The Highlander's Accidental Bride

CATHY MacRAE

SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

New York

THE HIGHLANDER’S ACCIDENTAL BRIDE

Copyright©2013

CATHY MacRAE

Cover Design by Rae Monet, Inc.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Published in the United States of America by

Soul Mate Publishing

P.O. Box 24

Macedon, New York, 14502

ISBN-13: 978-1-61935-
181-3

www.SoulMatePublishing.com

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

I would like to dedicate this book

to the people who have cheered me on

from the first day I decided I would become a writer.

Rayleen Hendrix, Abby Phillips,

and my friends at Heart of Dixie Romance Writers

who celebrate each stage of the journey with me.

You guys rock.

And to my family

who had no idea what they were getting into.

I love you all.

There are many people who have taught me much in this process called writing. It would take forever to thank them all.

To Debby Gilbert and Char Chaffin at Soul Mate Publishing, my deepest gratitude for taking a chance on my story. You have been fantastic to work with.

To the ladies who check in with me routinely and hold me accountable for keeping my dreams alive, Kathy Bone and Mary Freeman, a most heartfelt ‘thank you’! You jumpstart my day.

To the people who have taught me so much about craft and how to think outside the box, and even tweak the ‘rules’ a bit; Jean Hovey (lunch and a talk of all things Scottish any day!), Kimberly Lang (yes, I love your lecture on the history of the English language), Linda Howard and Linda Winstead-Jones (who taught me to be my own person and live my own dream), Susan Belew (it was a joy to work with you—you never failed to brighten my day), and many others who regularly remind me I am not crazy for pursuing this passion, Sherry Werth, Crystal Lee, Lesia Flynn, Stephanie Jones, Kira Sinclair, Andrea Laurence, Lynn Raye Harris, Marilyn Puett, Danniele Worsham—thanks to you all!

For the unfailing and enthusiastic support of the members of Celtic Hearts Romance Writers; I have learned so much from you, and am proud to be part of the clan.

And to the best group of critique partners in the world. You have guided me, corrected me, and cheered me on from the day I posted my first chapter for you to read. Derek Dodson, Cate Parke, Dawn Hamilton, and Fran Redding, you are my inspiration and an amazing source of strength. You are the absolute best, and this story would not be here if not for you. Remind me I owe you lunch.

1375, Scott Castle, the Scottish Highlands

She turned her head toward the brightness, the intensity of the light wringing a low moan from her as she opened her eyes. The moan became a gasp of pain as she lifted her head from her pillow, and a firm, capable hand pushed her gently back on the bed.

“Lie back, lass.”

Soft words drifted to her ears. Her head spun. The voice wasn’t one she recognized. She glanced around the room, moving as little as possible.

Tall ceilings and windows gave the room a spacious feel, and the heavy wall tapestries were of the finest quality. The woman at her side stared at her with a frown, touching her brow with a cool hand.

Have I been sick?

“My name is Ina. I’ve the care of ye. Ye need a bit of broth to strengthen ye, lass. I’ll help ye sit, but ye must speak up if ye feel sick to yer stomach,” the older woman warned as she helped her to a seated position. With a final glance over her shoulder, the matron strode to the hearth and scooped a bowl of broth from the pot warming there.

“Here ye are, lass.” She spooned the warm liquid from the bowl. “Drink this.”

She did, and immediately felt better. The woman gave a nod of approval and rose to her feet, setting the bowl aside.

“As soon as I’m back, we’ll get ye fitted for yer wedding dress. Ye must look yer best for yer bridegroom tonight.”

She bolted upright in bed, ignoring the warning pain shooting through her head. “What did you say?”

The woman stopped in the doorway and turned back.

“Ye need a dress for yer wedding to the laird. Ye had nothing but yer nightclothes when ye came.”

“But . . .” A thousand questions flooded her brain, and she choked on the words tumbling from her lips. “I didn’t . . . Where . . .?” She raised a hand to her forehead, stopping the flow of nonsense as she struggled to gather her thoughts. “Where am I?”

“Why, at Scott Castle,” the woman replied. “‘Tis where Laird Scott resides.”

“Who is Laird Scott?”

The woman gave her a curious look. “Eaden, laird of clan Scott and earl of the lands of Craigievar. He’s to be yer husband.”

She turned wide, puzzled eyes on the older woman. “Who am I?”

Miriam paced the length of her room, then turned and paced the length again. Nothing made sense. What Ina told her wasn’t true. Her mind felt fuzzy, as if they were talking about someone else. Why couldn’t she remember? Why did her head still feel full of rocks and fire?

She touched the back of her head gingerly, probing the bump there, wincing when she pushed too hard. The only thing that made sense was she did not want to marry the laird. That much she understood. It resonated in the deepest part of her, dismay snaking through her at the thought.

A knock sounded and Miriam whirled, jolted out of her musings. The door swung open and one of the largest men she had ever seen entered the room.

