The Highlander's Accidental Bride (4 page)

“But we already have,” Eaden pointed out. He advanced until he stood only a few inches from her, and breathed deeply. The scent of flowers filled his senses, and he ached to feel the warmth of her skin. But she dropped her gaze and refused to meet his look.

“That doesn’t count,” she replied, stubbornly studying the stone floor at her feet.

Eaden laughed aloud. “It doesnae? Explain this to me.”

Mary cut her gaze to his. “You didn’t know who I was. You can still request an annulment for being tricked into marriage with me.”

“So now
I
was tricked into marrying
ye
?”

“You can view it that way. I’m sure it was an accident.”

Eaden could see how frantically her pulse beat in her throat as she tried to ignore his nearness. He wondered what would happen if he touched her. Would she swoon, repulsed? Or would he feel the fine response her body promised? He sidled closer and she quickly retreated.

“What if ye carry my child?” he asked softly, watching the way her breathing quickened, making her breasts rise and fall beneath the thin fabric of her gown.

“No! I want an annulment. You cannot be so cruel as to force me to bear your child just to keep me here.”

“Well, ye can try telling the priest who married us ye’ll no’ have me. He’ll be shocked and completely unsympathetic to ye. We are married, lass, whether ye are Miriam or no.”

“You cannot want me,” she stormed. “You didn’t want Miriam, so how could you want me?”

Eaden lifted his gaze to the window behind Mary, staring blindly out at the twist of light on the river beyond the castle walls. With no answer to her question, he searched for a compromise to gain some time until he could decide the matter.

If she was not Miriam, it was possible King Robert would be unhappy with the results of taking matters into his own hands. Perhaps if he left her alone until her fate was decided, it would be easier to appease the king.

Mary or Miriam? Whoever she was, what could be the harm in giving her a little time to come to terms with her new life? He hadn’t wanted her before and he couldn’t explain why he wanted her now.

He brought his attention back to the woman before him. “How long until ye know if ye are with child?”

She turned a startled gaze on him. “I don’t know, m’laird.” Mary seemed clearly puzzled by his question.

Staring into her eyes, he found he liked the pure green color that reminded him of the mountains in spring. He frowned at the thought. He was a practical man, not one given to comparing women’s eyes to lush, grass-covered hills.

With difficulty he dragged his attention to her answer and sighed. That was the problem with virgins. They had to be taught everything. “How long until yer next woman’s bleed?” he asked her bluntly.

Mary’s mouth dropped open, clearly shocked. “I cannot . . .”

“Days? Weeks?”

A fiery blush now stained her cheeks. “A week, or less.”

Eaden nodded. “I can wait that long.”

Eaden perused the great hall but did not see his wife. On his first night home in nearly two weeks, he had worked at settling what business was required of him. Yet he’d been hard-pressed to think much beyond the fact he didn’t know his wife’s name. Damn the wench! He had enough problems without fighting with her about her identity.

Stretching his arms above his head, he sighed deeply. If the state of the damped fireplace indicated the late hour, he could probably safely assume his bride, whoever she was, had already gone to bed.

A lazy smile curved his lips. Now, there was something to think about. Would she still be in his rooms? Or had she insisted on her own? His tiredness slid away and he pushed himself from the table with a squeak of wood on the stone floor.

“Off to bed?” Ranald glanced up, his arm draped loosely about the shoulders of a young widow who had taken his fancy a few weeks ago.

Without bothering to answer his brother’s query, nonetheless Eaden idly wondered if the attachment between Ranald and the widow would last. He could certainly think of worse arrangements. His own, for instance.

His steps dragged as he ascended the stairs. Prepared for a life of contempt and outright loathing from the wife he’d been forced to wed, he’d not considered a pleasurable alternative the night he’d married her. Though he hadn’t expected smiles and kisses on his return today, neither could he have imagined this new twist. He’d been surprised by her counterattack to the marriage, though he admitted it was brilliant.

Coming to a stop at the closed door to his rooms, he tested the latch, relieved to find it unsecured. Despite his current, dangerous mood regarding the possible treachery of his new wife, kicking in the door would have been difficult. Even so, Eaden’s blood began to boil.
Damned if I’ll let her run me out of my own bedroom!

Nor was he about to have where he or his wife slept gossiped about by the servants. He gritted his teeth and shoved the door open. With only the slightest moan of protest the heavy panel swung open and he eased inside.

The banked embers on the hearth cast a warm glow around the room, illuminating the bed and the small form of his wife tucked beneath the covers. Her skin glowed like porcelain lit from within and her silky hair spilled into the shadows. He frowned. He had promised he would not touch her until she knew if she carried his child. It gave him a week to determine if she was in fact Miriam, and what to do with her if her identity proved otherwise.

Eaden turned abruptly from the bed and strode to the bathing chamber, stripping away his clothes with more force than necessary. He splashed cold water on his face and reached for a piece of linen to wipe the moisture away.

With the cloth at his nose, he stopped, sniffing experimentally. He drew back in surprise. It smelled like flowers! Flicking his gaze across the table, he noticed the bar of soap in a dish beside the basin. He picked it up, noting the soft texture, and sniffed again. Flowers!

