The Highlander's Accidental Bride (11 page)

“Ye smell like heaven,” Eaden murmured as he held her close, his face buried in her soft hair. Her feel and scent fueled his pounding heart when she’d walked into his arms. After her fearful withdrawal from him the night before, he had been unsure if he could mend things between them. His relief at her apparent concession, if not actual surrender, gave him hope, and he leaned forward to nuzzle her neck.

Tilting her head, Mary exposed her throat to his kisses, and he greedily nibbled the creamy skin within his reach, a man denied his favored treat for too long. He lifted a hand to cup her breast, and felt her stiffen in response.

“Settle, Mairi. I willnae hurt ye.” Willing himself to slow down, he gently stroked his hand up and down her side, accustoming her to his touch. He wanted her, but on his terms, not resentful cooperation wrung from her in tearful submission.

As Mary released a pent-up breath, Eaden sensed the tension leave her body and he turned his attention to her lips, remembering how she responded to his kisses. She arched into his caress, wrapping her arms about his neck, and he needed no more encouragement. He bent and scooped her off her feet, and strode near the base of the cliff where the yellow broom bushes stopped and the soft moss grew in the cool shadows. He let her slide slowly to the ground, feeling her slender length press against him.

“Turn around so I can unlace ye,” he whispered against her ear, his voice husky with passion. For an instant, Eaden wasn’t sure if she would comply, but Mary slid her arms from his neck and turned, presenting her back to him.

“Yer hair feels like silk, Mairi.” He filled his hands with burnished curls before brushing the mass over her shoulder. He nuzzled the back of her neck, trailing slow kisses over her bare skin, delighting in her shivers. With minimal trouble, he freed the laces of her dress and pushed it from her shoulders, steadying her with a hand beneath her elbow as she stepped out of the gown. He turned her to face him, staring hungrily at her slender form in the thin, creamy underskirt only a shade darker than her pale skin.

He plunged both hands into her hair and pulled her to him, drinking in the honey of her lips. He slid his fingers down her neck and across her shoulders, trembling with need as he fumbled for the single tie at the top of her shift. Mary flinched as he tugged the lacing impatiently. Belatedly, he realized she likely remembered the way he’d torn her dress the night of their wedding.
Damn
. With a muttered curse, he carefully slid open the neck of her dress, which only needed a nudge of his fingers to slide it off her shoulders to pool, soft as a sigh, on the ground at her feet.

He stared at her. He had no breath, no ability to move or even think. Only one part of him was doing any thinking and it strained against his breeches, demanding immediate attention.

“Ye’re so beautiful, Mairi.” Clumsy in a way he couldn’t understand, he knelt at her feet and picked up the thin cotton shift. He shook it out and spread it over the moss at the base of the cliff. Removing his own clothes, he slung them impatiently to the side before he turned back to Mary.

She stood motionless, her body a study of moonlight and shadows. Her hands fisted at her side and Eaden covered the distance between them in two long strides, refusing to give her time to fear him all over again. He gathered her against him, stroking his hands down her arms.

“Come with me,” he said as he grasped her hand in his and led her to the soft bed he’d prepared for them.

The cool night air enveloped Mary’s skin like a soft glove and she caught her breath only with effort as Eaden’s heated gaze drifted over her. “Are ye all right, Mairi?”

Even as she considered his words, she marveled at the frisson of something strange and new coursing deep within her. Was she all right? She had to be, for there could be no turning back. After this, her decision would be made, and she would belong to Eaden forever.

With Isobel’s warning running through her head, Mary nodded, swallowing hard against her nervousness as he followed her down to the shift he’d spread on the moss. She felt the soft bumps and hollows of the ground beneath her in sharp contrast to the powerful arms pinning her on either side. The heat from his body poured over her, banishing the chill of the damp earth and the fear she couldn’t entirely keep at bay.

His hands roamed her skin, touching her in ways no one ever had before. She trembled, biting her lip to stifle the cries fluttering at the back of her throat. The bold feel of him, naked against her, did not change her determination to let him do as he wished. Isobel had promised her he would finish quickly, and she wanted nothing more than to please him as his wife should. Surely she could endure this.

As Eaden continued his determined assault on her senses, she began to wonder if enduring would be as easy as she’d thought. Each touch of his hands, each caress of his mouth caused her breath to quicken, and her skin burned as though on fire. His fingers sought out the most intimate part of her and she tensed, dreading what was to come.

“I’ll no’ hurt ye again, Mairi,” he vowed hoarsely. “Let me love ye.”

With a great force of will, Mary relaxed and discovered he did not lie when he loved her gently in the moonlight. Yet afterward, she cried.

