The Highlander's Accidental Bride (10 page)

People milled about the great hall, putting off the end of the day as long as possible. Mary and Eaden sat beside the enormous fireplace, its banked coals glowing hotly. Desultory conversation mixed with yawns while others congratulated the minstrel whose voice was near to cracking from the strain of his performance. He’d been invited to stay and entertain them again at supper, and after a wry glance at the driving rain outside, he’d needed no prodding to linger the night.

Try as she might, Mary couldn’t push aside the alarm surging in her breast each time she recalled Miriam and her ill-fated pony. Concentrating on the night to come was also less than soothing. With no alternative but to remain at Scott Castle, she would soon have no choice but to allow Eaden past the defenses she’d built between them. Surely this night he would not be content with just a kiss.

Isobel’s counsel had certainly changed the way Mary imagined a husband and wife should behave toward each other, and she found it nearly impossible to remain impassive in his arms as she now knew she should. His warm hands and heady kisses were not making things easy for her, and she grew increasingly ashamed of her body’s response to him.

Once again the memory of Miriam’s pony slipped through her mind. Caught off guard, Mary closed her eyes as she fought the unwelcome snatches of memory.

A scream of fright and pain.

Miriam sprawled lifeless on the ground.

The smell of fresh blood and bowels released in sudden death.

Mary recoiled from the recollection as she jerked back to reality. She sought out Eaden, relieved to see him facing away, his attention on the man beside him, chatting lazily. As she struggled to recover her poise, conversations and activities swirled senselessly around her. Hands fidgeting in her lap, twisting the heavy silk of her gown, she betrayed the disquiet of her mind.

Something cold and wet shoved beneath her fingers and into her lap. Mary gasped at the feel of icy, water-soaked fur against her skin. Wrenched from her unpleasant thoughts, she looked down to see the tiny body of the puppy she’d worried over earlier. Sorcha nudged the puppy deeper into Mary’s lap.

“Oh, Sorcha!” she murmured in dismay. “What have you done?”

The puppy mewled pitifully and turned its blind head back and forth, seeking warmth and nourishment. Gently Mary picked the puppy up and held it tightly against her chest, the unnatural cold of the tiny body seeping through the fabric of her dress.

“Eaden!” she cried, looking to him for help as the puppy soundlessly opened its mouth, too weak to do anything more.

Eaden turned to her and his face fell as he noticed the puppy in her hands. “Where did ye get him, Mairi?”

Mary nodded at the hound at her side. “Sorcha brought him to me,” she said. The deerhound whined, her attention pinned on the puppy.

Eaden touched its chilled pelt. “He’s no’ a thriver, Mairi. He’s smaller than the others by a good bit. I’m afraid his ma pushed him away, knowing he wouldnae last the night.”

“I can’t let him die.” Mary lifted a hand to brush a tear from her cheek. She flung him a pleading look, her eyes wide, brow furrowed, begging him to help her.

Eaden sighed and motioned to a servant. “Bring me a mug of warm milk. And a clean cloth.”

With a nod, the girl hurried to do his bidding. Eaden turned back to Mary. “Come to the fire, then. We need to get him warm.”

Mary inched her chair closer to the hearth and laid the puppy in her lap. She picked up a corner of her gown and rubbed him vigorously, drying his coat as warmth slowly seeped into his tiny body. Her fingers kneaded the short, dense fur, fluffing the coat as it began to dry.

“Here, Laird.”

Eaden took the napkin and, twisting a knot in its corner, dipped it in the warm milk.

With a nudge, Eaden handed her the dampened cloth and she touched it gently to the puppy’s nose, feeling a twinge of relief as his mouth opened in response.

“Here, now, little one,” she crooned, placing the false teat on the puppy’s tongue. He mouthed it twice then stopped, letting the milk leak out the sides of his mouth.

