Loving Her Highland Enemy by Samantha Holt (good books to read in english TXT) 📗

Leana rolled her eyes, curled her hand around the cup of ale and took a long drink, draining the cup until empty and dropping it down with a flourish. Tavish’s eyes crinkled with appreciation.

“Aye, that’s the way, lass!” Bram shouted approvingly.

Her cup didn’t remain empty long. Bram refilled it from the jug, sloshing wine over the edge and onto the wooden table. She wished she hadn’t been forced to sit at the head table, up on the raised dais where she was under everyone’s scrutiny.

And it wasn’t paranoia making her feel under watch. Every interaction she had with Tavish, she felt eyes upon them, as though everyone was holding their breath, waiting to see if they would make the match.

So far, she had played her role poorly. She would have to do better. Maggie said there had been talk of their interaction several days ago on the ramparts and some suggesting no such connection between the Sinclairs and the Macleans could ever be made. If it was considered she thought them to still be the enemy, her plans for revenge would be impossible.

As yet, she’d found no way to get the laird alone nor use the poison she intended for him. She could poison the ale, of course, and simply hope he took a drink, but unlike the laird, she was not willing to harm innocent men and women. If she could gain her revenge, it had to be directed at the laird and the laird alone.

Her stomach gave a twist as Tavish laughed at something his father said. She might have no desire to marry a Maclean, but he was an innocent in all this too and clearly loved his father. She clasped the cup tighter and took another long gulp of ale, closing her eyes and letting the coolness wash over her and sweep away the tangle that was her insides at present.

For so many years, she had pictured taking her revenge. Sometimes, she thought she might get her men to take up arms, other times she imagined sneaking into the laird’s bedchamber and setting a fire—true revenge for what had happened. But the reality was far different. These people didn’t behave like the monsters she’d imagined. They were warm and funny, and had shown nothing but kindness to her.

It could be an act, she reminded herself. After all, they wanted to take over the Sinclairs and ensure Maclean blood ran supreme.

But it was growing hard to keep up her courage—and her defenses.

She glanced around the room. Musicians played from the wooden gallery above, only just audible above the raucous laughter and chatter of the people in attendance at the feast. The ale flowed more freely with each passing moment. Several members of the clan were already deep in their cups, despite being nowhere near the end of the feast. Food was plentiful and delicious, the meat in front of her tender and fragrant.

These were the sort of Yuletides she recalled as a child but had been hard to replicate. They were often a painful reminder of all the lives the clan had lost, even as they tried to rebuild.

She drew in a long breath. If she let herself, she too could get swept away with the merrymaking.

“Are ye enjoying yerself?” Tavish asked, raising his voice over Bram, who began singing along in an incoherent manner to the music.

“Aye,” she answered swiftly, not sure if it was really a lie or not. “Yer clan, um, certainly knows how to celebrate.”

He chuckled. “Aye, that they do.”

He leaned over and sliced the next morsel of meat for her, stabbing it with his knife and offering it out. She held her breath and glanced around. Thankfully most people had ceased paying attention to them a few jugs of ale ago so she let the stiffness in her shoulders ease and took the bite. Tavish watched her as she did so, his gaze never leaving hers until it dropped down to her lips as she moved back. She darted the tip of her tongue out over her bottom lip and saw his eyes darken.

God’s wounds, she should not have done that. Now he looked at her as though she were some tempting morsel too—and a large part of her wished to be devoured.

Swallowing hard, she snapped her gaze away from him and drained the rest of her ale, keeping her attention ahead of her, even while she felt his gaze upon her still. She had not come here to truly make a betrothal with Tavish but why oh why could she not remember that?

Aye, he was handsome, and he seemed to be a good man, but he knew the truth of her and could be dangerous. She needed to be alert at all times and not get drawn in by whatever attraction seemed to be simmering between them.

She was here for one reason, and one reason only, and it certainly had nothing to do with wanting Tavish Maclean.

✽✽✽

A LARGE PART of Tavish longed to grab Leana by the shoulders and shake her, to rattle free the lass he’d known. He saw her every now and then—little flashes in her eyes or slight smiles. Yet she wouldn’t break loose. Even when heat swirled between them and he knew she was having similar thoughts to him.

They’d go well together.

More than well.

Since the moment she stepped off the damned boat, he’d been having heated thoughts about her. They weren’t dissipating even with knowing the truth of her identity. He would be safe to assume so much of her rigidity was to do with this charade, but he’d wager it was deeper too. He’d yet to pass on his concerns about her to his father or uncle and he wasn’t even certain if he would. If he could only get her to confide in him, it would make things a hell of a lot easier.

Perhaps after a goodly amount of ale and some fine food, she’d trust him enough to