The Highlander's Accidental Bride (6 page)

Eaden strode through the great hall and out to the stables. Although intent on cleaning his horse’s tack, Ranald glanced up. Eaden held out a restraining hand to ward off his brother’s questions and saddled Duff with angry efficiency. With a look of concern, Ranald rose to saddle his own horse.

“I need to clear my head,” Eaden muttered by way of explanation as he swung up onto his horse.

“Aye. And ye need someone to watch yer back,” Ranald replied grimly. Eaden bit back a rebuff, knowing the dangers of riding the mountain trails alone. Too impatient to summon further retainers or soldiers for his protection, he scowled but accepted Ranald’s company.

Eaden rode from the stable, spurring the horse into a dead run before they cleared the castle gate, leaving his most immediate troubles far behind.

After riding the trail for several minutes, he reined the stallion back toward the river, though the horse was far from winded and pulled at the bit in protest. Ranald drew his own horse to a walk beside him.

“Leave me,” Eaden snapped, in no mood for company or conversation. Ranald withdrew to a promontory near the river with a view of the trail and surrounding hills. Eaden threw himself from the saddle as soon as the horse cantered to a plodding walk, and set off across the ground in angry, pounding strides.

How dare she demand a divorce!
His thoughts infuriated him even as he ignored the pride he felt whenever Mary stood up for herself. He couldn’t explain why he’d teased her and then kissed her a few minutes ago, but he’d been unable to stop himself and his blood still ran hot from their encounter.

He wheeled abruptly, heading for the cooling embrace of the river. Duff followed close on his heels, trailing his reins in the grass. As soon as Eaden spotted the sparkling waters, he wrenched away his clothes, flinging them to the ground. Two steps later he launched himself into a faultless shallow dive and sliced into the cold water, certain he heard it sizzle against his heated skin.

It took several moments for his blood to begin to cool, even in the cold river water, but soon his head cleared and he stroked to a pool eddying gently against the bank, away from the main current. Rolling onto his back, he floated there, staring at the clouds churning lazily across the sky.

He still could not understand how the lass had gotten under his skin. He was known in two countries as a man long on patience and courage and the good of his country at heart. In less than two weeks he’d all but forfeited the backing of his king, routinely lost his patience with the woman he’d married, and succumbed to her tears and pleading with a complete lack of courage.

Eaden doubted he would be granted a divorce simply because he’d been stupid. Marrying another to enhance a political advantage might garner approval from the king, but no other prospects for marriage came to mind. If Mary failed to provide him an heir, he could perhaps divorce her, though many men simply adopted an illegitimate son and avoided the trouble of a divorce.

The problem remained; Eaden had no real reason to pursue divorce, beyond the fact she wanted to go home. He’d lost interest in the other women he’d taken to bed over the years. He couldn’t say if it was due to the overwhelming duties as laird of Craigievar and King Robert’s herald, or the green eyes and slender body of a certain lass he’d married.

A splash reached his ears and he quickly righted himself. He opened his eyes, scanning the surface of the water for a hint to the source of the sound. Several long moments later, the object intruding on his thoughts surfaced. For the first time he could remember, he wasn’t pleased to see the fan of night-dark hair or the slender arms pulling the body he knew only too well across the water toward him.

He waited as Isobel stopped before him and rested her feet on the bottom of the pool. They were currently eye-to-eye, but Eaden knew if he stood upright, the top of her head would reach no higher than his chin. He also knew if he touched her, she would allow him to do anything he wanted. Anything at all.

Isobel’s slender fingers smoothed her hair back from her face, letting it pool in a shining curtain around her. She glanced down, and Eaden’s gaze followed hers to her breasts, tantalizingly visible just beneath the surface of the water. He lifted his gaze to meet hers and she gave him a mocking smile.

“I understand ye have married,” she finally purred when Eaden made no move to speak or touch her. Her full lips pursed in a seductive pout.

“As have ye, now,” he reminded her bluntly.

Isobel flushed and looked away for a brief moment. “I’d not known ye would wed so quickly.” She dragged one arm back and forth across the surface of the water. Eaden caught himself staring at the smooth perfection of her skin. “And not knowing if I carried yer child or no’ . . .”

His eyes narrowed. “What game is this ye’re playing, Isobel? We’d no’ been together for more than two months before my wedding. The whole castle, and likely the village, too, had been abuzz with the news I would wed Barde’s daughter. I’d sent for ye to explain, but your maid said you were ‘indisposed.’ A common response if ye were either bleeding or put out with me.”

Isobel sighed prettily. “Of course I was put out with ye, my love. I’d no idea ye were finished with me.”

