Tempting the Enemy Lairds

Chapter 1

The bagpipes cut through the otherwise somber atmosphere beneath the gray skies as the long line of men, members from five different clans, marched down the last leg of the journey and pooled by the graveside of one Quinn MacFarlane.

As he led the procession, Lachlan MacFarlane’s boots sank into the ground that was still soggy from yesterday’s rains.

Beyond the expansive graveyard, the view was breathtaking and even in his dark mood, Lachlan took a moment to appreciate it.

From the plateau, he could see the land of three different clans, two of which were responsible for the death of his beloved cousin.

A light fog clung to the acres of woods, farmlands, and villages and only his keep, a large and proud stone castle that he was proud to call home, rose up and stood against the weather.

For the first time in years, the Fentons and the Brisbanes stood side-by-side without causing bloodshed.

Once, they and the MacFarlanes were a feared alliance, but now Lachlan knew that at least one of those clans was responsible for the arrow that had ended Quinn’s life.

He just wasn’t sure where to put the blame.

After months of playing peacekeeper to the violent feud, enough was enough. This morning, they would mourn and this evening, Lachlan would make his decision known. Either the fighting ended or he would take steps to strip Errol Fenton and Gair Brisbane from power.

Even now, he could feel the hatred simmering at his back, but he didn’t bother to turn around.

The two feuding lairds were honor bound to attend the funeral, even though one of them was responsible for the murder.

They were surrounded by two other clans, the Cunninghams and the Donahues, who were also members of an alliance.

Anyone who dared to start a battle today would swiftly meet their end.

The peace would continue today and for another two days in honor of Quinn and Lachlan would make sure that it didn’t start back up again.

Father Shaw waited until the bagpipes quieted before he launched into the funeral rites. When he paused, the clan’s seanchaidh, or historian, stepped forward.

“Quinn MacFarlane, son of Eanrulg, grandson of Hume, great-grandson of Camhlaidh, and kin to Lachlan, Calder, Balfur, and Elig MacFarlane. A direct descendent of our clan’s beginnings and a warrior and hunter who brought down the great wolf that took the lives of three of our children.

Quinn also fought in the bloodied battle to keep our beloved safe and saved the life of our noble Laird. ”

There were murmurs in the crowd as the historian continued to list Quinn’s many feats, but Lachlan was distracted by the reminder that Quinn had indeed saved his life when Lachlan had foolishly slipped away and joined the battle against invaders trying to take control of the Highlands.

Five years younger than his cousin, Lachlan had always privately thought that his father should have chosen Quinn to inherit the lairdship, but Quinn had never seemed interested.

He had a wilder side that enjoyed the hunt and the fighting.

Too often, he told Lachlan that he would not be tamed as laird.

The low hum behind him turned to an outright chuckle and Lachlan could only assume that the seanchaidh was now going over Quinn’s additional conquests—the women who fell happily enough into his bed although none had stayed long enough to become his wife.

Finally, Father Shaw took back over and Lachlan’s throat tightened when it was over.

As a cold fury snapped inside of him, he turned and led the procession back through the villages toward the impressive MacFarlane keep.

For three days, the castle would host the neighboring clans and their families during the funeral celebrations while the other visitors who stayed would scatter among the land.

Many brought food with them, so Lachlan was not worried about feeding them and those that couldn’t find housing would bed in the stables or erect encampments in the fields.

It would be chaos, although, privately, Lachlan knew that Quinn would have adored it.

The women of the village and the female visitors lined the path to the keep, all of them nodding in reverence to the brilliant man they’d lost today.

Maggie, his mother, and Freya, his sister, stood closest to the castle.

Freya especially held grief in her eyes.

She and Quinn had been particularly close and she was taking his death hard.

She had wept since the moment they’d learned of his death, but she’d pulled herself together today and nodded at her brother with trembling lips.

Next to her stood Kenzy, the sister of one of his warriors.

For the past several months, he’d felt the pressure to marry and produce an heir.

Kenzy was the most logical choice although he barely knew the woman.

At least now, he could put the decision off.

Traditionally speaking, he wouldn’t expect to marry during the three-month mourning period of his cousin.

