The Highlander Steals a Virgin (Highland Surrender #1)

Chapter 1

MURDOCH CASTLE

Shouting voices pulled Amara from the haze of her thoughts. She had been sitting in the sunroom, a half-sewn tapestry in her lap. She hadn’t really been thinking about anything in particular, just her thoughts gathering wool, when the commotion roused her.

Next, there was the sound of pounding boots in the corridor just outside the chamber.

Amara sighed with boredom, set her sewing aside, and stood.

She took just a moment to check her appearance in the faded looking glass that sat on the ground in the corner of the sunroom, making sure her long blonde hair was secured tightly in a thick plait, before leaving the chamber to find out what all the uproar was about.

She nearly got run over by one of the Murdoch guards when she stepped into the hallway. He skidded to a stop, his hands reflexively going to her shoulders to steady himself and to make sure she didn’t fall.

“Pardon, me lady!” he gasped breathlessly.

Patrick. His name was Patrick, she remembered. He was newly appointed to the guards, and from what little she knew of him, he was a nice enough man.

“What goes here?” she asked, swinging her arm out for emphasis.

“We captured an intruder,” he gasped. “One of the O’Donnell men.”

Amara’s eyes widened in surprise. Instantly, Rhys’s visage swam before her eyes and her heart started to pound. “What?” she asked, then, “Who?”

Patrick shrugged his thin shoulders. “I’m nae sure.

He was caught just before dawn tryin’ to cross the northern boundary.

” He took a deep breath, then started talking again, his words coming faster and faster.

“Said he was alone, but I heard he was well armed. Wouldnae speak a word, though. He’s bein’ held in the old cellar. ”

Amara had barely thanked the lad before she’d spun on her slippered heel and rushed down the corridor toward the old cellar. Cook stared at her aghast as she burst into the kitchen, then out the back entrance door. She made it outside just in time to see guards taking the prisoner down the stairs.

The man was broad, but not in the same way that she remembered the O’Donnell heir to be.

And then, he looked up. His sharp gaze meeting Amara’s and she instantly recognized him.

It wasn’t Rhys. It was the man who had burst into the great hall during the feast six years ago.

The one that called her father a murderer.

She faced her father’s accuser with a frown, and didn’t dare look away.

She even let her chin tilt upward slightly so that she could look down her nose at him.

He too had not torn his eyes from hers either, and she watched as the man’s face creased.

Only when the top of his head had disappeared from the doorway did she leave.

Amara knew her father had not murdered Laird O’Donnell, but that was what the other clan believed. That night had been the worst of her life. So many of her clan members were slaughtered. Her mother had died. And for some reason, she lost her father, too.

He didn’t die like her mother, but he’d become distant enough. It was as if he couldn’t even bear to look at her. At first, she’d thought it was just his grief, that it would get better in time. But all these years later, his withdrawal of her seemed even worse.

Now, he looks through me, as if I’m nae even here.

She went in search of him to ask about their prisoner, but it took quite a while to find him.

Her father wasn’t in his study, his bed chamber, the library, or even the dining hall.

She finally found him in the south wing talking to some of his men.

They looked up when they heard Amara approach. The laird did not.

“Faither, I just —” she began, but he cut her off.

“Nae now.”

The two men looked at her with compassion and understanding. All of Murdoch castle had seen how the laird had been treating his only child. Shame heated her cheeks and burned her throat, but she didn’t turn away. Not this time. She was tired of being ignored by the only family she had left.

She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “Faither,” she said again. “I wanted to talk to ye about the prisoner.”

His head snapped in her direction, and he pinned Amara with angry emerald eyes.

“He is none of yer concern,” the laird barked. “Daenae go near him. Do ye understand?”

She nodded but her lips tightened into a stubborn frown. “What are ye goin’ to do with him?”

Laird Murdoch waved an impatient hand, and the two guards nodded and left father and daughter alone.

“’Tis none of yer concern, Amara.”

That was another difference. He always called her by her name now. He used to call her daughter or lass or some nonsense love name, but now he only referred to her as Amara.

“Is he…” she paused, clasping her hands together in front of her body. “Is he the one who killed Maither?”

The laird’s eyes hardened. “I doubt we’ll ever ken who ended yer maither’s life,” he said sourly. “Best nae to dwell on it.”

