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  Ian glared at her. His nostrils widened, but he held his tongue. His silence was as much an admittance of guilt as any words he might have spoken.

  “If the child she carries is yours, then ye will act accordingly and marry her.”

  “Nay!” Vanna sat up taller in the bed. Her slender brows wrinkled with upset. “I am marrying Laird Sutherland.”

  Effie snorted. The girl was delusional if she thought for one moment Effie would let her sink her claws back into Magnus.

  “I cannae marry her,” Ian protested. “I will be a disgrace to my clan.”

  “Ye will be a disgrace to your clan either way.” If Ian thought she would keep this secret, he was sorely mistaken.

  “Damn ye, Effie!” Ian raked his fingers through his copper-colored hair. “We will lose the alliance.”

  The web Ian wove ran a jagged path, but the alliance was far from lost. Beneath the horror of this transgression lay a victory for Effie.

  I’m eager to announce our union. It was Magnus’ words as well as his image in her mind that empowered her to stand up to Ian. “My marriage to Laird Sutherland will secure the alliance and protect our borders, but there will be no war, Ian. Our families have seen enough bloodshed.”

  Ian said nothing more, but Effie knew this battle was far from over. He wouldn’t rest until he’d avenged Da’s death.

  For now, Effie wanted rid of them. “Take Vanna and go home. I dinnae wish to see either of ye until spring.”

  With her head held high, she raised her skirts and exited the guest solar with Jocelyn and Sylvie at her sides. They followed her like the queen’s minions down the stairwell and through the main corridor toward the Great Hall.

  Jocelyn was the first to break the silence. “What do ye intend to do now, m’lady?”

  Effie smiled at both of them. “I’m going to find my betrothed.”

  Chapter Eight

  Rage filled Magnus with such venom, he was certain he would choke on it. He’d never hated himself more than he did this day. The Devil of Dunrobin had finally paid for his lecherous ways and there was naught he could do but wallow in his suffering—and fight.

  A morning sun warmed the top of his head as he circled one of his warriors inside the training ring. The side of Magnus’ face stung and his ribs felt bruised and broken, but he didn’t look half as bad as his other kinsmen standing outside the stone boundary. With bloodied noses and colored eyes, they cheered on his current opponent.

  Gunner slowly stood upright and drew his sleeve over his bloody mouth. The man stood a head taller than Magnus and was twice as wide, but he was no match for Magnus this day. None of his warriors had been.

  “Where’s your fight, warrior?” Magnus taunted, welcoming the fray. “Come at me, ye bluidy ox.”

  Gunner snarled, raised his broadsword and charged Magnus like the bull he was. Gunner brought his blade down on Magnus, but he blocked the strike. The clash of steel shrieked through his ears, but didn’t deafen the memory of Effie’s cries.

  Blood rushed through his veins, his head, his heart. Sweat chilled his skin, but his fury remained thick and unyielding like a disease he would never be rid of. He widened his stance and thrust the tip of his sword, but stopped a hairsbreadth short of Gunner’s chest when the dunderheid failed to block.

  The man lurched back, fell flat onto his backside and dropped his weapon like all those before him. His surrender only provoked Magnus’ temper.

  “Ye will die if ye cannae wield your sword, man. Stand up and face me.”

  “Cease!” The order came from the distance, but was loud, demanding and female.

  His men separated, forming an aisle, and out of the masses of hulk and muscle appeared the woman who’d forever changed his world. Her presence both weakened his knees and turned his nerves to taut strings of iron. He was cautious, yet a part of him dared to hope she was not completely lost to him.

  Effie pushed her wild red locks from her face, then stepped inside the training ring and narrowed her eyes on Gunner. “Bring me your weapon, warrior.”

  The man obeyed quickly, setting his sword in Effie’s palm.

  She then turned furious green eyes on Magnus. “Is this how ye behave when ye dinnae get your way?”

  Magnus couldn’t begin to know her intentions, but he answered her nonetheless. “I have suffered a great loss.”

  “And this gives ye the right to treat your kinsmen like your enemy?” She circled him, dragging the tip of the sword through the dirt.

  “We are training.” Confused, Magnus shook his head. “Why have ye come here, Effie?”

