The Highlander's Bride (5 page)

In truth, Conor was not only interested in her train of thought, but the spirit she was exhibiting. He had only seen this bit of fire to her personality when they first captured her and she fought to free herself.

He suspected that this trait had been suppressed the past few days. She had been tired and in pain for most of the trip. That combination would typically make a person complain, whine, and, if they had it in themselves, allow their tempers to rise and take over. Conor was quite sure that Laurel had a temper, and a fiery one at that. Her ability to restrain it thus far in these harsh traveling conditions gave him a strange feeling of pride.

“Laurel, if you want to ask something, do so, straight forward.” He deliberately paused. “Or are you a coward?” he gently teased, goading her further. But once he saw the result, he realized that he had just put himself in serious danger. Laurel was beautiful and tempting in any state. But angry? He had never seen the like. Even the highlands could not compare.

Suddenly, she was standing right in front of him, gold hair waving in the breeze, the sun capturing its strawberry highlights. Her hands were on her hips accentuating her heaving bosom as she took deep breaths trying to calm her anger. But the soothing effects did not reach her eyes, which sparkled with fury. Gone was the innocent English maiden. In front of him was a gorgeous vision of regal defiance. If he didn’t leave immediately, he was in danger of grabbing her and giving her one more reason to be mad at him.

Laurel struggled for composure. “No one, not a laird nor a baron—not even you,
Laird McTiernay
—can ever call me a coward.” She meant what she said. The seriousness radiating from her was palpable. For some reason, the concept of her being called or considered a coward was completely unacceptable to her.

He smiled and ran his fingers through his hair. “Aye, my love. You are no coward. Indeed, you have shown more courage and strength of spirit than men have shown in similar circumstances.”

Laurel looked down to the ground absorbing his words. Relief poured through her veins. Of course he didn’t think her a coward. Conor would not allow a coward to travel with him, or would he?

“But, love…” The pitch of his voice forced Laurel to look up, her eyes widening. “…I
will
call you whatever I choose.” Conor then resumed his march, walking ahead towards some unknown destination.

She watched him, still refusing to move. “Conor,” she began, having regained her calm composure, “you underestimate me greatly.” Her words were spoken slowly and deliberately, laced with indirect warnings. She stood there for several more seconds before following him.

They were starting to do some light climbing now. Not anything too difficult, although the pain in her ribs was rising due to her heavier breathing. As he climbed ahead of her in silence, she again appraised his well-formed physique.

He really was quite a large man. Yet, when he stood close to her, she didn’t feel overwhelmed. Instead, she was reassured by his solid presence. He was gentle, yet firm. Controlling, yet giving. He was a man she could love quite easily.

His legs were bare and extremely distracting. They were powerfully strong, as were his arms and every other part of his body. Even his buttocks looked firm and hard under the thick pleated plaid skirt. She could see the strength in his shoulders and arms through his white linen shirt and had the crazy notion of taking her hand and caressing his back. No, the reality was she wanted to touch him anywhere—everywhere.

She imagined twining her fingers in his dark wavy hair and wondered how it would feel. Was it as thick and soft as it looked? It was such a perfect shade of dark brown and well suited to his skin tone, which was still slightly bronzed from the summer sun. His hair and skin coloring made his silver eyes even more mesmerizing. He was so intensely, overwhelmingly male. How was it that this gorgeous man was unmarried? Then she remembered. He didn’t want marriage, or any type of commitment.

She had thought his viewpoint on matrimony would stop her from desiring his company as they rode, or from enjoying his voice when they conversed. But she was wrong. Laurel had never been around anyone who made her feel so alive just by being near.

She felt torn between wanting to spend time with him and wanting to keep her distance. Every moment she spent in his company just made her desire him even more. But it was all pointless; she knew there was no future for them. Why would there be? Two days protection and a kiss were far from a commitment of the heart. And that was exactly what she would have before she vowed herself to any man. She had experienced emotional isolation throughout most of her childhood. She would be foolish to do so as an adult.

