The Highlander's Choice (8 page)

“You do indeed dance very well, my laird.”

“My laird? What happened to Liam?”

“I think it is better if we keep things on a more formal basis.” Despite her words, the lass’s flushed face and darkening eyes denied her suggestion of a more reserved association. When she licked her plump lips, it took all his control not to drag her from the room and ravish her. Instead, he pulled her closer as they went into a turn.

Her gasp told him she felt how he did as their bodies touched. His blood hummed through his body, landing at a most unwelcomed place. If he didn’t manage to divert his attention from the lass he’d never be able to leave the dance floor.

“When will you return to your home?” Sybil asked.

Only too happy to change the subject and get his mind away from where it wanted to be, he answered, “Within a day or two. My mum and our steward have been seeing to things while I’ve been here. But soon I must return to my duties.”

“Is your estate large?”

“Aye. There is a wee village and many crofters living on my land. Things were difficult for a while after the Clearances, but my grandfaither managed to keep most of our clan together. When Da passed away, my mum took on a lot of the responsibility since I was not much more than a lad.”

“That is odd. In England another man would have stepped up to help with the estate.”

“Nay. Our women take a great deal of the burdens. Through the years, there have been many women lairds.”

Sybil grinned. “I like that. Women who are respected and allowed to make decisions.”

He dipped his head to look into her eyes. “Naught barbarians, after all?” He made one final turn and the music ended. “Would ye care for a bit of fresh air?”

“Yes, I would like that. Perhaps we could get a drink first?”

Liam guided her over to a table set up against the wall and poured her a glass of ale. He raised the glass and said, “
Sl
à
inte mhath.”

Sybil took a sip of her ale and eyed him over the rim of her glass. “What does that mean? I heard you say that to Duncan and Margaret.”

“Good health. ’Tis a common saying at occasions such as this.”

Raising her glass, she repeated his words, garnering his surprise at how well she pronounced the term. Once they finished their drinks, he took Sybil’s hand in his and led her to the front door of the castle. The cool air felt good on his face. They strolled down the pebbled path until they reached the small bridge over where the castle moat had been many years ago.

The partial moon shone brightly over the mountains, casting the area into a soft, magical glow. Hundreds of trees lining the mountain stood in darkness, like soldiers waiting for the word to attack. Sybil tilted her head back and stared at the thousands of stars above them. “It is truly a beautiful sight.”

Looking down at her upturned face, he said, “Aye, a beautiful sight.” A feeling washed over him unlike anything he’d ever felt before, jolting him, twisting his insides at what it meant. He wanted this woman like no other. English or naught, he wanted her. In bed, in his home, in his life. He wanted to see her belly swollen with his bairns.

He took both of her hands in his, and she tilted her head to the side as she looked at him, raising her eyebrows in question. It took all of his courage to utter the words. Raising her hands to his mouth, he kissed her fingers gently in turn. “Marry me, lass.”

Chapter Eight

Everything inside Sybil came to an abrupt halt. Taught from the nursery on how to deal with marriage proposals, all she’d learned fled in a matter of seconds. Had the moonlight and the magical Scottish evening tricked her? Had she downed the last glass of ale too quickly? Or had Laird Liam MacBride actually asked her to marry him?

He continued to kiss her fingertips as he gazed at her. Her insides melted as the piercing green eyes studied her, his facial expression bland. Marry? She shook her head as if in a dream, then pulled her hands away and stepped back. “No.”

He grinned. “Ach, lass. I kenned it would be a problem convincing ye.”

“Whatever made you ask me to marry you?”

He dropped her fingers and blew out a breath, resting his hands on his hips. “I want ye.”

“That is all? You want me? Like you want a hearty breakfast? A new stallion? A glass of scotch whiskey?”

“Nay, lass. Ye ken what I mean. Ye feel the attraction between us. I see it in yer eyes when I kiss ye, when I hold ye. Just now while we danced, I felt the heat from yer body, the thumping of yer heart. Ye want me, too.”

She raised her chin and glared at him. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Liam reached out and pulled her against his chest. “Ye lie. I can feel yer heart galloping now like a runaway mare. I can see the passion in yer eyes. ’Tis not possible to hide these things from me.”

Sybil backed up, easing out of his loose hold. Crossing her arms over her middle, she turned to study the dark trees outlined against the mountain lit by moonlight. Marry? Indeed she had lied. She felt the draw between them, knew from the shocking books she’d snuck from her brother’s improper collection that what she was experiencing was desire. And from what she’d learned from her sister-in-law and sisters, desire was a very important part of a happy marriage.

