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  WITH SEDUCTION IN MIND

  “I prefer the needle to the blade,” Malcolm finally managed to utter.

  Joan nodded. “The loss of blood will make ye feel light headed. Ye need to put something in yer belly besides whiskey.”

  She broke off a piece of bread, spread it with honey, then handed it to him. He stared at the offering, watching a drop of the golden nectar run onto her thumb. Unable to resist, Malcolm grabbed her wrist and licked the honey with the tip of his tongue.

  Joan squealed and snatched her hand away. “Whatever are ye doing?”

  “’Tis a sin to waste such fine food,” he muttered innocently.

  She narrowed her brows and stared at him in disbelief. Malcolm schooled his expression into angelic innocence, doubting he could fool her, but needing to try.

  “If I dinnae know any better, I would swear that ye were trying to seduce me, Malcolm McKenna,” she said, her expression taut.

  “And if I were?”

  Books by Adrienne Basso

  HIS WICKED EMBRACE

  HIS NOBLE PROMISE

  TO WED A VISCOUNT

  TO PROTECT AN HEIRESS

  TO TEMPT A ROGUE

  THE WEDDING DECEPTION

  THE CHRISTMAS HEIRESS

  HIGHLAND VAMPIRE

  HOW TO ENJOY A SCANDAL

  NATURE OF THE BEAST

  THE CHRISTMAS COUNTESS

  HOW TO SEDUCE A SINNER

  A LITTLE BIT SINFUL

  ’TIS THE SEASON TO BE SINFUL

  INTIMATE BETRAYAL

  NOTORIOUS DECEPTION

  SWEET SENSATIONS

  A NIGHT TO REMEMBER

  HOW TO BE A SCOTTISH MISTRESS

  BRIDE OF A SCOTTISH WARRIOR

  THE HIGHLANDER WHO LOVED ME

  NO OTHER HIGHLANDER

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  No Other HIGHLANDER

  ADRIENNE BASSO

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  WITH SEDUCTION IN MIND

  Books by Adrienne Basso

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2017 by Adrienne Basso

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4201-3769-9

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-3770-5

  eISBN-10: 1-4201-3770-0

  For my husband, Rudy

  With much love and thanks for your constant support,

  encouragement, and belief in me,

  for proofreading every manuscript,

  and for being my first—and still—number-one fan!

  Chapter One

  Highlands of Scotland, 1334

  “What is that god-awful smell?” Sir Malcolm McKenna wrinkled his nose and glanced down at his five-year-old daughter, Lileas, who stood at his side in the bailey of McKenna Castle.

  The child sniffed loudly, then turned toward the faithful hound that was her constant companion. “It must be Prince. I think he needs a bath.”

  Hearing his name, the motley beast lifted his ears and cocked his head. Malcolm studied the large dog, yet saw no muck on his fur or paws. However, the hem of his daughter’s gown was dark with filth and he suspected her shoes were even worse. She had clearly been in the stables, a place forbidden to her without permission.

  Malcolm raised a brow. “Prince?”

  “Aye.” Lileas nodded her head enthusiastically. “Cook calls him a mangy, dirty cur when she chases him from the kitchens. But we love him anyway, don’t we, Papa?”

  The little girl smiled broadly at him, looking so like her mother that Malcolm felt a pang of melancholy. His arranged marriage to Margaret Douglas had been brief, and while not unhappy, had hardly been the relationship he sought.

  He had wanted a wife who would challenge and excite him. Who had opinions of her own, was blessed with a sharp mind and high spirits. He wanted the close comradery of love and devotion his parents shared. And passion. Aye, he wanted a woman in his bed who would fire his blood and answer his kisses and caresses with bold ones of her own.

  When they first married, Margaret had been sweet and kind and so eager to please at times it made him feel guilty for not returning her blind devotion. Over time, his lack of overt affection toward her brought on a clinging, almost desperate behavior that further distanced him from his wife.

  She became quick to cry and even quicker to complain. Truth be told, he found his demanding wife exhausting. Perhaps they had wed too young. Perhaps in time he would have found a way to make her happy and in turn learned to give Margaret the love she so desperately craved.

  Alas, he would never know for certain. Margaret had died of a sudden fever when their daughter was barely two years old. He mourned her passing with true emotion, knowing he owed his young wife an unimaginable debt of gratitude, for she had given him the most precious gift of all—a child.

  It was not the son and heir that so many in the clan had hoped and prayed would arrive. In truth, many believed that Margaret had failed in her duty by birthing a daughter. But Malcolm knew they were wrong.

  From the first moment he’d held Lileas’s small, squirming body in his arms, Malcolm felt a rush of emotion so strong it had weakened his knees. To this day, every time he looked into the mischievous face of his daughter, his heart swelled with love.