Knowing the forgone conclusion of their separation, she wanted him to kiss her just one more time. Just one more time to savor the feel of his lips against hers, forever capture his scent, and remember his touch. Each night, she fell asleep knowing that he would join her sometime while she slept, for he always seemed to be there when the dreams came. Oh Lord, maybe she already was in love with him.

Laurel took a firm grip on her resolve. She had to stop fantasizing about him. He may be attracted to her, but he didn’t want her—at least not as a wife. And while she admitted to herself that she definitely wanted him in ways she never had dreamed of, he was not her destiny.

She just needed a place to recover and some time to figure out a way to warn her grandfather of Laird Douglass’s threat. With Keith Douglass dead and her disappearance, Laird Douglass was no doubt preparing war against her grandfather’s clan—the MacInneses. She didn’t know why God had sent the handsome highlander to aid her, but he was her only hope for survival. Her clan’s future rested on the ability of this highland chieftain to keep her safe.

But until she could develop a plan to advise her grandfather about Douglass, she would allow herself the unwise joys of being with, talking with, and watching her miraculous dark-haired champion.

Conor could feel her looking at him, assessing him. He could feel her eyes boring through his skin, peeling away the layers to his soul. What she was thinking? Did she find him unappealing? She said she was not married, but there could still be someone important to her, someone she was intended for. Was he being compared to another man? Someone she preferred, whom she wished she was with? His fears were beginning to take hold when she called out.

“Conor, slow down!” Conor had suddenly picked up the pace, and Laurel was finding it difficult to keep up. Where were they headed anyhow? They had long since passed many places that might have provided privacy for a discussion.

“Just a bit farther. I wanted to show you something.” Conor wasn’t exactly sure why he wanted Laurel to see this particular vista. He had found it years ago, when he was a guardsman to his grandfather’s best friend, Laird MacInnes. It was special, and somehow he instinctively knew that Laurel would appreciate it once she was there.

“Could you…just slow down…a bit?” Her breathing was labored, and the pain in her side was throbbing.

Conor looked back and felt instant guilt. Her ribs! And all of this climbing—what was he thinking! Since she entered his life two days ago, he had not been acting himself. He had deliberately provoked her anger earlier when in truth, he just wanted to be the one who made her smile. Instead of bringing her to a place of joy and pleasure, he had caused her pain. He wouldn’t blame Laurel for lashing out at him and demanding to go back. He turned around and began to return to the camp.

“Conor, what in the name of all that is holy are you doing?” She looked at him with a perplexed expression. “Do not tell me that we climbed all this way and are now turning around because I need to slow the pace. I want to see what you were going to show me. You said it wasn’t far,” and then a thought occurred to her, “or are you lost, Conor? Is that it? You don’t know where we are?”

The combination of her question and her indignation were just too much, and he laughed aloud. She actually thought he could be lost!

He beamed her a look of delight. “No, love, I am not lost. Nor will I ever be with you.” Conor didn’t realize how telling those words were until he uttered them aloud. She looked at him with such longing, as if she felt as he did.

“It is just beyond those trees. But I know you are hurting so we will turn around.”

Laurel straightened her shoulders. “Nonsense. To the trees it is. I just didn’t want to run there, Conor. While you may not be lost, I would be if I lost sight of you.”

“I would find you,” Conor said in a gentle but reassuring way. “I will always protect you, Laurel.” He completed the thought with a mental promise:
You are mine
. Conor felt his whole body tighten with desire.

Just then Laurel walked past him and ducked carefully under a brush to see what was beyond. The beauty that extended before her was stunning. She had thought her lands in Northumberland were beautiful, especially the North Sea coastline, but they could not compare to this.

From this vantage point, her view of Scotland was unhampered. She could see for miles. Out beyond were fingers of land, each jutting out to the sea in its own way. Some covered by trees, some with cliffs that seemed to go on forever. There were dozens of lochs nestled between. Some of the trees seem to touch the sky, and the rock formations were unlike any other. Wisps of clouds settled here and there, giving the whole scene an otherworldly look.

