HIGHLAND PROMISE (THE SONS OF GREGOR MACLEOD)

Chapter One

The Highlands, Scotland...Twenty Years Later

Darach MacKenzie wanted to kill the Frasers. Slowly.

Lying on the forest floor, he peered through the leaves as his enemy rode single-file along the trail at the bottom of the ravine. Midway down the line, a woman, tied belly-down over a sway-backed horse, appeared to be unconscious. Rope secured her wrists, and a gag filled her mouth. The tips of her long, brown hair dragged on the muddy ground.

In front of her, Laird Fraser rode a white stallion that tossed its head and rubbed against the trees in an attempt to unseat him. The Laird flailed his whip, cutting the stallion's flanks in retaliation.

To the front and behind them rode ten more men, heavily armed.

The King had ordered the MacKenzies and Frasers to cease hostilities two years before, and much trouble would come of helping the lass, let alone killing the Laird. Still, to do nothing made Darach's bile rise.

"You canna rescue her without being seen."

The whispered words caused Darach's jaw to set in a stubborn line. He refused to look at his foster-brother Lachlan, who'd spoken. "Maybe 'tis not the lass I want to rescue. Did you not see the fine mount under the Fraser filth?" Yet his gaze never left the swing of the lass' hair, her wee hands tied together.

"Fraser would no more appreciate you taking his horse than his woman."

"Bah! She's not his woman. Not by choice, I'll wager."

They'd been reaving, a time-honored tradition the King had not mentioned in his command for peace, and could easily escape into the forest unseen with their goods. They'd perfected the procedure to a fine art, sneaking on and off Fraser land for years with bags of wheat, barrels of mead, sheep, and horses.

Never before had they stolen a woman.

He glanced at Lachlan, seeing the same anger and disgust he felt reflected in his foster-brother's eyes. "You take the stallion, the Laird willna recognize you. I'll get the lass."

Lachlan nodded and moved into position while Darach signaled his men with the distinctive trill of the dipper – three short bursts, high and loud-pitched. The MacKenzies spread out through the heavy growth, a nearby creek muffling any sound.

The odds for a successful attack were in their favor. Ten Fraser warriors against Darach the Laird of Clan MacKenzie, his foster-brother Lachlan the Laird of Clan MacKay, and three of Darach's warriors: Oslow, Brodie, and Gare. Only two to one, and they'd have the element of surprise.

As his enemy entered the trap, Darach mounted his horse, drew his sword, and let out a second sharp trill. The men burst through the trees, their horses hooves pounding.

Two men rode between Darach and the lass. Big, dirty men. Men who might have touched her. He plunged his sword into the arm of one of them, almost taking it off. The man crumpled to the ground with a howl. The second was a better fighter but not good enough, and Darach sliced open the man's side. Blood and flesh spilled out. He keeled over, clutching his body.

Further ahead, Lachlan struggled to control the wild-eyed stallion. The Fraser Laird lay on the ground between them, and Darach resisted the urge to stomp the devil. He would leave the Laird alive even though he burned to run his sword through the man's black heart. His sister, too, if she were but alive.

In front of Darach, the mare holding the lass thrashed around, looking for a means of escape. The ropes that secured the girl loosened, and she slid down the beast's belly.

Just as her fingers touched the ground, he leaned over and pulled her to safety. Dark, silky hair tumbled over his linen lèine. When the mare jostled them, he slapped it on the rump. The animal sprang forward, missing Fraser by inches.