“Who are you?” Her hand flew to her throat in fear.

The man gave her a sardonic smile and paused inside the doorway. “I am Earl Scott. Ina tells me ye’re having trouble with yer memory.” His voice rumbled deep.

“I have a bump on my head,” Miriam replied tartly. This was her husband-to-be? Her eyes drifted up the length of him, unnerved by the narrowed look he gave her. His nearly black eyes and soot-dark hair lent him a devilish air, more frightening than intriguing, and Miriam nearly swallowed her tongue as she imagined herself bound to this man.

“Doesnae matter. Ye’ll marry me this day.” He crossed the room to stand before the fireplace, holding out his hands to the one welcoming element in the room. After a moment, he turned back to where she still stood frozen.

“Rest assured I am no more in favor of this marriage than ye are.”

“Then why am I here?”

“To appease the king and end a feud between our clans.”

“Ina said you kidnapped me last night and brought me here because you did not think my father would honor the king’s edict.” Miriam winced at the word ‘father.’ It sounded foreign to her. Did she not get along with him?

“She told me ye’ve no memory of last night.”

“I have no memory of anything before I woke this morning,” Miriam replied with some asperity. The feeling of being trapped crept over her again, along with the inability to resign herself to marriage with this man.

“I apologize for the bump on yer head. It was quite unintentional, but ye fought me and I couldnae allow ye to raise the alarm. I simply made sure ye honored the king’s command.”

She waved her hands dramatically in the air. “And you are so certain we would have not married in a more normal fashion in time?”

The earl’s face darkened. “Aye. Yer response was somewhat less than enthusiastic.”

Miriam paled at the harshness of his words. “You cannot be sure it was more than just talk. I cannot imagine happiness at being forced to marry someone I don’t know.”

“Don’t play coy with me, milady,” Eaden snarled. “Ye know damn well ye wouldnae have married me now or a month from now. Everything I have is forfeit if this wedding doesnae take place. King Robert has placed his seal on the documents and we only await the priest. Ye will be downstairs this evening, dressed and prepared to say yer vows!”

Without awaiting her response, the earl turned on his heel and strode from the room, slamming the door with a resounding crash, causing Miriam to jump at the sound.

“He will not intimidate me!” she swore aloud, but her words rang hollow. Her lower lip trembled, and she could do nothing more defiant than lift her chin. No matter what she said in defense of herself, she would not be believed. Come morning, she would be forever bound to this ruthless man.

People stood around her in a blur of disapproving faces and a hushed murmur of sound. Unable to shake the disoriented feeling, Miriam felt herself caught in a dream. A very bad dream.

She dug her fingernails into her palms and winced. `Twas no dream, but a nightmare.

The pale blue satin gown, alternately cool and warm against her skin, weighty with embroidery and jewels, did not make her feel special. She found it difficult to draw a breath. The stone walls of the castle closed in around her, pressing upon her as heavily as the garment itself.

“Sign yer name, Lady Miriam.”

Miriam stared at the priest as though he’d grown horns. He held the quill out to her and she took it, wincing at the dark blot on the parchment from her unsteady hand. Her head swam from the cup of wine she’d drunk earlier to fortify her, and she regretted accepting a second. Dizziness and the flickering light from hundreds of candles lighting the room gave her a sick headache.

She laid the quill on the table and returned to the earl’s side. Furtively, she touched the knot on the back of her head. She’d not wanted to be dragged to her wedding. But fighting her fate hadn’t helped.

The earl, standing ramrod straight, did not ease her feelings of dread either, nor did the absence of tenderness on his scowling face. When Eaden shifted his feet, his movement jerked her thoughts back to the proceedings.

She glanced toward the priest who stared at her with a distinct lack of patience. She wasn’t trying to be defiant, she simply hadn’t heard a word the priest had said.

“Lady Miriam,” the priest said curtly, gaining her attention. “Ye must repeat the vows.”

Miriam
. She tilted her head, the name sounding foreign in her ears.

The earl threw her a disgusted look and she shot him a haughty glare. Forced to concede the edict of the king, she had reluctantly given her promise. Nothing and no one could change her fate. So, why such difficulty saying the words?

“Lady Miriam,” the priest said once more, the warning clear in his voice, the sound a death knell to all her hopes of last-minute salvation. With great reluctance, she spoke the words of binding, her mouth moving in automatic response, her heart numb to their meaning.

All too soon, the ceremony ended, and she turned with her new husband to face the silent people crowding the great hall of Scott Castle. A narrow pathway opened through the throng, allowing them to pass, and Laird Scott at last deigned to touch her. Grabbing her arm in an iron-like grasp, he all but dragged her the length of the stone hall and toward the stairs as she struggled to keep up with him.

A murmur of low-pitched voices rose from the people as they pointed at her, some frowning openly. Filled with embarrassment at her undignified exit from the room, she tried to stop, tried to pull her arm from the laird’s grasp.