“Best nae to…?” Amara stared at him incredulously. “Ye're nae lookin’ for her murderer?”

“’Tis nae worth it.”

Amanda couldn’t help it. She gaped at her father as if he had suddenly turned into a wood sprite and flew out the window.

“Faither! Surely ye daenae mean that!”

He glared at her, his eyes cold and hard. “How do ye figure I’d find out?” he demanded, his tone harsh and impatient. “Ye think the new laird will tell me? Or any other cursed O’Donnell?”

“Nay. Nae at first, anyhow,” she allowed. “But ye have yer ways. I’ve heard stories of how ye got men to talk when nay one else could.”

“Let the matter go, Amara.” This time, his voice was low and all the more worrisome because of it. “Yer maither is dead. Naught will bring her back.”

Tears pricked the back of her eyes, but Amara stood there a moment longer to stare at the man who, at one time, had loved her mother more than anything in the world. Or at least she’d thought he had.

How could he just let her death go unpunished? Why was he nae looking, even now, for the person who took her from our lives?

“Be on yer way,” he said then, drawing Amara out of her thoughts. “I’ve important work to tend to,” he said blandly before he turned to leave her.

Because I’m nae important.

The unspoken message was loud and clear. She wouldn’t cry though. One thing her father admired was strength, and she wasn’t about to let his callous words hurt her again.

“Very well, me laird,” Amara hissed bitterly at her father’s back with a slight bow. And without waiting to see if her venom had landed on her target, she threw her skirts behind her and stormed away from him.

Amara floated through the castle with a new purpose in mind. Her anger and the anticipation caused her limbs to shake slightly with a tense excitement, but she managed to wait until she was outside before she started running. Her slippers barely staying on as her feet led her to the stables.

When the stable boy tried to assist her, she waved him off with a hand and a small smile. The need to get away from her father, to feel the wind in her hair before she burst into tears was too strong to wait for anyone to help her. Besides, she didn’t need a saddle, not for her mare.

Bonnet, as she’d named her mare when she’d been a child, sensed her anxiousness and danced a little, “That’s right, lass.

Just ye and me and the wind today,” she said as she led the mare from the stable doors.

As soon as Bonnet’s blonde tail crossed the threshold of the stable doorway, Amara was mounted and riding away from the castle.

She’d been in such a rush to leave Murdoch castle, and her father, Amara had forgotten to grab a shawl. The cool air seeped into her bones, and she shivered. It was worth it, though. She couldn’t have stayed in his presence a moment longer, not without letting anger or hurt get the best of her.

Amara rode into the woods, and Bonnet knew exactly where to go.

Just ahead, there was a small clearing blanketed in heather.

It was her favorite place to go when she wanted to be alone.

She’d been there so frequently since her mother died that her mare instinctively trotted to a thick tree and stood there, waiting for Amara to dismount.

Instead of tying the reins around the wide trunk, like she’d done so many times before, Amara simply ran her hands through the mare’s mane and let Bonnet graze through the heather.

The clearing was quiet. Lush green grass was heavily dotted with purple heather. It smelled like moss and old secrets. Familiar and comforting.

Her slippers didn’t make a sound as she walked among the heather.

Why has me faither forsaken me?

What did I do to make him hate me so?

Maybe hate was a strong word, but that’s how it felt to Amara. He never looked at her with love or tenderness anymore. Whenever his eyes fell on her, they were either filled with disappointment, disgust, or anger.

Does he blame me for Maither’s death?

If she hadn’t pulled away from her mother to wipe the blood out of her eyes, they wouldn’t have been separated. Maybe her mother would still be alive if Amara hadn’t been so weak. But her father hadn’t been there to see that transpire, or at least she thought he hadn’t been.

What if he saw that happen? Does he think I’m a coward?

Suddenly, a sinister laugh echoed across the small clearing, yanking Amara from her thoughts. She whirled at the sound, her mouth going dry as she spotted two men wearing the blue, green, and yellow colors of the O’Donnell Clan.

One of the men was tall and muscular with short dark brown hair.

He’d probably be handsome if he wasn’t scarring the wits out of her right now.

The other man, shorter and stockier with bright red hair drawn back from his eyes with a leather tie, wasn’t as handsome.

He kept his eyes on her as he took a drink from a flask.