t place his features, and then she knew him. Laird MacLeod, whose land abutted the village, was eying her up and down.

Maeghan was not of his clan and couldn’t think what this man would want with her. He assessed her coolly, standing a safe distance from her thrashing legs.

Until she saw him, she had assumed that this was a mere robbery. It would be a devastating one, no doubt, as she was relying upon the money she had earned from selling her woven cloth to supplement her own supply of game, but a robbery was something she could survive.

The man standing before her, however, would have no need of her money. From the way he assessed her, Maeghan had a horrible idea of what he might want.

Her panic rose, but at that moment she heard her father’s voice in her mind.
Save your strength for when you can use it
. He had trained her for situations like this, and his advice had never yet failed her. Maeghan stilled, hanging limp in her attacker’s arms.

Breathing deeply around the hand over her mouth, she became aware of the silence. Apart from a nervous snort from Bessy, it was silent. They were too far from the main road to hear the sounds of business.

That meant they were too far to call for help, too. Maeghan cursed her own foolishness. Why had she tethered Bessy so far away?

She still waited to see what the laird wanted. He seemed to take his time in examining her, but at last he nodded.

“She’ll do.”

He turned and drew his dagger. Maeghan saw what he meant to do and tried to call out, but her captor’s hand muffled her cry.

Laird MacLeod swiped the dagger across Bessy’s flank. The old mare reared, whinnying, and then took off across the pasture at a gallop.

The man holding Maeghan chuckled. She kicked his shins again, furious to the point of tears.
I’ll never get home on foot! And what will I do if I can’t find Bessy again?
A horse was valuable, and she couldn’t afford another.

Her problems, though, were about to get much worse. The laird approached her holding a piece of cloth. Maeghan thought nothing of it, focusing instead on how satisfying it would be to kick him between the legs, until he threw a rough hood over her face.

They tied her hands. Maeghan’s panic had abated in the face of her rage, but now the fear returned. She was thrown over a horse. Through the fabric of the hood, she could smell leather and horseflesh, and her head rubbed against what seemed to be Laird MacLeod’s leg, but she had no other knowledge of her surroundings.

She knew neither where they took her nor for how long they rode. It was long enough, though, for her reason to catch up with her fear. The men did not know she was armed. Apparently they thought a mere female could pose no threat to them. She could use that against them.