Eaden cautioned, “Wheesht, Mairi. He cannae eat too fast. He needs to take his time, build his strength.” His voice sounded strained, his attempt at bravado evident, but Mary ignored all but the encouragement. She nodded her head jerkily, striving to keep the tears at bay. She stroked the soft fur with one hand as the puppy rested quietly in her lap.

“Come,” Eaden urged. “We’ll fix him a basket and put him near the hearth in our room. He’ll stay warm there.”

Mary flashed him a tremulous smile, grateful for his understanding. She knew the puppy might not survive the night, but it made her feel better to try.

Mary settled the puppy in the basket on the hearth, but Eaden wasn’t looking at the pitiful scrap of fur. The flames of the fire lit against Mary’s night shift, revealing her body through the thin fabric in dark, voluptuous silhouette. He shifted in his seat against the tightening of his breeches and gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles whitened.

“Is this good?” Mary turned from the basket to face him.

With a start, Eaden jerked his gaze to Mary’s eager face. “Er, aye,” he managed, clearing his throat.
And were it any better, we wouldnae be discussing a damned puppy.

“I was afraid he might be too close to the fire.” Mary pushed the basket an inch or two further from the warmth of the flames.

Too late. I am already burned
. He wanted to cross the short distance to her, take her in his arms and kiss her until she could no longer hold herself from him. But he knew she was not trying to entice him, and he balked at taking her as he’d done once before, no matter the provocation this night.

“How often should I feed him?” Mary turned her innocent gaze back to Eaden.

I need ye more than food
. Eaden swallowed hard. “I suppose whenever he cries.” He stared into her soft green eyes, aware of the way the fire caught the golden strands in her hair and turned them into a halo of amber light. Mary tilted her head quizzically, and the movement plunged her face into shadow. Eaden caught his breath.

“M’laird?”

Eaden shot to his feet. “‘Tis nothing, Mairi,” he lied. “Come. Let us be abed.”

She hesitated, the fabric of her night shift billowed in a draft from the chimney. He held out a hand, and slowly Mary laid her hand in his. He felt her tremble.

Eaden leaned over the parapet, his hands dangling into the darkness below. It had taken little more than Mary’s quick breath of stifled protest to unman him. He knew he pushed her to be his wife. He knew she wanted something more from her husband than protection and children. Mary wanted love. He could give her protection, and, hopefully, children. Could he give her his heart? Would she then come to him willingly? Or would her fear of him ever be their undoing?

Faint footsteps on the stone interrupted his dismal thoughts and Eaden turned to see his brother approach. Ranald stopped several feet away and turned to lean over the parapet in mirror image of his brother’s actions.

“Have ye anything to say that doesnae concern my bride?” Eaden drawled, forestalling Ranald’s words.

Ranald cocked his head in consideration. “Unless ye have some new reason to be stalking the parapet at night, then nay.” He leaned an elbow against the stone. “I’ve forsaken coming to yer room of a morning to rouse ye.” He hesitated, looking at his hands for a moment before he continued. “Do ye now have a reason to forsake yer own rooms at night?”

Eaden flashed his brother a dangerous look. But Ranald had been on the receiving end of his brother’s glares often enough, and this one elicited no real concern.

“My wife still remembers her wedding night, it seems.”

Ranald’s eyebrows shot up for an instant before he managed to return them to their normal position. “Perhaps there no’ has been time for the memory to fade.”

“Och, there has been plenty of time. Time filled with hopes of divorce—which I am no’ inclined to give her.”

This time Ranald’s eyebrows would not be gainsaid. “She doesnae want to be married.” His voice fell matter-of-fact, making a statement, not asking a question.

“Och, she wants to marry,” Eaden replied, waving one had in a dismissing gesture. “Just no’ to me.”

“Well, the king hasnae offered to help ye with a divorce, has he? I’m thinking he doesnae have another daughter of a feuding clan waiting to take Mary’s place.” Ranald shrugged. “And though I’m sure he felt inclined to have yer ballocks for the way ye mucked this up, I believe ye’ve gotten the best of the deal after all.”