But Liam was a Scot! A barbarian. A whiskey swilling, bed-hopping, brawler. She snuck a glance at him. He studied her as if she were a bug under a piece of glass. Though in the two weeks she’d known Liam he’d never taken too much whiskey, had never been involved in a fight, and although she couldn’t say for sure he wasn’t visiting beds in the castle, it didn’t seem likely.

“Yer thinking too hard, lass. ’Tis very simple. I think ye are a beautiful, intelligent, caring woman. Exactly the type of wife I seek. Ye must wed one day. Why not me?”

“I wasn’t aware that you were seeking a wife.” She purposely skipped over the part of her needing to one day wed. She’d been waiting since her first Season to find a man she loved and who loved her in return.

He shook his head. “A man with my responsibilities is always seeking a wife. Naught have appealed to me. Until now.”

“You don’t understand. I have always planned to marry for love.”

Once again he pulled her into his arms. Tilting her chin up with his knuckle, he looked into her eyes. “I canna in all honesty say I love ye, lass, but I have strong feelings for ye, as I believe ye do for me.” He brushed a loose strand of hair off her cheek. “And there is no doubt in my mind that we would be well-matched in the bedchamber.”

Heat flooded her face at his words. He had every right to say that since she’d behaved like a wanton the few times they’d kissed. But marriage was a life-long undertaking, which is why she’d held out for love. True, she didn’t love Liam. He was much too irritating. But nice at times. Tender at times. Handsome, charming, and attentive.

But still a Scot.

“I am honored by your offer, my laird, but I am afraid I must decline,” she said stiffly.

Liam chuckled, then picked her up in his arms and swung her around. “Tell me, lass, how many times have ye practiced that in front of yer mirror?”

“I assure you I have no idea what you mean,” she said, holding firm to his broad shoulders. “And put me down.”

“Not until ye agree to marry me.”

She closed her eyes, the spinning movement making her dizzy. Slowly he came to a halt and slid her down his body. He cupped her face with his large hands, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. “Ye would do well married to me, lass. My land joins Dundas and is the sweetest spot in all the Highlands. Bedlay Castle, ’twas built by one of my ancestors, but we’ve managed to keep it well looked after.”

Sybil pulled away. “I am English. I’ve spent my entire life in England.” She swept her arm out to the darkness. “I would never fit in here.” Not that she was seriously considering his offer. Was she? Married to a Scot, living in the Highlands? Truth be known, something about the place had gotten under her skin. Each day she appreciated the raw beauty of this corner of the world a little bit more.

Being raised with her brother and sisters in the country, she preferred life away from London. Oh, she had to return each year for the Season, which had actually grown quite tedious. Her twin, Sarah, had decided to remain in the country this year, since Sybil was attending Margaret’s wedding. Sarah had planned to travel with Sybil, but had come down with an ague right before Sybil left, and her mother had insisted she stay at home.

“Come home with me. I must leave in the next day or so. My mum is there to chaperone, as well as my sisters. See for yerself.”

“Why do you want to marry me? I am sure there are many young ladies here in the Highlands who would suit more than me.”

“Nay. ’Tis ye I want. And not like a glass of Scotch whiskey, either.” His voice deepened right before he lowered his head and claimed her lips in a possessive kiss, crushing her body to his.

…

’Twas right—’twas verra, verra right. Sybil’s softness and curves fit against his body like they were made for each other. Slowly her wee hand crept up his chest to cup his cheek, stroking, adding to the burning in his belly and the thumping of his heart. In all the lasses he’d bedded in his life, none held the same attraction as Sybil. She was more than a tup, more than a way to see to his needs. This woman would be his wife.

But she is English.

He dismissed the voice in his head and released her lips, scattering kisses down her jaw to her neck. She moved her head aside, a slight groan coming from her sweet lips. She clung to his arms, and he pulled her closer, sensing the weakness in her legs. With his mouth, he nudged the edge of her gown, using his teeth to tug it down until he exposed her breast. Placing his lips there, he suckled through her silky shift.

A slight gasp had him hardening further. Ach, the lass was sweet! Before he could slide the rest of her bodice down, the sound of voices coming from the front door froze him. Quickly, he tugged her gown up, and pushed her behind him. “Fix yerself, darlin’, it appears we’re about to have company.”

Rustling behind him, along with grumbling, assured him Sybil was righting herself. She stepped out from behind him as three wedding guests strolled down the path toward the bridge where they stood.