“Dinnae make it sound more than two people using each other.” He saw Isobel stiffen to hear him dismiss their previous intimacy so brusquely. “Ye knew I wouldnae marry for love, but to serve the king. I was honest with ye from the beginning.”

“So ye admit ye are no’ in love with yer wife.” She targeted quickly on his words.

“Are ye in love with yer new husband?” Eaden countered.

Isobel glided closer, the water swaying in seductive eddies between their bodies. “How could ye believe I would love anyone but ye?”

Eaden stared at the woman before him. Only a few weeks ago he’d have readily sampled all she offered, and more. Only a few weeks ago he would have enjoyed their banter, knowing what would come of it. Now something held him back, kept him from reaching for the delights brazenly displayed before him, what his body remembered so eagerly.

He watched her face, the pretty pout to her lips, the seductive tilt of her head, her incredible green eyes . . .
Damn!
Isobel’s eyes were brown, not green! He blinked and the vision faded as Isobel’s eyes returned to their proper color. He scowled and drew back, realizing he had been close to kissing her.

Isobel flushed darkly. “‘Tis plain to see the little whore is on yer mind,” she snarled at him.

“Mind who ye name ‘whore,’ Isobel,” Eaden said, an iron edge to his voice. “‘Tis past time ye should go back to yer husband.”

Isobel tossed her head. “I’ve heard the gossip at the castle. The poor thing is too young for ye, my love. She most likely doesnae know the difference between a man and his expectations.”

Eaden scowled. “What are ye talking about?”

She reached unerringly for him under the water and he sucked in his breath at the tug of her hand as it found its goal. “The
man
.” She stressed the word with a devastating twist of her hand. “And his expectations.” She tapped the side of his head with her other hand. “What do ye expect from yer mousy wife?”

Eaden tried hard to ignore the pressure of Isobel’s hand on him but found it impossible. He gritted his teeth, meeting her look of defiance with an even stare as he reached for her hand to stop her bold stroking. He swallowed a moan as she released him, avoiding his grasp, sliding her hand further between his legs.

“Stop, Isobel,” he grumbled, his voice gruff with repressed emotion. “Enough.”

Isobel drew back. “I hope yer wife can finish satisfying you,” she spat. Her eyes flared as anger twisted her lovely face. “Though I dinnae suppose ye will get too much from an inexperienced child such as her.” She took a deep breath and leaned forward, her breasts firm against his chest.

“I would have loved ye forever,” she whispered achingly in his ear, her mood again changing with alarming abruptness.

Without another word, she turned and swam away. Though grateful for the cold water, a long time passed before Eaden summoned enough control to follow her out of the water. The encounter left him edgy. He yanked on his clothes, snatching at the trailing reins of his horse’s bridle. Passing Ranald, who scrambled to collect his own steed, Eaden rode back to the castle at a gallop, his thoughts in turmoil, his body reminding him hungrily of Isobel’s offer.

Mary lay awake far into the night, waiting for Eaden to come to bed, uneasy to think what would happen if he chose to continue their earlier conversation. Or worse, if he decided to act before talking. She wasn’t sure she would be able to withstand another devastating kiss in the privacy of their bedroom. She gulped.
Or in our bed
.

What would she do if he came to her? His kisses ignited something inside her she did not want to contemplate, yet the memory stirred just beneath her skin.

Heated tendrils curled inside her and Mary felt a stirring of panic. If he touched her again she was not sure she could fight the attraction between them. She grasped frantically for reassurance he would maintain his distance. Surely he would not come to her during the next few days, until her cycle was complete. Or would he?

Sorcha lay on the floor at the threshold of the room, not her usual sleeping arrangement. For a long time Mary tossed and turned, the emptiness of the bed unfamiliar around her, until she finally gave into sleep and restless dreams of the man who confounded her days and haunted her nights.

Eaden met her at the top of the stairs the next morning. He appeared fresh and clean.
And handsome
, her traitorous mind told her. He glanced at her in a distant fashion as he took in her appearance.

“I will be leaving this morning. King Robert will be in Edinburgh tomorrow. I will tell him of yer desire to go back to Bellecourt.”

“And will you also tell him of my desire for a divorce?” she countered. “I want to be free to marry whom I choose.”

Laird Scott bowed low before her. “As milady wishes.” He turned away, descending the stairs two at a time, as if he couldn’t wait to be rid of her.

Eaden’s furrowed brow was enough to cause King Robert to clear the room with an abrupt wave of his hand. Courtiers lingered at the edge, curiosity almost overcoming their monarch’s command. It was unheard of for King Robert and the loyal earl to be at cross purposes, but this was the second time in a month such strife had been witnessed. And it was rumored a private wager awaited the outcome of this night’s accounting by the earl.