Inside the keep, his father immediately pulled him into an empty chamber and closed the door.

Calder had stepped down two years prior when a battle injury took most of the strength out of his right leg and left him bed-ridden for months.

Lachlan had taken over during that time and when his father never recovered fully, he stayed in power.

His father had accepted his fate and even seemed to enjoy his older years without the pressure of protecting a clan. He was an infinite source of wisdom.

“Lachlan,” he said in a low voice. “I know that ye are hurting, but ye must not let that anger show during the celebration. This is a time to bring the other clans closer together.”

“Aye,” Lachlan said shortly. “And the Cunninghams and Donahues are more than welcome to enjoy our hospitality, but Errol Fenton and Gair Brisbane will not leave this keep until we’ve established an end to the feud.

Quinn thought he could broker peace and he is dead for his efforts.

They are both lucky that I am not joining in the fighting. ”

His father watched him intently with his aging eyes. For years, Calder MacFarlane had been a hard but fair Laird. He’d told Lachlan that he would set aside his own desires for the good of the clan. That’s exactly what Lachlan was doing now.

“Tonight,” Calder started.

“Tonight, I will be a gracious host to the four neighboring clans, but in the morn, we will begin the negotiations. If they doona submit, then I will go to the king and lay claim to our vengeance.”

“And if ye do find a way to broker peace? Will ye set aside yer anger?”

Personally, there was no way that Lachlan could forgive, but since he didn’t know which clan was responsible for Quinn’s death, he wouldn’t take action.

For the good of his clan, he knew that the alliance of five was the only thing that kept their lands from being raided by others who wanted access to the river.

If the Fentons and Brisbanes could cease their fighting, then Lachlan would set aside his need for revenge. “Aye,” he said shortly.

There was a soft knock on the door and when it opened, Freya walked in and tried to smile at them both. “Father, may I have a moment with Lachlan?”

“Aye. I will see ye both in the hall soon.” After kissing his daughter, Calder walked out and left them alone.

Lachlan sighed and eyed his sister. Freya was younger than him by almost a decade.

In looks, they shared their father’s dark, thick hair and their mother’s flashing green eyes.

Normally a sweet and soft-spoken young woman, she’d recently become argumentative and difficult.

When a previous marriage agreement fell through, Freya staunchly refused to entertain the idea of marrying another MacFarlane and Lachlan began to see why.

She seemed to harbor feelings for Gair Brisbane, Laird of the Brisbane clan.

Even during the feud, they’d hosted the clan leader a number of times and at some point, Freya had developed what Lachlan prayed was just a passing fancy.

He couldn’t agree to wed his sister and Gair while there was still so much bloodshed, but his fears were validated when she aggressively defended Brisbane declaring that he and his men would never have taken Quinn’s life.

Although he didn’t have proof, Lachlan was inclined to agree.

Brisbane and Quinn knew each other well and were even once considered friends.

Gair would never have murdered Quinn in cold blood and he wouldn’t have mistaken him for a Fenton in the heat of battle.

Errol Fenton, on the other hand, was a snake.

Calder had told his son that he had always suspected that Errol had killed his own brother to be the Laird.

He would not hesitate to kill Quinn hoping that Lachlan would finally join the fighting.

“Freya,” Lachlan said in a tired voice. “If ye are here to defend Brisbane…”

“I am not. I’m here to tell ye that we have an additional guest. We have no more rooms available except for the chamber adjoining yours.” It was the chamber that would have been given to Lachlan’s wife when he did marry. “I need yer permission to house her there.”

“Her?”

“Errol Fenton.” She said his name stiffly and with unusual hatred. “He has brought his daughter with him. Sloane. I have made it clear that if ye should approve the arrangement, it doesna mean anything, although I doona believe it matters. She seems a wee bit touched in the head.”

Sloane Fenton. Lachlan knew that Errol had a daughter only a year or two older than Freya, but he’d always kept her hidden away whenever Lachlan was forced to travel to Fenton’s lands. It surprised him to know that Errol had brought Sloane here.

“’Tis fine,” Lachlan said finally. “No one will think anything of it during the chaos. Why do ye say that she is touched?”