His breath coming harsh and deep, Eaden almost missed the sounds she made. Fighting back the rapid echoes of his thudding heart, he listened again for the unmistakable sound of Mary crying. And heard it.

Caught between frustration and anxiety, Eaden rolled to his side, pulling her head onto his shoulder, stroking her hair in an effort to calm his sudden agitation. “What’s wrong, Mairi?”

She remained silent, a mute denial anything was amiss.

He tried again. “‘Tis no’ wrong for a husband to love his wife. Even here beneath the stars, ‘tis a fine thing.”

“I know,” Mary quietly replied. Too quietly.

Eaden sighed. “Did ye no’ like it, then?”

Mary stiffened and he knew he’d hit the mark. But it was downright embarrassing for a man of his experience and reputation to have left his wife feeling so, so . . .

Damn
.

He eased his arm from beneath Mary’s head and started to rise, but couldn’t resist one last kiss. “Come, Mairi,” he said as he released her. “Let us see if the warden will let us in this night.”

He helped her to her feet. She gathered her clothes with visibly trembling hands and pulled them on, turning so he could tighten the laces on her gown. Eaden caught her sidelong glance at him as he dressed and hid a relieved grin.
At least she’s curious.

As soon as they both were ready, he led her back along the river to the path leading to the castle gates. He followed her through the narrow door beside the main gate and heard the heavy thud of the latch as the warden fastened it securely behind them.

Sorcha came bounding across the floor as soon as the bedroom door opened, flinging herself with a happy
woof
at her mistress, nearly knocking her down in her excitement.

“Wheesht, now, Sorcha,” Eaden admonished the big hound. “Stand on yer own feet.” He gave the dog a good-natured swat and Sorcha responded with a bounce of pure delight. With a leap defying the sheer size of the dog, she landed in the middle of the bed and turned to watch the pair who halted inside the door.

“No’ tonight, lass.” He strode to the bed and took the dog by her collar. He dragged her onto the floor and after a glance at Eaden’s unyielding face, Sorcha padded to her blanket beside the fireplace. Turning around and around to bunch the blanket into an acceptable jumble, the dog flopped down with a sigh and closed her eyes.

“Ye look ready to collapse,” Eaden said as he turned back to Mary. “Slip into bed and relax.”

She eyed the bed, then firmed her chin and once again stripped out of her clothes. Eaden saw her hand falter as she reached for her night shift. With a quick look over her shoulder at him, she abandoned the shift and slid naked between the sheets.

He didn’t know what to think about Mary’s actions, but matters would surely change between himself and his lamentably naïve wife. He pulled off his own clothes and slipped into bed next to her. Wrapping his arms around her, he brought her close against him and nuzzled her ear, letting one hand slide over her shoulder and down to cup her breast.

“Och, Mairi,” he murmured as he felt her body tense. “Ye’ve got to forget what yer ma told ye about making love.”

“My mother died more than three years ago,” Mary said quietly. “I was just thirteen.”

“Then dinnae be afraid of me, Mairi. I cannae bear it. I’m paying dearly for the way I treated ye on our wedding night. I’ll never hurt ye again. I swear it.”

He held her against him for a time, unable to tell from her uneven breathing if she believed him or not. Just as he made up his mind to drag the problem out into the open again, Mary turned in his arms. Now facing him, she pulled his face to hers, molding her lips to his, drinking him in hungrily.

Her daring resulted in Eaden’s undoing and he could hold himself back no longer. He buried himself in her with a shudder and gave himself up to the best way he knew to please her.

The heat of him, the restrained power shifting beneath her hands, made Mary gasp with a pleasure so fierce it shook her to her core. She stiffened the instant the sound left her lips, afraid, so afraid to let him see what he did to her.

She couldn’t hide the fierce pounding of her heart or the way her breathing grew labored as he stroked her intimately, and she gritted her teeth against the flames streaking through her. He slid inside her, stretching and filling her. She wanted to shout at him, use her hands to urge him on, unsure if she rushed him to finish quickly or to meet with the frantic demands of her body.

Her hands clenched on his shoulders and she choked back a sob. Isobel had told her he would take great pleasure with her, but only lowbred women with insatiable appetites would derive pleasure from the act. Such men as Laird Scott did not want a wanton woman for a wife. A hint of enjoyment from her would lead only to his disgust.

Determined to be the wife she’d been told was acceptable to the laird, she fought her body’s responses to him, and this time, when Eaden buried his face in her hair, his heartbeat pounding in her ears, she carefully hid her tears.

Hearing children’s laughter, Mary followed the shrill sounds out to the bailey. In the streamers of sunlight slanting through the early morning mists, several of the castle children ran screaming with delight as one small boy aimed a ball in their midst. Mary laughed wistfully at their antics, but her soft sound of mirth was not what stopped their play. It was the sight of Sorcha who ambled out into the yard beside her.