“I know what I have, now. I want more from her than a shadow of that night forever between us.” Eaden clenched his fists, the line of tension visible up his arms and into his shoulders. “I dinnae know what I must do.”

“She’ll no’ make it easy for ye, aye?”

“I want her willing.”

“Other than the obvious–that she is beautiful–why?”

Eaden pushed restlessly away from the parapet. “She has no training to run the castle. She defies me. And she closes her eyes and draws away in fear at my touch.”

He faced Ranald, frowning in frustration. “And yet I see in her strength, and kindness, and a passion she has yet to discover.”

“And ye feel guilty for the way ye’ve treated her.”

“Damn it! Aye.”

One side of Ranald’s mouth twitched upwards. “And why do ye stand here talkin’ to me? The lass has a right to know ye’re properly fashed.”

Eaden spared one more look of disgust for his younger brother before he turned on his heel and disappeared down the dark stairway.

“Himself would like ye to join him for supper.”

Mary looked from the puppy on her lap as Ina delivered Laird Scott’s request. Eaden had not returned to their room after their disastrous attempt at lovemaking the night before. Mary felt her cheeks burn at the memory and resolutely turned to the matter at hand. At least he wanted to see her, although she quailed to consider why.

She knew he was busy with the construction of a second moat around the castle, as well as other duties, and could not be expected to dance attendance on her every moment. Instead of his absence giving her breathing space, the uncertainty of how to face him again made her worry far too much. She’d spent a sleepless night wondering when he would come to her again.

Or even if he would.

Ina touched Mary’s arm lightly. “Ye should wear yer new gown, milady,” she wheedled, the mention of the green gown with the beautiful gold embroidery an obvious ploy to lighten her spirits.

Unwilling to cast further aspersions on her marriage by refusing to accede to his summons, Mary nodded to Ina. “Tell him I will be there.”

She saw Ina scowl lightly at Isobel, but could understand no reason for it.

“I will have a bath drawn for ye, milady,” Isobel said as she turned and left the room.

Ina lingered until Isobel was gone, then inclined her head to Mary. “Have a care, milady,” she cautioned. “Isobel can be ambitious.”

“What are you saying?” Mary asked.

Ina sighed. “I dinnae like gossip, milady, but ‘tis been said the woman cares a wee bit much for the laird.”

“But, he’s married now. And so is she.”

Ina pursed her lips and set about straightening the room, refusing to say anything further.

Mary finished feeding the puppy and settled him in his basket on the hearth, his breathing slowing as he drifted off to sleep. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she considered Ina’s words. Isobel had offered to help her, not hurt her. She’d even given candid insight as to what her husband wanted from her. And, though it didn’t make Mary anxious for his attentions, she at least now had a guideline for how to behave with him.

Mary frowned to remember Eaden’s abrupt departure from their room the night before. He hadn’t seemed very pleased with her attempt to submit to him.

Perhaps Isobel had once been close to Eaden. But surely the infatuation, or whatever it had been, was over. Both she and Eaden had married other people, and while Mary could say with fair certainty she was not Eaden’s first choice for a wife, she sincerely hoped Isobel had been able to marry her choice of husband.

Just then, Isobel returned to the room, Mary’s new green dress draped over her arm. Behind her were two strong lads, each toting a brace of buckets, steam rising from the gently sloshing water. They emptied the buckets into the tub, hot water mingling with the cold. Mary would have liked the tub to be closer to the hearth and the warm coals banked there, but she’d been pleased with the small, private bathing room adjacent to the bedroom, a luxury she’d not had at Bellecourt.

She closed the bedroom door securely as they left, then crossed back to the bathing chamber, watching as Isobel added a few drops of oil to the water. The resulting aroma filled the room with the scent of roses. Still unused to the attention, Mary tried to hide her embarrassment at her nakedness as Isobel helped her undress, and quickly slipped into the tub. Isobel seemed to understand, for she bustled about the room laying out drying cloths and soaps, paying little heed to Mary as she bathed.