The scent was subtle, but warm and enticing. And it belonged to his wife. Absently, he used the damp cloth to wipe the travel dust and grime from the rest of his body as he remembered his conversation with Ranald earlier in the day.

“How certain are ye the lass ye married is Lady Miriam?” his brother had asked him.

It hadn’t been a difficult question. As a herald for the king, it was very important for Eaden to pay attention to people, the details of their lives and actions. The futures of kings could depend on his observations. He had seen Lady Miriam once before; not an introduction, but he’d had reason to ask who she was.

Miriam herself was the difficult part of the question.

“I remember the lass. How could I no’ notice her?” he’d retorted.

Even now he recalled the shine of gold-shot chestnut hair, the slender form that had garnered his initial admiration.

Ranald had grinned. “What did ye think of her, then?”

“I dinnae like her.”

“Ye dinnae?” Ranald had scratched his head, his raised eyebrows indicating his surprise.

“Och, she was aye lovely, to be sure. Quite a feast for the eyes. But she made no attempt to hide her dislike of me.” He’d shrugged. “Lovely as the lass was, she had a mean spirit that dinnae suit her fair form.”

“Was there a companion with her? Is it possible your lady wife is speaking the truth?”

Eaden had frowned at his brother’s query. Anything was possible. He’d stayed at Edinburgh Castle for three days awaiting King Robert’s pleasure, with ample time to observe the people gathered there. The king had hunted each day and Eaden had ridden out with him and his retinue, returning in the evenings to find Lady Miriam surrounded by more than her share of eager young swains. Try as he might, he could not say whether another lass amid the young ladies could have been Lady Miriam’s companion.

He mentally compared his memory of Lady Miriam with the young woman he’d married. Her looks were as striking as the girl he remembered, but he could not imagine Lady Miriam toiling amongst his servants, as he’d seen his wife doing earlier today. He could not align the new Lady Scott with the shallow, haughty young woman who’d turned his head and his stomach at court that day.

Eaden snorted. His king couldn’t have done him a greater disservice than to demand he wed the conceited witch, no matter how beautiful. Peace between the clans be damned. He wanted peace in his own house.

With a muttered curse, Eaden shook himself from his reverie and opened the chamber door. He stared across the room where his wife lay peacefully sleeping, and strode to the bed for a closer look.

She faced him, and stretched against the back of her legs lay Sorcha, contentedly snoozing amid the soft bedding. Eaden sighed in irritation. With the long-legged deerhound sprawled across the mattress, the pair left precious little space for him to sleep.

“Move, Sorcha.” He snapped his fingers in command at the hound. Sorcha cracked one eye open in disgruntled response before returning to her slumber. Eaden shoved at the dog’s haunch and Sorcha twitched the leg once in response. With a scowl, he grabbed the hound by her collar and attempted to drag her from the bed. She was a large beast and her uncooperative weight impressive, but Eaden would not countenance her usurping his place on his own bed.

“Damn it, Sorcha! Move yer carcass!”

He tugged at the beast. She groaned but did not rouse. Bracing his hip against the bed frame, Eaden dragged the dog across the mattress and dumped her on the floor. Giving her master a long-suffering glare, Sorcha padded to her rug beside the fireplace.

Disturbed by the commotion on the bed, Mary rolled onto her back, flinging one arm out across the mattress, but did not wake.

Another curse hissed through his lips. As wide as the bed was, Mary now managed to take up more than her fair share, leaving only a sliver of mattress available. When had retiring for the night become such a difficult task?

Eaden walked to the far side of the bed. Leaning over, he grasped Mary’s arm, intending to move it at least enough to allow him to take his share of the bed. A whiff of flowers drifted up, teasing his senses, and his resolve took a direct hit. What a fine thing, to simply hold her against him during the night. Her scent intrigued him and he rather fancied falling asleep, breathing in the heady aroma.

Surely he could just hold her. His promise was only to not make love to her, after all. Easing into the bed, he grabbed the blanket, pulling it to his waist before reaching for Mary. But Sorcha would not be denied her new infatuation. As Eaden hesitated, she leapt back onto the bed, burrowing herself between her master and her new mistress.

Reluctantly conceding defeat, Eaden at last fell asleep with the scent of hound in his nostrils.

Ranald gave a light tap on Eaden’s bedroom door and strolled in without waiting for an answer, as was his wont. It was a rare enough day he caught his brother still abed, but the sight that met his eyes this morning stopped him dead in his tracks. He hovered between outright laughter and leaving the room immediately. The absurdity of it all won, and he laughed.

“Wha . . .?” Mary’s eyes flew open at the sound. Blinking owlishly in sleepy surprise, she sat upright, clutching the thin blanket to her chest. On the other side of the bed, Eaden came awake with a jerk and a muttered curse. Sorcha snored gently, sprawled between them, undisturbed by the tableau around her.