A red-haired boy spotted the deerhound first, and, with a shout, he left the group and loped over to Mary, the rest following with more caution.

“M’ name’s Geordie, milady.” He gave a quick bob of his head for courtesy’s sake, his eyes on Sorcha. “Ist tha’ yer dog?”

“Well, she belongs to Laird Scott, but she is with me a lot.” Mary tilted her head at the lad. “And how did you know who I am?”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, milady, but there’s none who can own these dogs and they’re no’ an earl at least.” His lips lifted in an impish grin. “And everyone kens the laird’s new lady is a Barde.”

Mary frowned. “But . . .”

“An’ his dog is guarding ye.”

Before Mary could question him further, the girl at Geordie’s side jerked hard on his sleeve. “Wheesht, Geordie! Ye’ll be getting us into trouble, now.” She peered from beneath lowered lashes at Lady Scott. “I apologize for my brother, milady.” She cut her gaze to Geordie for an instant, giving him a frown and another jerk on his sleeve as he opened his mouth. “He’s a bit forward. Our own ma says he is.”

Mary tightened her lips to keep from laughing. It was obvious though Geordie was unapologetically interested in both her and Sorcha, his sister either did not like having a Barde clanswoman as Lady Scott or perhaps sincerely feared for her brother and his brash ways.

She composed herself and let a slight smile touch her lips. “No disrespect noted,” Mary reassured the pair. “And what is your name?”

Geordie’s sister gave Mary a short bob. “Cathella, milady. Though most call me Ella.”

“I’m Ailie,” the littlest girl piped up, bobbing her knees in an attempt at a curtsy.

Ella pointed to the other two children, as alike as down on a thistle. “An’ yon’s Hamish and Kyle.” She pointed unerringly from one brother to the other, and Mary had to take her word for she could see no difference between them.

With a solemn nod, Mary accepted the introductions. “I am Mary, Lady Scott.” She rested her hand on Sorcha’s head. “And this is Sorcha.”

“May we pet her?”

“Ist she friendly?”

“Wheesht, ye maunt get yer fingers bit off!”

Mary held her hand up for silence. Five expectant faces turned to her. “You must be very still and hold out your hands, each of you. Don’t approach her. Let her come to you.”

With great solemnity, each child did as Mary said.

Apparently willing to humor the children, Sorcha strolled among them, sniffing each outstretched hand and offering a lick here and there. At last she returned to Mary and sat her furry rump on the ground at her side, tail swishing gently in the dust.

“D’ye suppose she’ll play ball w’ us?” one of the twins asked.

“Dinnae be daft,” Geordie scoffed. “Th’ dog is a hunter, no’ a pet,” he informed the others loftily, willing to share his obviously superior knowledge. “She’s also here to guard milady.”

“Ist she mean?” Ailie turned solemn eyes to Mary for reassurance.

“No, Sorcha is not mean. But she
is
a hunter, as Geordie said. And she
does
protect me.” Mary leaned forward to Ailie’s level. “I don’t think she plays ball.”

“Will she guard us if we go to the river?”

“Yes! We’ll go to the river!”

“Come on, Kyle!”

“Hurry up, Hamish!”

“Sorcha and milady are going with us to the river!”

Mary regarded the excited children, remembering the ones she’d seen playing beside the river the day Eaden had taken her to the cliff, showing her all of Craigievar.
The day I learned I would receive no divorce.

She banished the memory and instead replaced it with the shrieks of laughter that had drifted to her ears that afternoon.

“All right,” she agreed, touching the children’s shoulders as they turned toward the castle gate. She glanced once at the sky, judging the clouds as they fled across the blue expanse, promising a beautiful summer morning.

“Let’s go to the river!”

Hamish’s aim went awry, and the ball, made of tightly bound rags, landed with an unexpected
plop
in the gently eddying water next to Mary. Intent on searching for pretty rocks for Ailie in the shallow pool, she jumped to her feet in surprise, whirling to face the perceived threat. And came face-to-face with five sets of frightened eyes.

The children stood in silence for a few worried moments. Glistening specks of water dripped from Mary’s nose and Ella laughed. Horrified, the girl immediately clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide.

“Do you think I cannot retaliate?” Mary intoned, trying her best to keep the amusement from her voice. Slowly, she bent to retrieve the now-sodden ball and held it before her. All eyes turned on it as the river water sluiced from its mass.

With a sudden move, Mary drew her hand back and threw the ball unerringly at Geordie’s chest. The dull thud as it struck the sturdy boy sounded unexpectedly loud in the silence and Mary could hold back her laughter no longer.