Gradually, the water cooled, reminding her time had passed and Eaden would soon be waiting for her. Reluctantly, Mary eased from the tub. She wrapped herself in a soft robe, belting it snugly about her waist. Walking into the bedroom, she sat before the dressing table, moved to the room for her use several days ago. She picked up a hairbrush, preparing to set her hair in order.

“Here, let me do that.” Isobel took the brush from Mary’s hand. “I can fix yer hair for ye.”

“Thank you,” Mary said. “But it’s so difficult to manage. It’s always falling down when I try to put it up.”

“Perhaps ye should wear it down, then,” Isobel replied, brushing Mary’s hair with brisk motions.

“Eaden said he liked the color,” Mary admitted shyly, unable to prevent a slight smile from lifting the corners of her lips. The hairbrush hit a snarl in Mary’s curls and jerked her head painfully. “Oh!”

“I’m sorry, milady. I’ll dress yer hair. It won’t fall when I’m through with it,” Isobel vowed.

Mary endured the twisting and pinning of her hair as Isobel worked her skills on the shining, gold-streaked tresses. When finished, Mary had to admit her hair would probably not fall for any reason, save a prolonged high wind. Pulled sharply away from her face and tightly braided, it twisted back on itself in a manner deceptively intricate and severe. Mary didn’t particularly care for the style, but she hesitated to criticize Isobel’s hard work. At least the dress looked beautiful, and she had to admit Isobel had a deft hand with embroidery.

With a smile of thanks, Mary slipped out of her robe and into the cream-colored underskirt. The sumptuous green silk gown followed, settling over her with a slim, flattering style. She preened before the mirror, steeling herself against the moment she would have to face Laird Scott.

Eaden glanced up for the tenth time since he’d entered the great hall. He’d instructed the servants to set a table for himself and Mary outside in the late sunlight, hoping she would enjoy the beautiful afternoon and a little privacy away from the crowded hall. He pushed away from the table and strode into the great hall to look for her, trying to push his impatience aside.

A stir on the stairs caught his eye and Eaden stopped his pacing to watch his wife glide down the steps, her skirts trailing behind her. He stared at her, wondering how he’d kept his hands off her the past three weeks.

Her hair, pulled severely back, revealed glowing skin stretched across the elegant planes of her face. The gown she’d felt so guilty about having made hugged her slim form perfectly, and the color, he knew, matched her eyes.

Mary stopped at the last rung, unable to move past the spot where Eaden blocked her descent. Taking her hand, he tucked it in the crook of his arm and led her through the hall, past the eyes of the people gathered for supper and out into the evening sunshine. Mary lifted her face to the sky, a rare smile curving her lips. Eaden felt a twinge of pleasure at the sight. He’d been right to bring her out here.

“I’m sorry I havenae seen ye today.”

“I understand,” Mary murmured. “I’m sure many things required your attention.”

Unable to keep from touching her, he guided her into her chair, one palm resting lightly on her waist. He slid his hand up her back and down her arm as she sat, twining his fingers with hers. Dropping a quick kiss on her knuckles, he considered his seating options and chose to look at her rather than sit next to her.

“I’m afraid a certain lack of attention has made my day longer than it should,” he said.

Mary raised her eyebrows in question.

“My thoughts kept turning back to ye, Mairi. I couldnae keep my mind on my work.”

Mary blushed and parted her lips to speak, but they were interrupted as a servant arrived, setting food on the table. Eaden quickly filled his plate, passing each platter to Mary. He watched her slowly spoon some marinated vegetables onto her plate.

“Ye dinnae like the salmon?” He nodded to the bowl of creamed fish at Mary’s elbow.

She jumped at the sound of his voice, setting the serving spoon back into the bowl with a loud clatter. “I’m sorry.” She grabbed the bowl and began ladling the fish onto her plate.

Eaden covered her hand with his, stilling her actions. “Wheesht, Mairi. Ye’re no’ required to eat everything on the table.”