Mary tried to scramble to her feet, but the hem of her night shift caught beneath more than a hundred pounds of slumbering dog, and she sat abruptly, unable to rise further. Ranald’s first instinct was to rush to her to keep her from falling off the bed, but before he could take more than a single step, Mary slid off the edge and onto the floor. Her shift rode high beneath her arms as it refused to pull free from beneath Sorcha’s weight. Ranald turned on his heel and seated himself a safe distance away in the chair beside the fireplace.

Eaden cursed loudly as he rolled to his feet. He usually slept naked, and last night was no exception. Mary averted her eyes, her pale skin turning pink to the very tips of her ears.

Unable to completely stifle another laugh, Ranald snorted loudly as his brother stomped across the floor to the private bathing chamber. As soon as he disappeared through the portal, Mary struggled to her feet, tugging the hem of her night shift from beneath the slumbering hound.

Ranald waited until Mary straightened her clothing before he spoke, a broad grin on his face and good-natured humor in his voice. “Should I assume the two of ye have made amends?”

Mary’s look of horror sobered him, and he leaned forward, his forearms braced on his knees. “I’m sorry, lass. I dinnae mean to intrude. But seeing the two of ye together this morning was no’ what I expected.” His lips curved wryly. “I would have waited until Eaden bid me enter had I thought ye’d be in here with him.”

“I’ve slept here every night for the past two weeks. I didn’t give it a thought when I went to bed last night.” With her brow wrinkled and her lips in a downward curve, Mary looked decidedly unhappy. “Laird Scott was much later than I, getting to bed.”

“Och, the two of ye’ll work it out,” Ranald offered kindly, relaxing in his chair. “Ye’ll see.”

Mary slumped on the edge of the mattress. “But I don’t want to work it out, Ranald. I want to go home.”

“I’d prefer it if ye dinnae voice yer displeasure outside this room.” Eaden’s voice rumbled with annoyance as he paced into the room, settling his breeches about his hips. He shot his bride a glare that made her flush as though she’d made a terrible error. But her eyes narrowed with visible defiance.

“You agreed to wait.”

Eaden came to a halt and regarded her with a blank stare. “Wait for what?”

Mary huffed and frowned at Eaden. Intrigued, Ranald leaned forward in his chair, unwilling to miss a word.

“You agreed to . . . to not sleep with me,” she blurted. Her face flushed anew.

“I dinnae touch ye last night!” Eaden growled.

“But what will the servants say if they know you slept in here with me?”

“I dinnae give a damn what the servants say!” he shouted. Eaden turned an even darker shade of red than his bride, obviously out of sorts with whatever agreement they’d reached between them.

“Of course ye do,” Ranald interjected from the relative safety of his chair. “‘Tis why ye slept in here with her and no’ in one of the empty rooms down the hall.”

Eaden rounded on Ranald, waving furiously at the door. “Get out!” he bellowed.

With a shrug, Ranald rose to his feet and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

“If you sleep in here with me, the servants will assume . . .” Mary’s gaze dropped. “We cannot get an annulment if everyone thinks we’ve . . .” She glanced back at Eaden, a defiant look on her face. “Then I’ll move out!”

“Ye’ll do no such thing!” Eaden thundered, his face taut with the strain of keeping his anger in check. “I’ll no’ be dictated to by a hysterical wife or a castle full of servants!”

“You promised!”

Eaden’s eyes darkened as he slowly advanced on his wife. Mary held her ground, clenching her hands into fists.

“‘Tis not sleeping ye’re afraid of,” he retorted scornfully. He stopped before her, his chest nearly touching hers. “This is what frightens ye.”

Before she could take a step away, his lips swooped down and claimed hers. His hand caught her waist, and he yanked her hard against him. He ignored her half-smothered gasp, determined to kiss her thoroughly.

But as she began to push against him in protest, he changed his intent. He’d meant the kiss as an outlet for his scorn for the woman he’d been forced to marry, and in denial of his growing attraction for her. Instead, he gentled the kiss, coaxing her to participate as he nipped gently at her bottom lip. She’d probably never been kissed before, and the barrier she’d naturally formed against him after their wedding night would be difficult to overcome. Yet, Eaden felt the tension ebb from her body and his blood pounded hotly as Mary began to respond, her hands sliding up his chest to grip the front of his shirt.

He lifted his head and her body sagged, her knees buckling as she clung to him. Her eyelids grew heavy as he slid one hand gently across her cheek. Then she blinked at him, and before he could hide the satisfied look on his face, he felt strength flow through her. She shoved hard against him and he released her, though he didn’t let her retreat further than an arm’s length from him.

“That, milady, is what ye fear.”

Mary’s eyes flashed. “That, Laird, is what you promised to keep in check!”

“Aye,” he agreed. “But only for a week or so,” he reminded her bluntly.

“I’ll not stay here a moment longer. I will not stay if I am not with child.”

Eaden twitched his gaze to the bed and back at her. “Would ye care to increase the odds?”

This time Mary jerked from his grasp. “No!” she shouted, the frightened look on her face telling him she didn’t trust him.

His lips curled in disgust. “I said ye had no more to fear from me,” he flared. “I willnae force ye.”

Mary’s look of disbelief broke the last vestiges of his control and he pushed past her without another glance. He threw open the door and kept going, not pausing as the door slammed back into its frame with a resounding crash.