Amanda Scott (27 page)

“Also to get your fortune,” he said dryly. “Do not forget that.”

She knew he was teasing her, but truth underscored the teasing. Because her fortune and her woman’s ability to produce children
would be useful to him, he wanted to keep her even if it meant marrying her.

His hand moved slightly where it touched her hip, and yearning shot through her, frightening her with its strength. He had
more power over her than he knew, but if she submitted, she was in danger of losing her soul to him. And if he should decide,
as others had, that she would prove more useful elsewhere… But that thought did not bear completing.

She could not speak, and he said no more for a time. They reached a hard-packed trail along the shore, and he turned the gray
toward the head of the loch.

“The boat,” she muttered.

“I’ll send someone to fetch it later,” he said.

The silence between them continued until they had crossed the plank bridge over the tumbling burn at the head of the loch.
The thudding of the horse’s hooves on the planks above the rush of water beneath them seemed very loud. On the far side, when
even the water sounds had faded behind them, the silence seemed heavier than before. There was less foliage, and halfway between
them and the castle, Molly could see the other riders on the track above the cliffs.

“I am not generally defiant by nature,” she said then, looking at him.

“Indeed,” he said, his mocking disbelief plain. “In sooth, sir, I am not accustomed to having orders hurled at me,” she said.
“I am accustomed to discussing things, to knowing that others heed my opinions. You treat me as if I were a halfwit. If we
were
to marry, I would not like that.”

He looked into her eyes, his gaze searching hers.

Her body seemed more alive than usual, unnaturally aware of every movement of his horse, even more aware of Kintail, his woodland
scent, his steady breathing, his dark gaze and stern countenance. When he dampened his lips with his tongue, it was as if
he touched his lips to hers. The moment lengthened.

Then he said gently, “If I hurl orders, lass, I do so because you challenge my authority at every turn. Is that not what you
did today?”

“You make me feel like a prisoner,” she said. “I went out with my bow, because I often did so on Skye and because I enjoy
the solitude of the hunt. I understand about the danger, though—particularly now,” she added hastily, seeing his quick frown.
“But I took care. I was not raised as most girls are, you know.”

His lips pressed hard together, and at first, she thought she had angered him again, but then she saw that he was struggling
to suppress laughter.

“I said nothing humorous,” she said indignantly.

“You certainly spoke the truth,” he said, chuckling.

He sobered then, saying, “Forgive me if I mistake the matter, but it appears to me that you have begun to think favorably
on a possible marriage between us. Given your earlier distaste…” He let the words hang in the air.

She nibbled her lower lip, trying to think how to explain her tumbled feelings when she did not understand them herself.

“It was not distaste, exactly,” she said at last. “I know that I must marry someday. Indeed, Lady Mackinnon often said it
was a miracle Donald had not forced me into an advantageous marriage. I am in my eighteenth year, after all, and many women
marry much earlier, particularly heiresses.”

“Then your dislike is merely for me,” he said evenly.

“For the circumstance and… and for your treatment of me,” she said. “If you were more—”

“More like Mackinnon?”

“Aye, perhaps,” she said, wrinkling her brow, unable to imagine herself married to the hearty but carefully neutral Mackinnon
or to anyone like him.

“Lass, I am not like Mackinnon, nor will I ever be. I am my own man. I can protect you, which is something that you should
consider, and I can provide for you even without your fortune—albeit not so well as with it, I’ll admit. It is, in any event,
my duty to find you a suitable husband, and in this present circumstance, I can think of no one better suited than myself
to protect you from Sleat, certainly no one to whom I can arrange your marriage in the little time we have.”

Frustrated, as averse to his thinking that she would marry him for protection as she was to his wanting her only for her fortune
and womb, she nonetheless found it impossible to declare again that she did not want to marry him. But neither could she confess
outright that she did.

“I—I do not want to go back to Donald,” she said at last. “I should warn you,” he said, his eyes narrowing in a way that belied
his gentle tone, “that if you hope a pretense of submission will spare you from punishment for your defiance today—for it
was no more, say what you may—you will find that you have misjudged me.”

Heat flooded her cheeks, and she said angrily, “I would not do that!”

“Then I apologize for mistrusting you. I will send for Dougal Maclennan, the priest, straightaway. Shall I send for Mackinnon
and his lady, as well?”

Wondering if she had lost her mind, she nodded. Then recalling his earlier words, she said, “What will you do to me—for this…
for what I did today?”

“I told you what I would do,” he said. “You must learn to trust my word, lass. You will not ride for three months.”

“But that was only if I took my horse out! I didn’t!”

“I did not say that. I said that you were not to go out alone, ever.”

“But we were talking about riding!”

“You may have been talking about riding. I was perfectly plain. Also, you will not take your bow out again until I grant you
leave to do so.”

“I do not think I want to marry you, after all.”

“If you refuse to keep your word because I am keeping mine, so be it,” he said. “But you should know that it will make no
difference to your punishment. I am still your guardian, and you will not ride again until I say you may.”

Her dignity had already suffered much, but now she felt small. “I do keep my word,” she muttered. “And if I must marry, I’d
as lief marry a man who lives near Dunakin and… and one who keeps
his
word. But need we not call the banns?”

“We have no time for that,” he said. “The priest will make all tidy.” When she did not speak, he added gently, “Shall I send
for him then, and for Mackinnon?”

She hesitated, her mind a whirl of conflicting images, not least of which was an unnerving image of herself in bed with Kintail.
Reminding herself of Donald and how much worse it could be, she said quietly, “Aye, send for them.”