Mary glanced up and he detected the tiniest bit of fear lurking in the soft green depths of her eyes. “I’m not very hungry,” she admitted.

Making an abrupt decision, Eaden spread his napkin across the table and tossed bread and cheeses onto it. He pulled the corners together to make a neat packet, then rose to his feet, motioning her to stand as well.

A wary look on her face, Mary took the goblet he offered her. As she sipped the wine, he teased, “Only the best for the laird’s lady.” She flushed becomingly.

Eaden turned and motioned toward the path out of the courtyard. “Come. I know of a better place.” He nudged her with his elbow, shrugging to show her his hands were full, and once again, Mary smiled. Encouraged, Eaden grinned back and together they walked through the bailey and down the winding path to the river.

Mary cast a glance over her shoulder as they passed people hurrying toward the castle in the afternoon’s fading light. “Shouldn’t we be in the gates before dark?”

“I know the warden,” Eaden replied carelessly. “I suspect he’ll let us in.”

A note of mirth escaped her and Eaden looked at her in surprise. “Still not used to being Lady Scott and doing as ye please?”

Mary instantly sobered. “No.”

Understanding her predicament, Eaden abandoned the difficult subject and gestured toward the bend in the river. Ahead of them were the wide, flat banks where the children were wont to play. Above loomed the overhanging cliff where he had taken Mary to survey the lands of Craigievar.

Beneath the edge of the rocks, the evening shadows lengthened. Clumps of yellow broom swept to the foot of the cliff, reflecting the last sunlight and charging the very air with a clear, golden quality, mingling eerily with the mists beginning to rise from the water.

“It’s beautiful,” Mary breathed, turning slowly to take in the scene. Eaden caught his own breath as he stared at his wife, her arms outstretched, her head tilted back to inhale the soft evening air. His hands itched to release her hair from its tight coils. As if reading his thoughts, Mary pulled the pins from her hair, using her fingers to comb apart the strands of her braids. She let the mass fall over her shoulders where it blended with the golden embroidery of her gown.

Eaden dropped the food package and the wine flask on a nearby rock. With a moment of reverent hesitation, he moved slowly to the vision before him. The last of the sunlight glinted off Mary’s unbound hair and surrounded her in a halo of pure gold as she turned to him.

Power and restraint showed in the way Eaden’s muscles bunched beneath the thin shirt he wore. Opened in a deep ‘v’ on his chest, the single lace at the neck dangled untied. Mary could only stare as he moved closer. She took in his raven-dark hair and the way his sun-bronzed skin gleamed in the evening light. His eyes met hers, as if questioning her mood.

Over the past few sleepless nights, she’d had more than enough time to examine her plight from every imaginable angle. It bothered her greatly no one from Bellecourt had searched for her, and she fretted to have received no response to the missive she’d sent to Miriam several days ago. For all she’d considered Bellecourt Castle her home, she’d been made uncomfortably aware since her mother’s death, she was no longer of much, if any, interest to Laird Barde.

If she stayed at Scott Castle, she’d have the protection of Eaden’s name and all who swore fealty to him. And she’d have the man himself.

Again she looked from her thoughts to her husband. Though his size and aura of utter confidence easily frightened her, she was beginning to learn he possessed a gentler side. Stern and unyielding though he could be, he’d offered her more than a chance to come to terms with her new life, and even now wooed her in the bargain. Mary blinked in surprise at the thought.
Laird Scott wooing me, Mary Marsh?
It sent an unaccustomed thrill down her spine and she twitched at the sensation.

“Cold?” he asked, his voice pitched low.

Mary shook her head. “No, just unsure. I mean, after last night . . .”

“Could ye come over here and let me settle the question, then, lass?”

Did he offer to let her chose to come to him? Or did he use his infamous diplomacy to hide a well-phrased command? Mary took a deep breath and made her decision. With Isobel’s advice running through her mind, Mary stepped into her husband’s arms.