Laird Scott tightened his grip painfully. “Cease!” His angry stride carried them to the foot of the stairs. Only then did he pause long enough to sweep her into his arms, taking the steps two at a time.

Miriam’s ears burned to hear the people in the hall below speculate about Laird Scott’s intentions as he carried her past the columns of the upstairs solar. Hot with humiliation, she tried to shut out the sounds of the crude suggestions and exhortations wafting after them.

“Put me down!” she hissed, squirming in his arms. His heavy muscles tightened their grip, causing her bones to grate against each other. She yelped in pained surprise but fell immediately silent at Eaden’s countering glare. He shoved open a door at the end of the hallway and stepped inside. The freedom she’d sought moments before came without warning as he released her. She slid from his grasp, landing in a heap on the floor at his feet.

She stared as he reached behind him, his eyes boring into hers as he slammed the door and threw the latch. Miriam rose slowly to her feet as though facing a wolf on the brink of attack, straightening her skirts with trembling hands. She glanced about the room, noting the tall, narrow windows and the heavy wall hangings billowing slightly in the after-draft of the slammed door. A huge, curtained bed dominated the center of the room, its draperies drawn back to capture the warmth of the peat fire on the hearth. She brought her wary gaze back to the laird.

Her husband’s face darkened with anger and his jaw clenched. “We neither one want this marriage,” he said, his voice harsh. “And now it’s done, I’ve no doubt ye’d still flee if given the chance.”

Miriam steeled herself against agreeing to the charge. It was true. She’d rather be anywhere than here, facing this man who frightened her so. But her scan of the room revealed no ready escape. A plunge from the window would mean instant death, and the only other doorway led to a small dressing chamber.

“I brought ye here because the king threatened to take my lands unless I wed ye. I care naught for the ceremony or the revelry below. I care even less if ye share my bed beyond this night.” Eaden narrowed his eyes as Miriam lost the battle to remain calm, slowly shaking her head in denial of his next words.

“Ye will do this.” He spoke firmly. “We could have waited until the guests accompanied us here, but I would rather no’ have witnesses to this farce.”

Miriam’s eyes grew wide. “I am frightened,” she admitted in a whisper.

He cursed under his breath and turned to a wooden cabinet. He opened the doors and she heard the clink of metal.

“Here.” Eaden crossed back to her and held out a small goblet filled with an amber liquid. He handed it to her with a scowl.

Miriam ignored the proffered cup. “I know you hate me, but do I disgust you as well?”

“I dinnae know if ‘hate’ is the right word, but the disgust is for the waste of good whisky to get a woman in my bed.”

Curious in spite of herself, she asked, “And what do you normally use to get a woman in your bed?”

Eaden bared his teeth in a mirthless grin. “My winsome smile.”

With an uncertain look at her new husband, Miriam took the goblet and sniffed the contents suspiciously.

“‘Tis no’ poison, and if it were, I’d no’ make the mistake of showing ye the where of it.” He motioned for her to drink. “‘Twill warm ye and calm yer nerves.”

Miriam took a hesitant sip and gasped as the liquid ignited a fiery path to her stomach. She thought Eaden’s lips twitched, perhaps almost smiled, but her eyes swam with tears and she quickly discarded the absurd idea.

“Finished?”

Considering the alternative, she ventured another delicate sip, desperately needing more time to compose herself. Combined with the wine she’d drunk earlier, the whisky made pleasant headway toward slowing her wildly beating heart.

Eaden took the cup from her and drained the rest of the contents in a single gulp. “Take it off.” He motioned at her dress with the empty goblet as he raked her from head to toe with an unreadable look.

Woodenly, she reached to undo the laces of her dress, her fingers clumsy with lingering fright and the unaccustomed alcohol blooming warmly in her veins. Her tingling fingers could not manage the task and she only created knots in the fine, silken threads.

With a curse, Eaden grabbed her shoulders and hauled her around. She felt his hands at her back and she jerked at his touch as he tugged at the offending laces.

“Damn.” With no care to the costliness of the fabric, he grasped the dress at the nape. With one violent wrench of his hands, he tore the gown and her chemise free to her waist. Released from their gossamer threads, pearls and beads tinkled across the bare wooden floor, loud in the charged silence of the room.

Miriam gasped and grabbed frantically at the front of her gown as it sagged forward. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the look on Eaden’s face.

“Do ye want to take it from here, or do ye still require assistance?”

Her jaw clenched in rebellion, but she dared not risk further help from him. His
help
had already cost her much, leaving her with no kin present to see her honorably wed.

She fought her tears as the last of the bejeweled fabric and silken chemise fell around her feet, leaving her naked before him. A small, gold filigree cross set with green stones lay cold against her skin. Her fingers lifted in an automatic gesture to cover the jewel as Eaden’s gaze roamed over her.