“The day after tomorrow then, if Mackinnon and his lady can get here. I’ll send Patrick to fetch them as soon as we reach
Eilean Donan.”

“Very well,” she said, certain that she would come to regret her decision. A woman’s lot in life left her few choices, though,
and at least she could feel that she had had some say in this one, however small.

F
in saw that Molly was uncertain about the decision she had made, and he knew better than to press her further about her reasons.
He wanted to say something to reassure her, but he had no idea what that might be. It would not do to express the feelings
coursing through him now that he had persuaded her to marry him, even if he could have expressed them clearly.

Holding her as he was, he could not think about anything clearly, because his body wanted to do his thinking for him. His
loins stirred with every motion she made, and when he began to suspect she would not continue to fight their marriage, his
head had filled with images he was sure even a Highland priest would condemn.

He had wanted her from that first night, but if he were to tell her that, it would only reinforce the image she had of him
from that night. From his viewpoint, a marriage between them was imminently suitable. His father certainly would have approved
of it, and not only because of the lass’s fortune, assuming he ever found it. That he was attracted to—nay, lusted after—her
was an added advantage.

As they continued toward Eilean Donan, he found himself watching her, letting his gaze dwell on the soft pink cheek turned
slightly toward him, and on the rosy fullness of her lips. He had wanted to kiss her again since the day on the shore, before
Mackinnon had joined them, but kissing was not enough now. His imagination was busy feeding him lustier notions. However,
if he acted on any one of them, she would instantly change her mind again, and if she did, he did not know if he had the strength
of character to allow it. He would do better to set things in train for the wedding as soon as they returned to the castle.

Because Molly had lost her shoe, he had to carry her inside, and holding her tempted him nearly beyond what he could endure.
He noted with humor that while his people were astonished to see her dressed like a peasant lad, they were even more astonished
when he announced that he intended to marry her straightaway.

Patrick, after a speechless moment, gathered his wits and shouted, “To the laird! ’Tis a fine thing he does for Eilean Donan.”

The others cheered, and conscious of Molly’s tense body in his arms, Fin said, “I’m glad to have your approval, friend. Send
a running gilly to tell Dougal Maclennan I want him to perform the ceremony here two days from now. Then get something to
eat, for I’m sending you to tell Mackinnon. Take an armed escort, in case you meet Sleat, but bring Mackinnon and his lady
back for the wedding.”

Grinning, Patrick executed an elaborate bow and said, “At once, laird. And has your lady any commands for me?”

Molly shook her head, saying nothing, and from her heightened color, Fin knew she was wishing herself elsewhere. To Patrick,
he said, “If she thinks of any, I’ll let you know before you leave. Now get about your business. Someone tell Mauri the news,
and then the rest of you take your orders from her.”

With that, he carried Molly to the stairs and up to her bedchamber, conscious all the way of the way her body felt in his
arms. Inside her room, he set her on her feet but did not release her. Hands on her shoulders, he forced himself to say evenly,
“Art sure, lass?”

“Would you let me change my mind?” she asked, looking into his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly, holding her gaze. Her eyes were so beautiful. The thought of looking into them every
day for the rest of his life gave him a sense of rightness. He doubted that he had the strength to let her go.

“You wouldn’t,” she said, her lips curving into an enigmatic little smile.

The smile did it. He bent and kissed her, meaning only to kiss her lightly, as if to tell her—what? Before he could bring
his thoughts to bear on the question, her lips twitched responsively against his, and he was lost. Pulling her close, he moved
his hand over her back and sides, possessively, delighting in the idea that he would soon know every inch of her. That thought
stirred others, and as his tongue explored the soft interior of her mouth, one hand moved to untie the strings at the neck
of the saffron shirt. The hand slipped inside the opening, stroking the soft skin beneath.

Molly gasped and stiffened, pulling away.

“It’s all right, lass,” he murmured.

“No, it isn’t; not yet,” she said, breathing rapidly, as if she had been running.

Her cheeks were flushed, her lovely eyes bright. His body ached for her. But he would gain nothing by infuriating her and
much, perhaps, with forbearance.

“I’m a patient man,” he said, putting the thought to words.

“No, you are not,” she said, stepping back.

He grinned at her. “I’m willing to practice, though. I’ve offered you a bargain, lass. You’ll soon have the home you’ve yearned
for.”

“You aren’t offering me your home,” she said with a sigh. “It is as Sir Patrick said, and you are doing it for your beloved
castle. Moreover, on the slightest whim, you could order me to live somewhere else, could you not?”

“Aye, well, here’s a better bargain then,” he said, undaunted. “Tell me before the wedding that you’ve changed your mind,
and perhaps I’ll let you out of our agreement. In the meantime, put on a proper dress. Looking like that, in lad’s clothing,
you make me feel like a lustful sodomite.”

He left, chuckling.

Molly stood where he left her, shaken and wondering what demon had made her agree to marry him. She could hardly tell herself
that she had taught him to value her opinions or understand her need for freedom. If she had accomplished anything, it was
the exact opposite. What could she have been thinking?

Would he really let her change her mind? And if he did…

Her thoughts turned instantly to his handsome face and strong arms, to the twinkle in his eyes when he smiled, to the way
that smile lit up his features and warmed her to her toes. Then she thought of what he had done when he had hauled her up
across his saddle, and she remembered his stern frown and harsh words.

Then she remembered his kisses and the passionate way he had caressed her.

The more tangled her thoughts became, the more she expected to find herself talking to Maggie Malloch, but the little woman
did not appear even when she called her name. Evidently, fairies or household spirits, or whatever they chose to call themselves,
appeared only when they wished to do so.