  He could not imagine his life without her—impish lass that she was—full of life and laughter and most assuredly the boldest child in all the Highlands. At least that’s what his parents, and most of their clan, always told him. He knew that he spoiled and indulged her more than he should, but these early years of carefree childhood disappeared so quickly and he wanted to enjoy them as much as his daughter did.

  Malcolm and Lileas made their way across the bailey, stopping in front of the heavy oak door that led to the great hall. Prince followed cheerfully behind them, his large tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.

  “Nay, Lileas, Prince cannae enter the hall smelling the way he does,” Malcolm said. “Yer grandmother will have fits.”

  Malcolm folded his arms over his chest and waited for his daughter to confess that it wasn’t the dog who smelled so foul, ’twa
s her.

  Lileas turned to her pet, then gazed beseechingly at her father. “I can help draw the water from the well fer Prince’s bath.”

  Malcolm shook his head. “I dinnae have time to bathe him now. Nor does anyone else,” he added, anticipating her response. “He’ll have to stay outside.”

  His parents were nearly as indulgent as he was when it came to Lileas, but even their generosity did not extend to bathing a dog that they insisted should be kept in the kennels and not allowed to sleep in Lileas’s bedchamber beneath her bed. Besides, for once it was not the dog who smelled so rank, but the child.

  Lileas frowned and pulled her bottom lip back and forth between her teeth. “Prince will feel very sad if he has to stay outside.”

  “Aye.”

  “He will probably start barking. Very loudly. He might even start to whimper and cry.”

  “More than likely.”

  Lileas’s lips began to quiver. “I’ll cry, too.”

  Malcolm’s heart lurched at the sight of her watery eyes and he nearly relented. Nay! She had to learn to obey, if only for her own safety. She had been warned about the dangers of the stables, but had deliberately ignored the rule.

  Thankfully, nothing tragic had befallen her, but what about the next time? Would she be so fortunate? His heart nearly ceased beating at the possibility.

  “It will take more than a few tears to take the stench off Prince,” Malcolm said casually.

  Lileas rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “He doesn’t smell that bad,” she insisted stubbornly.

  “But ye do.” Malcolm leaned down, his broad nose nearly touching his daughter’s. “How do ye suppose that happened?”

  Lileas lowered her eyes and looked away. “Ye shouldn’t say that I smell. Grandmother says it isn’t polite to insult a lady.”

  “Aye, and a true lady doesn’t lie. Especially to her papa,” Malcolm said reprovingly.

  Lileas chewed anxiously on her lower lip. “I’m sorry that I smell, Papa. May I have a bath?”

  “Not until ye tell me how ye got this way.”

  The child took a deep breath. Then looking uncharacteristically serious, she declared, “I stepped in some horse muck.”

  “In the bailey?” Malcolm questioned, deciding to test her honesty.

  Lileas’s eyes lit with excitement. She opened her mouth to agree, then paused and lowered her chin. “Nay, Papa. The muck was in the stables. I brought carrots and apples for the horses.”

  Malcolm slowly exhaled with relief, then gave his daughter an understanding smile. “I know how much ye love being around the horses, but I’ve told ye many times that ye cannae feed them unless someone is with ye.”

  “Duncan was there!” Lileas protested.

  “An adult,” Malcolm clarified. “A lad of ten is hardly a proper escort around such fierce animals. Those horses are bred fer battle. A wee lass like ye can so easily be hurt.”

  “I’m always careful,” Lileas insisted. “And the horses like me. They never hurt me. I feed them treats and sometimes weave flowers in their manes. They always look so pretty when I’m done.”

  Malcolm tried to mask his amusement as he pictured his father, the warrior laird Brian McKenna, riding into battle on a horse with delicate purple heather in its mane. “Nevertheless, ye must do as ye are told, Lileas.”

  “I’m sorry.” Lileas heaved a long sigh. “’Tis not easy for a poor motherless child to always behave as she should. If I had a proper mother—”

  “Lileas,” Malcolm warned. “The lack of a mother is no excuse fer yer behavior, as ye well know.”

  Lileas hung her head and slowly drew her foot across the hard dirt. Malcolm could see the muck clumping around the edges of her halfboots and worried the leather would stiffen after it was thoroughly cleaned. Rigid boots meant blisters, and while not a severe condition, they could fester if not treated properly. He made a mental note to speak with the cobbler about having a new pair of boots made.

  “Are ye very mad at me, Papa?”

  Malcolm took a deep breath. Aye, he was angry. But that fierce emotion was quickly leaving him. No matter what her behavior, he simply found it impossible to stay mad at his daughter.

