Highland Savage. Hannah HowellЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter One

      Scotland

      Spring 1481

      His robes itched. Lucas gritted his teeth against the urge to throw them off and vigorously scratch every inch of his body he could reach. He did not know how his cousin Matthew endured wearing the things day in and day out. Since the man had happily dedicated his life to the service of God, Lucas did not think Matthew deserved such an excruciating penance. A man willing to sacrifice so much for God ought to able to do so in more comfortable garb.

      “This may have been a bad idea, Eachann,” Lucas murmured to his mount as he paused on a small rise to stare down at the village of Dunlochan.

      His big brown gelding snorted and began to graze on the grass at his hooves.

      “Weel, there is nay turning back now. Nay, I am but suffering a moment of uncertainty and it shames me. I have just ne’er been verra skilled in subterfuge, aye? ’Tis a blunt mon I am and this shall require me to be subtle and sly. But, ’tis nay a worry for I have been practicing.”

      Lucas frowned at his horse and sternly told himself that the animal only sounded as if it had just snickered. On the other hand, if the animal could understand what he said, snickering would probably be an appropriate response. Yet, he had no choice. He needed revenge. It was a hunger inside him that demanded feeding. It was not something he could ask his family to risk themselves for, either, although they had been more than willing to do so. That willingness was one reason he had had to slip away under cover of night, telling no one where he was going, not even his twin.

      This was his fight and his alone. Surrounded by the strong, skilled fighting men of his clan, he knew he would feel deprived of satisfying the other need he had. He needed to prove to himself that his injuries had not left him incapable of being the warrior he had been before he had been beaten. He needed to defeat the men who had tried to destroy him and defeat them all by himself. His family had not fully understood that need. They had not fully understood his need to work so hard, so continuously, to regain his skills after he had recovered from the beating either. He knew the praise they had given him as he had slowly progressed from invalid to fighting man had, in part, been an attempt to stop him from striving so hard to regain his former abilities, to overcome the stiffness and pain in his leg. He desperately needed to see that he was as good as he had been, that he had not been robbed of the one true strength he had. He had to prove himself worthy of being the heir to Donncoill.

      “Artan would understand,” he said, stroking Eachann’s strong neck as he slowly rode down the hill toward the village.

      He felt a pang of lingering grief. His twin had his own life now, one separate from the one they had shared since the womb. Artan had a wife, his own lands, and a family of his own. Lucas was happy for his twin yet he was still grieved by the loss of the other half of himself. In his heart Lucas knew he and Artan could never be fully separated but now Artan shared himself with others as he had only ever shared himself with Lucas. It would take some getting used to.

      “And I have no one.”

      Lucas grimaced. He sounded like a small sulky child yet that feeling of being completely alone was one he could not shake. It disgusted him, but he knew part of it was that he had lost not only Artan; he had lost Katerina. She had betrayed him and did not deserve his grief, yet it lingered. No other woman could banish the emptiness left by her loss. No other woman could ease the coldness left by her vicious betrayal. He could still see her watching as he was beaten nigh unto death. She had made no sound, no move to save him. She had not even shed a tear.

      He