King Robert slouched on his throne, lips thinned into a forbidding frown, his chin resting in his hand as he surveyed the man before him. Eaden stood at the base of the shallow steps before the dais, his back rigid, his hands clasped together beneath his cloak. He had not been offered refreshment, a testament to the king’s disapproval, though he chose to ignore the obvious concern among those who still believed in the earl’s ability to retain the king’s favor.

Eaden remained unmoved by King Robert’s dark frown after he spoke, knowing his liege was less than amused by his accounting. Of course, Eaden’s delivery had been abrupt and unapologetic, further adding to the king’s obvious lack of sympathy with the tale.

King Robert sighed. “So ye married the wrong lass and she wants to go home,” he summarized with a frown.

“Aye.”

“And the Lady Miriam has run off and married Du Melville’s youngest son, leaving us without an alliance between yer clans?”

“Aye.”

“I thought ye had this well in hand,” King Robert groused.

Eaden, fully aware the king was no more pleased to sort this mess out than he was, silently cursed all stubborn men and women who couldn’t simply do as they were told. Of course, he had to admit his assessment probably included the majority of King Robert’s subjects.

“So. Will ye let her go back to Bellecourt?”

“Nay,” Eaden replied evenly.

King Robert straightened from his resigned slouch in his chair and stared at Eaden, amusement lighting his eyes.

“If I remember correctly, ye were no’ happy with the marriage to begin with. I am to assume ye’ve changed yer mind, then?”

Eaden narrowed his eyes but did not answer.

“She’s uncommonly beautiful, perhaps?” King Robert prompted.

Eaden refused to respond.

“Passably good-looking, then?”

Eaden took a deep, fortifying breath. “She’s aye lovely,” he allowed.

“She’s knocked ye on yer arse!” King Robert exclaimed with accuracy and triumphant humor.

The look Eaden gave his king was anything but humorous, but the king continued, undeterred. “So ye mean to keep her.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “And she wants to leave.” He cocked his head to one side. “And yer well-known charm that had ladies vying for the title of ‘wife’ of this handsome, wealthy earl, who may or may no’ have his lands at the end of this day, isnae working?”

Eaden ignored the threat, but his scowl must have given the king the answer he sought. “So, if the lass doesnae want wealth, or prestige, or the much-touted delights of yer bed—what does she want?”

Eaden’s face turned dark and foreboding as he gritted out the truth. “A divorce.”

King Robert’s laughter roared loudly and the courtiers at the far end of the room glanced up in surprise. His advisor gave the earl a dour look before turning back to his work. Eaden did not laugh.

“Tell me, Laird Scott,” King Robert said in a softer voice, though his eyes still danced merrily. “Tell me what you plan to do? Your position as my herald . . .”

“I resign,” Eaden interrupted firmly.

The king raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Now, why would ye resign yer post?”

“It appears the affairs of the king pale in comparison with the affairs at Scott Castle.”

King Robert nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. “So that’s the way of it, then?”

“Aye.”

“Ye’re a man of few words when it comes to yer wife, Laird.” With a rueful grin, King Robert motioned for refreshments to be served. Eaden shrugged, relieving the tension from his neck and shoulders before he acceded to the king’s invitation to sit in the chair next to him.

A young serving girl appeared with goblets of wine. King Robert nodded absently to her, but Eaden was struck by the sight of the pendant around her neck. It was a simple thing, nothing as elaborate as the one Mary wore, but it reminded him of it nonetheless, and he turned back to the king.

“Sire?”

The king raised his eyebrows in response.

“Sire, I’ve seen an abundance of jewels and precious stones on the ladies at court, but I saw a pendant the other day, a cross, with unusual green stones set in it.”

King Robert turned to him with vague interest. “Ye’d ask me to identify a stone for ye?”

Eaden shook his head impatiently. “Nay, Sire. I was told the stones were ‘jade,’ a precious stone from the courts of the emperors. I’d no’ seen these stones before, but I seem to remember a tale, long ago, about a fantastic jade cross given by a king to his lover, and it’s been hanging at the back of my mind ever since.” He tilted his head. “Do ye recall the tale?”

King Robert sat straighter in his chair, eyeing Eaden thoughtfully. “Perhaps ye’d be better off asking one of the court minstrels. I’m sure he could invent a tale for ye fit for our court if he doesnae know one already.”

The king drew himself to his feet, forcing Eaden to do the same, and motioned for his advisor to come to him. “Bring yer pretty wife to court, Laird,” he said by way of dismissal. “We would like to be introduced to her.”

Eaden bowed low. “As ye wish, Sire.” Taking care on the shallow steps, he relinquished his seat, backing with seeming obsequiousness from the king before he turned and strode from the room.