Conor watched Laurel absorb the beauty of his lands. Her eyes drank in everything. Her smile spread over her whole face, and her entire body seemed to relax. Conor had known by Laurel’s previous interest in the land and beauty around her that she would understand his love for this place.

“It is beautiful, Conor. I have never seen the like. Is it always like this?”

“Aye, at least every time I have been here.” Conor was not watching the beauty around him, but the vision in front of him. She was slim and delicate, and her golden waves of hair were pulled back by a tiny bit of lace. Her eyes were the color of the lochs she was viewing. It was amazing how often her eyes changed depending upon her mood. He wondered what they would look like all full of passion. Then he wondered if someone else already knew.

Laurel was completely unaware of Conor’s brazen gaze. “There is a magical quality to it. It’s like this place is frozen in time. And that you and I, here together, are separated from all the evils of the world,” she mused aloud.

Conor dropped his arm to her shoulders. They stood for a long while watching the sun begin to set over the distant mountains. No words were said—no words were needed.

Despite his desire to do otherwise, Conor interrupted the peaceful silence. “We need to leave now, Laurel. It will be dark soon.”

Laurel took one last look around and nodded. In just the short time they spent there, she had found peace. It was as if her problems were now manageable. She now believed that she would be able to find and notify her grandfather without letting Douglass know.

“Thank you, Conor, for taking me here,” she whispered as he took hold her hand to guide her as they descended. “It was just what I needed.”

When they had returned to the edge of woods right before the clearing, she could hear the clashing of swords and several men fighting.

“What is happening?” Laurel murmured, then cried, “Conor! They are fighting! Someone has attacked the campsite. We must help them!” Visions of Ainsley’s men being slaughtered a few days ago suddenly filled her mind.

“Help them? They are just having a wee scrap to freshen their skills a bit. It is harmless.”

She whirled to face Conor. “Harmless?” Laurel’s chin came up angrily, her sea green eyes sparkling with rage. “Men fighting with swords is fun and harmless?”

When he just stared blankly at her, she raised her voice and said, “Fine. Someone has to stop them and I guess that leaves me.”

She collided with Conor when he stepped into her path.

“And what, love, do you think you are going to do?”

Laurel closed her eyes in brief, heated frustration. “Conor, you are being exasperating again. Having to repeat myself for you is most annoying,” she said, her voice dangerously sweet.

He continued to stand in her way. It was obvious that he was not going to budge or let her pass. So, she tried again.

“I was just going to ask them to stop. And if that didn’t work, I would use stronger encouragement,” she answered, now through gritted teeth.

Laurel was beginning to show her temper, and his rumbles of laughter were making it rise all the more. She reached into her dress and pulled out the pearl dagger she had taken when she had fled the Douglass castle.

When Conor saw the small knife she held in her hand, he could hold onto his laughter no more. His amusement at her toy was so loud that it interrupted the sword practice his brothers were having with his guard.

By the time his brothers had come to investigate Conor’s merry roar, their laird was grinning wildly. This sight in itself was enough to astonish every last one of them. For it was a rare thing for Laird McTiernay to smile, let alone laugh—and loudly. Added to their shock was the change in Laurel. She looked furious.

Her eyes were blazing and, if hostile glares could cause bodily injury, Conor would be permanently disfigured. The lass really did please him, Conor thought. He couldn’t wait until he got her home.

But just as the idea of home and Laurel in his castle and bed were taking shape, Laurel snapped. Before he knew to react, she had changed the grip on her dirk and taken the knife from his belt. She swiveled so fast that later, all present would say she was just a blur when she aimed and threw.

First, Laurel launched her dagger. Sure and swift, it hit one of the guard’s leather sporrans hanging in the trees. With the other arm, she threw Conor’s knife. The accuracy was a little off due to the unexpected weight of the hilt, but it still hit the intended log of wood next to Conor’s plaid on the ground at least thirty feet away.