  “Well, not as mad as I would have been if ye had continued to lie to me,” he said, smoothing the hair on the top of her head.

  The sudden sound of thundering hoofbeats coming hard and fast from beyond the castle walls pulled Malcolm’s attention away from Lileas. No alarm had been sounded, but he saw several of the soldiers on the battlements rush forward. Concerned, Malcolm turned his gaze toward the heavy gate, waiting to see if it would be closed.

  He reached automatically for his sword, dismayed to find it was not in its usual place at his side. Having just come from the practice field, he had given the weapon to his squire to clean and oil.

  The dirk in his belt was a comfort; he was confident he could defend himself and protect his child, if needed. Yet realistically, Malcolm knew there was no cause for fear.

  McKenna Castle was one of the best-fortified structures in the Highlands, boasting a high square watchtower, wide battlements, and a gray stone curtain wall that was nearly fifteen feet thick. Even in the unlikely event that an enemy was able to breach these impressive defenses, they would then be facing an army of McKenna soldiers, arguably the fiercest fighting men in all of Scotland.

  A sizable contingent of men rode through the open gates. Instinctively, Malcolm thrust Lileas behind him, but his rigid stance slowly relaxed when he recognized the man leading the riders.

  “Uncle James!” Lileas screeched excitedly and took off at a run.

  Malcolm grinned as he watched his younger brother dismount, then capture Lileas in his arms and swing her high in the air, before pulling her to his chest and hugging her tightly. Malcolm followed his daughter at a more dignified pace, unable to hold back his chuckle when he saw his brother wiggle his nose as he sniffed, obviously trying to decide from where a most unpleasant odor was emanating.

  James quickly surmised it was Lileas, but to his credit, he still held her close. The lass giggled, twining her arms tightly around his neck as he swung her back and forth.

  “What sort of mischief have ye been getting yerself into since I last saw ye, lass?” James asked, as he gently set her on her feet.

  “None,” she replied, lowering her chin. “I’m a very good girl and I always listen and do what I’m told.” Malcolm cleared his throat loudly. His daughter turned to him with a mulish expression. “I try very hard to do what I’m told.”

  “That’s all anyone can ask of ye.” James reached over to grasp Malcolm’s hand in greeting, but Lileas stepped between them.

  “Where is Aunt Davina? Is she coming, too? And where is her baby? Is it here? I want to hold it. I promise to be very, very careful. Grandmother told me that I must pray fer them both, and I do, every night. I pray fer ye, too, Uncle James.” The words spilled out of the child’s mouth faster than she could speak them.

  James put his hand on his niece’s shoulder. “Aunt Davina is back at Torridon Keep, waiting fer the bairn to arrive. But it will still be many months before it comes.”

  “I hope it’s a lass,” Lileas declared. “Like me.”

  “Och, Lileas, there’s none like ye,” James said with a laugh, as he ruffled the child’s hair.

  “And fer that we all give thanks,” the McKenna declared, interrupting the reunion.

  Their father, laird of the McKenna clan, stepped forward and slapped James on the shoulder affectionately. James barely had time to greet his father before their mother came rushing over. She launched herself forward, hugging her son tightly.

  “Why did ye not send word that ye were coming?” Lady Aileen scolded, as she patted James’s cheek. “Is Davina with ye?”

  “Nay, Mother, she is safely resting at home.”

  “’Tis best, I suppose, but I would have longed to see her.” Lady Aileen’s face darkened. “Why dinnae ye send word of yer
arrival? If I had known, I would have instructed Cook to prepare all yer favorite dishes.”

  “Enough of yer fussing, Aileen,” the McKenna grumbled. “James will simply have to make do with the swill ye were going to serve the rest of us.”

  Malcolm exchanged an amused glance with the McKenna, as their mother’s jaw dropped in indignation.

  “Ye had best be minding yer manners, Brian McKenna,” Lady Aileen answered tartly. “Or else I’ll make certain that tonight yer trencher is filled with a meal fit only fer the hogs.”

  There was an instant of tense silence in the busy courtyard. The McKenna glared at his wife. Lady Aileen glared back.

  The McKenna broke first, his broad, sun-kissed face widening into a deep grin. Lady Aileen answered that grin with one of her own, then lifted her cheek for her husband’s gentle kiss.

  Malcolm watched them with a mixture of confusion and awe. All his life he had witnessed the intense passion between his parents—in nearly every interaction. They fought and made up with equal fervor and yet through it all somehow maintained a level of respect and regard.

  Having been married himself, Malcolm honestly did not understand how this was possible. Perhaps it was love that held them so solidly together. Yet he knew it took more than mere affection and emotion. His parents were bound together by a thread so strong that no matter how hard it was pulled, it never seemed to break.