  “It seems I’ve come to save your kinsmen from your wicked temper.” Effie made a sweeping gesture toward the keep. “Ye are dismissed. All of ye.”

  Uncle Frazier chuckled and motioned for Magnus’ seneschal to assist him. “Ye heard the woman. We are dismissed.”

  Magnus’ brows popped up. “Ye are not dismissed until I say ye are dismissed.”

  “Go!” Effie hollered at his men, which sent them scurrying like scolded bairns. She then rest the broadsword atop her shoulder and shot Magnus a look he’d not yet seen her wear. She cocked her head and arced one brow high above her eye. “If ye are intent on dying, then I shall behead ye here and now and be done with it.”

  Magnus blinked at her, completely perplexed by her audacity. Then he saw it—a slight twinkle in her eyes. The corner of her lips rose into a half-smirk, but his foul mood prevented him from sharing her merriment. “Ye willnae behead me. I’m the father of your sister’s unborn child.”

  “The child is not yours, Magnus.” A smile lifted her lips briefly, but quickly vanished when she added, “’Tis Ian’s.” She proceeded to tell him the whole sordid tale, which only further incensed him. He’d been a fool for falling victim to Ian’s scheme. Not only was he repulsed by their debauchery, he felt nigh ill knowing he’d lain with Effie’s sister.

  “So ye see, m’laird, ’tis up to me to secure the alliance between our clans.”

  “What are ye saying?” Hope quivered in his gut.

  “I intend to take ye to husband.” Her words sang through his ears like an angel’s hymn.

  His heart rejoiced. His limbs trembled. He wanted naught more than to wrap his arms around her and kiss the color from her lips.

  “But first, I need to know if ye are worthy of the position.” She paused briefly in thought, then pointed the tip of her blade at his chest and demanded, “Get on your knees, warrior.”

  She was toying with him now, but he knelt before her, eager to appease.

  “Ye will be faithful to me ’til death.” As she walked a full circle around him, she brushed her fingertips across the nape of his neck.

  That slight touch streaked a tingle up his spine, but he wanted more. He wanted the charge of lightning she evoked in him.

  When he failed to respond, she grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back. “Vow it!”

  “Aye, I vow it. I want no other.”

  “Ye will respect me as your equal.” She stepped in front of him and waited for his avowal.

  “Aye, I will.” Desperate to touch her, Magnus reached for her legs, but she flattened the bottom of her boot against his chest and pushed him onto his back.

  She then stood overtop him, straddling his hips. “Ye will not go to war for any reason other than to protect the clan.” She tossed her weapon, then fell atop him. “And ye will love me with your whole heart from this day onward.”

  “I will. I do. I love ye, Effie.” Magnus clutched her skull and kissed her with a passion that inflamed his entire being.

  When he attempted to roll her onto her back, she jerked away from his mouth and added, “And if ye break your vows, I will castrate ye and feed your bollocks to the swine.”

  Magnus laughed at her threat, grabbed the front of her bodice and wrenched her back to his mouth. He relished her sweet taste, the softness of her body, the wild excitement of her hands as they found their way inside his pla
ide.

  She plucked at his nipples and nibbled on the skin beneath his ear. “’Tis a foolish man who laughs in the face of danger.”

  “Think ye I am afraid of ye?” His hands curved over the backs of her warm thighs.

  “If ye knew what I had planned, ye would be afraid. Verra afraid.” Her eyes widened with mischief. She ground her pelvis against his growing erection and bent low to nip his chest.

  His fingertips dug into her soft flesh as his body hardened beneath her. “Do tell.”

  “Tonight, I intend to bind ye to the bed.”

  About the Author

  Multi-published, award-winning author Kimberly Killion was nominated for the romance industry’s highest award of distinction, the RITA® Award. Kimberly is best known for her ability to transport the reader back in time. She pens emotionally charged—albeit sinfully naughty—love scenes and creates strong alpha males who are only as wicked as the women they’re determined to seduce.

  An active member of RWA, PASIC and NINC, Kimberly also teaches graphic design in the Midwest and lives with one husband, two children, three cats and four dozen chickens.

  Kimberly welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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