Highlander's Heart (Clan Matheson Book 2) by Joanne Wadsworth Page B

to have a battle on your hands seeing to her release, but I’ll be right by your side as you do.” Tavish leaned his leather-clad backside on the stone windowsill, the forested hills rising high in the distance beyond the glass.
    “I’m prepared for whatever battle it takes.” In a firm line, he ran his blade from his ear to his chin, right side first then his left. “Is Julia available to sit with Layla in her chamber while I speak to Donnan? I don’t want my mate anywhere near him.”
    “Julia’s visiting kin at the fae village.” Tavish tapped his head. “I can ask her to return. She rode out so she can be back within twenty minutes or so.”
    “Definitely ask her to come. You and I will wait with Layla until she arrives.” He swiped his blade down his neck and in the small space between his nose and lips then once done, splashed the remaining suds away and dabbed his jaw dry with a drying cloth. With his dagger sheathed, he slung his bag over his shoulder and opened the door. He’d already been away from her for far too long, itched badly to return.
    Down the corridor, he strode with Tavish at his side then outside Layla’s door, he knocked and waited.
    No answer.
    “Layla?” He opened her door and the fresh breeze blew in through the open window and ruffled the thick burgundy curtains over her canopied bed. No Layla, not even a trace of her intoxicating wild cherry scent. “I told her to stay here.”
    “I didn’t see her downstairs, or pass her on my way upstairs, so she can’t have been gone from her chamber for too long.” Tavish pulled his padded cotun on, palmed the hilt of his side-belted sword. “Gregor said she’s always been fiercely independent, and certainly not very good at following orders whenever he issued them.”
    “Independence I like, except not right now.” He hauled his war coat from his bag, donned it then left his belongings on top of her wooden trunk before bounding downstairs to the great hall, Tavish one step behind him. He’d never allow her to talk to Donnan on her own. Not on his life.
    The massive vaulted room held a sweeping crown of rafters rising to an impressive height. Tapestries of hunting and landscape scenes hung with pride around the vast room filled with a boisterous and hungry crowd. He searched the hall teeming with warriors wearing both MacDonald and Matheson plaids, but couldn’t catch a glimpse of the one woman he needed to find. “I don’t see her. Do you, Tavish?”
    “I’ve got nothing, and worse, I don’t see Donnan MacDonald either. The man’s over six feet and wearing a great plaid, claymore sheathed in a baldric over his back. Dark brown hair that sits halfway down his back with war braids on each side, plus a scar cutting through his right eyebrow.”
    “Damn it.” He couldn’t see anyone of that description about either. He weaved around the perimeter of the hall, in and amongst the mingling warriors. Trestle tables overflowed with platters of bread, meats and cheeses, and other savory dishes. A serving girl with an apron tied around her waist approached with a tray of tankards in hand and he caught her elbow. “I’m looking for Layla, Effie. Have you seen her?”
    “Aye, she left to take a walk with her betrothed.” The lass motioned toward the front door. “If you hurry, you’ll catch her.”
    He’d do more than catch her. Once he found his mate, he’d tie her to his very side, in every possible way. Completing the bond with her had now become imperative. No more could he wait.
    * * * *
    Layla climbed the trail leading up into the hills along the same pine-needle covered pathway she’d not long traversed down this morning with Tor, only this time she walked with Donnan at her back. Aye, allowing Tor to speak to Donnan wasn’t a possibility, not when she’d been the one to accept the betrothal and since she’d gotten herself into this mess, she would be the one to get herself out of it, no matter what Tor wished or