Highlander Untamed (45 page)

Meg’s hand instinctively covered her wet cheek, soothing the hot sting.

“Bitch,” he spat. “You’ll die for that.” He turned, lifting his claymore in a deadly arc above her head. Her mother moved to defend her, slicing his shoulder with the eating knife. Easily blocking the blow with his forearm, he shoved her mother harshly to the ground. Meg watched in horror as her head landed squarely on a rock, connecting with a dull thud.

Horror rose in her throat. “Mother!” she screamed, rushing to her side. Meg shook her listless body, but her eyes wouldn’t open.
Dear God, no!

She sensed him, or rather smelled his rank stench, approaching behind her. Anger unlike anything she’d ever experienced flooded her with rage. He’d hurt her mother. Grabbing the knife that her mother had dropped, Meg turned on him, surprising him for a moment. She stabbed him again, this time aiming for his neck. But he was too tall, and without leverage, she managed only to nick him.

She’d lost her advantage.

A vile expletive ripped from his mouth. She felt his enormous dirty hands on her as he grabbed her and tossed her to the ground. His hard black eyes fixed on her. A sneer curled his lip, revealing coarse brown teeth. Shivering with revulsion, she huddled in a ball as he started toward her.

“I’m going to enjoy this, you little hellcat.”

Meg scooted back in the mud, but he kept coming. Laughing. She could feel the heavy pounding of her heart in her chest. She glanced around, but there was no one to come to her aid. Those who remained of father’s men were locked in their own battles. She grabbed fistfuls of mud in her hands and tried tossing it in his eyes, but it only made him more furious.

They couldn’t die. What would happen to Ian? She felt the hot prickle of tears in her eyes. Without Meg and her mother, there was no one to protect him.
Think,
she told herself.
Use your head.
But the logic and reasoning she’d always relied on failed her. There was no escape.

In the black glint of his merciless eyes, Meg saw only death.

Please,
she breathed.

And in the skip of two long heartbeats, the answer to her prayer exploded through the trees on a fearsome black warhorse.

A knight. Nay, a warrior. Not in shining armor, but in the yellow
cotun
dotted with bits of mail that identified him as a chieftain—though his size alone would have set him apart. Even without his padded war coat, Meg knew he would be one of the largest men she’d ever seen. Tall and muscular, with a chest like a broad shield. As if forged from steel, every inch of him looked hard and forbidding.

And dangerous.

A trickle of fear slid down her spine. For a moment, Meg wondered whether she’d merely exchanged one villain for another.

Their eyes met and held. She gasped, startled by the most crystalline blue eyes she’d ever beheld, set in a face of rugged masculinity partially hidden beneath the heavy stubble of a week-old beard.

The entire exchange lasted only an instant, but she quickly read the absolute command in his gaze. A look that was oddly reassuring despite his ferocity.

For the first time she noticed that he was not alone; perhaps half a dozen men had ridden in behind him. A more fearsome band of warriors she could not imagine. To a one they were strong, well muscled, and utterly ruthless looking.
Broken men,
she knew with an instinctive certainty. Men without land or a clan who roamed the Highlands as outlaws. Yet for some reason, they did not inspire her fear. Her eyes returned to the warrior. Because of their leader? she wondered.

With no more than a tilt of his head and the dart of his eyes, the warrior issued his orders. His men moved as a unit, swiftly taking their positions with the discipline of Roman centurions and an ease that belied their rough appearance.

Despite their lesser numbers, Meg knew without a doubt that the tide of battle had just turned. This man would not be defeated. Only a fool would challenge him.

With his men in position, the warrior headed directly for her. Finally realizing that something was wrong, her attacker glanced over his shoulder. The horrible laughing stopped. Taking advantage of the distraction, Meg ran to her mother’s side, gently pulling her back toward the trees, nearly sobbing with relief to see that the color had returned to her cheeks and her eyes had begun to flutter. All the while, she kept her eye on the man who was their savior.

With one hand reaching over his shoulder he drew an enormous claymore from the baldric slung across his back as if it weighed no more than a feather, though the blade alone would have reached to her chin. Still using only one hand, he raised it high above his head, wielding the weapon with remarkable ease, and landed a heavy blow to the ribs of her attacker. Meg heard the crunch of bone as the villain crumpled to the ground.

After leaping off his horse, the warrior pulled a dirk from the scabbard at his waist, and unhesitatingly drew his blade across her tormentor’s throat. Relief washed over her. She should regret the loss of life, but she could not. Their eyes met, and she felt a connection so strong, it startled her.

“Thank you,” she mouthed, too shaken to sound the words.

He acknowledged her gratitude with a nod. Then, with a fierce war cry—the words in Erse, which she could not make out—he raised his sword and charged headlong into the fury of the battle, wielding the blade with deadly finesse and accuracy, cutting down all who stood in his path.

“
W
hat are you waiting for, MacLeod? Aren’t you going to kiss the bride?”

Rory tensed. Cheeks flaming, Isabel stared at her toes, the tips of her silver slippers just peeking out from below the embroidered edge of her gown.

“Aye,” he said, slipping a finger under her chin. “A kiss to seal our vows.”

Slowly, he lowered his mouth, pausing for an instant to inhale her flowery scent before his lips touched hers. He almost moaned as the rush of desire flooded his body with heat.
Dear God,
she tasted sweet.

He lingered, the urge to deepen the kiss primal. He wanted to draw her into his arms and crush her full breasts against his hard chest. To feel the shape of her hips as she pressed against his heavy groin.

Yet somehow he held back.

For the first time in his life, Rory MacLeod—a man who’d faced scores of fearsome warriors on the battlefield and driven his enemies to their knees with terror—knew alarm.

“
Highlander Untamed
envelops the reader in a rich tapestry of passion and adventure. In this compelling, beautifully written debut novel, Monica McCarty brings Highland Scotland to life in all its glory with feuding clans, ancient secrets, and a pair of star-crossed lovers you’ll root for even as you wonder how they can ever find their happy ending.”

—T
RACY
G
RANT
, author of
Secrets of a Lady

Highlander Untamed
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A Ballantine Books Mass Market Original

Copyright © 2007 by Monica McCarty

Excerpt from
Highlander Unmasked
copyright © 2007 by Monica McCarty

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

B
ALLANTINE
and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming mass market edition of
Highlander Unmasked
by Monica McCarty. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

eISBN: 978-0-345-50010-6

www.ballantinebooks.com

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