She whooped as Geordie reflexively clutched the ball to his chest, making a wet stain on his shirt that spread rapidly outwards. Relief lit their faces as the children realized Lady Scott did not appear to be angry. They fell upon each other, snatching the ball away and squeezing its liquid contents on tousled heads. With screeches of girlish fright, Ella and Ailie darted away from the scrambling boys, taking refuge behind Mary’s skirts.

“No fair!” Geordie panted, not brave enough to drag his sister from her hiding place.

Giggling wildly, the girls fled across the grass along the edge of the slow-moving river. Mary watched their play, her entire body humming with contentment. She folded her arms, hugging herself to contain the moment of joy. As the children ran ahead, Mary followed, stopping to pick a handful of flowers from the plants growing beside the water. She held the blossoms to her nose, inhaling their sweet fragrance. Her eyes drifted upwards, thanking heaven for the beauty of the day.

A movement on the hills above caught her eye, the thud of pounding hooves growing loud as she spun to the left, peering intently in the direction of the sound. Two riders, urging their horses on, broke through the cover of the shrubs and Mary gasped in recognition.

“Ian!” Waving her hands in the air, she struggled to get his attention. He reined his horse to an abrupt stop. His searching gaze locked onto her, and to her horror, he wheeled his horse over the edge of the low cliff with a jerk of his hand, his shoulders nearly touching his horse’s rump as he leaned back, helping his mount keep his balance on his downward plunge.

Mary clapped a hand over her mouth, her heart pumping as Ian pulled his horse to a halt beside her.

“What are ye doin’ out here, milady?” he shouted, trying to be heard above the excited cries of the children running toward them.

“We were playing, nothing more,” Mary replied, more than a little frightened by the force of his rebuke.

“Soldiers are coming. Mount up behind me!” Ian kicked a foot free of its stirrup and leaned forward, grabbing Mary’s hand.

“No!”

“I must get ye to safety!” Ian’s tone brooked no argument, but Mary snatched her hand away and stumbled away from his reach.

“I will bring the children. Go warn the castle.”

Ian nudged his horse closer to her, but Mary took another pace back, battling her fear of the horse, warning Ian with a look that she would not come along quietly. By now the children were clustered around her, their eyes on Ian and his prancing horse.

Ian scanned the trail to the castle, then glanced over his shoulder at the road he’d just left. Dust rose in the distance.

“Run!” Ian wrenched his horse toward the castle. Holding the steed to a pace even with the children, he followed, faithful as the deerhound guarding the children on their other side.

The children ran, Mary at their heels. Hooves pounded behind them, and Mary’s heart leapt into her throat in fear. The gates to the castle were open wide, but beginning to close. Through loosened hair slashing across her face, Mary saw guards leaning over the edge of the parapet, urging them on. They held their bows up, arrows notched and ready, unable to fire upon the approaching intruders if need be.

Mary’s breath came in hot gasps of panic as she realized the riders were almost upon them. The ground beneath her feet changed abruptly from grass to beaten dirt. Ahead of her Ailie let out a cry, her hands flying out in front of her as she fell sprawling to the ground. Close on the little girl’s heels, Mary tried to stop, but she tripped, rolling to one side to avoid landing on the child. The others ran ahead of them, but Ian saw them fall and wheeled his horse around. Mary scrambled to her feet, clutching at Ailie, dragging her upright.

Sobbing her terror, Ailie tripped again. Mary pulled the child against her, but they were now far behind the others. Ian reined to a stop close beside them, his horse prancing against the pull of the bit. Looking over his shoulder, Ian maneuvered his horse back a step, putting himself between Mary and the soldiers on their heels.

“Here!” Mary thrust the squirming body of the child into Ian’s lap. Startled, he tucked the girl before him in the saddle, snugging her tight beneath one arm. He leaned forward, reaching for Mary.

Mary shook her head wildly, unable to force herself to mount up behind Ian, regardless of the soldiers on their heels. “Go! I’ll be right behind you.” She caught her breath at the indecision on Ian’s face, afraid he’d force her onto the horse. “Please,” she begged him. “Save her.”

Ian swore. His horse whirled in a tight circle, fighting his master’s heavy hand. Mary jerked backward, tucking her hands behind her, out of his reach. Ailie choked on a frightened sob and Mary saw the child’s torn dress, her tear-streaked and scraped cheeks red from her fall.

Ian glanced behind Mary, judging the advance of the intruders and Mary took his moment of inattention to dart further away. Certain Ian had the child safe in his arms, she turned and faced the riders behind them. Their blue and yellow banner unfurled, and Mary stared, dumbfounded at the sight.

With her head held high, Mary stood in the middle of the road to the castle, flanked by the enormous dog at her side whose fangs gleamed whitely beneath snarling lips.