“Oh, good evening, my laird,” Mrs. Clemmons, a distant relative of Duncan’s, greeted them. “And you as well, Lady Sybil. I see you are enjoying the evening air. ’Twas a wee bit warm in there after all that dancing.” She turned to her companions. “May I present my sisters, Mrs. Grayson and Lady Chilton.”

Liam bowed and wished the women a good evening, then added in his most dignified voice, “Lady Sybil and I were just returning, as the air has a decided nip and she was beginning to feel the chill.”

“If ye wish to catch the bride and groom afore they retire, ye best hurry along. They were getting ready to depart.”

Liam bowed again, and Sybil gave a slight curtsy. Head held high, Sybil took his arm and they walked demurely to the castle door as if they had been doing naught more than gazing at the moon. Only the lass’s slight flush to her cheeks told the tale of their intimate encounter. Truly a lady, and more proof that she would make a fine wife for a laird.

The great hall was as noisy as when they’d left. The fiddler’s instruments rested against the wall while they downed glasses of ale. Surely the amount of ale consumed by the guests contributed to the cacophony as voices grew louder and congratulations and salutes rang from the crowd.

“I would like to speak with Lady Margaret before they retire upstairs.” Sybil rose on her toes to reach his ear to be heard. Her hardened nipple poked him through her gown against his chest. He rolled his eyes and held in a groan. The lass was too much of a temptation.

“I dinna see the lass.” Liam used his considerable height to look over the crowd, scanning the gathering for the presence of the bride and groom. “’Tis my thought that we missed them.”

Sybil’s shoulders slumped. “I suppose I can speak with her tomorrow.” Another guest, one who seemed to have been doing a great deal of celebrating, bumped into Sybil, throwing her against Liam. He put his arms out to catch her and swore at the man in Gaelic, who appeared oblivious to what he’d just done.

“Liam, I think I will retire.” She glanced around, chewing on her lip as she took in the crowd that had grown verra raucous while they were outside.

With the bride and groom upstairs, the celebrants would grow louder—an old Scottish tradition to insure the wedded couple would not be heard from their bedchamber.

“’Tis a good idea, lass. I’ll see you to your door.” Taking her by the elbow, he made his way through the revelers, using his size to create a path for them out of the great hall and to the stairwell. Once they reached the somewhat quieter area of the second floor, they made their way past the many doors that would soon hold guests who would stumble their way upstairs. Unless they fell asleep right there in the great hall—not unheard of at a Scottish wedding.

“Good night.” Sybil reached for the latch on her door and was stopped by Liam’s hand on her arm. “Not yet, darlin’.”

“Wha—?” The word was cut off when he took her mouth in his. He cupped her head, turning her to gain better access to the sweetness of her mouth. Her heart thundered against his chest, in rhythm with his own. He pulled back, his forehead resting on hers, both of them as much out of breath as if they’d run up the stairs.

“You dinna answer me, darlin’. Will ye marry me?”

“I can’t answer that.” She drew back, her breathing beginning to return to normal. “I have to think about it.”

He sighed. “I’m leaving the day after tomorrow. I want verra much for ye tae come with me. I want ye to meet my mum, see Bedlay Castle.”

“I don’t know. You have to give me time.”

“Ach, there isn’t much time, lass.”

“Tomorrow. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

He reached out and touched her gently on her soft cheek. “I’ll be waiting for yer answer, darlin’.” She smiled briefly, then entered the room, the door closing quietly. He ran his fingers through his hair and continued on to his room.

Now he was faced with the unpleasant task of telling his mum he intended to marry a Sassenach.

…

Sybil awoke early, the pale sunlight barely illuminating her bedchamber. She rolled onto her back and stared at the canopy over the bed. Laird Liam MacBride wanted to marry her. If she said yes, she would remain in the Highlands of Scotland for the rest of her life, except for the occasional visits to her family home. Any children she birthed would be clan members, and raised in the Scottish tradition.

All of her close family members—sisters, brother, sister-in-law, mother, and nieces and nephews, would be in England. Yet none of that would matter if she loved Liam and he loved her. It was what she’d wanted and expected to have in a marriage her entire life. The one thing she’d been holding out for since her first Season.

Liam had admitted to having strong feelings for her, but not love. Was that admission enough to keep her from packing up and returning to England in another day or so, as her family expected? And what of her feelings toward him? There was no question that her initial feelings had changed. Time spent with him had disproven her bias against him because of his heritage.

The man hadn’t been charming the ladies into his bed, had not gotten into one fight, and drank very little. Indeed, much less than his counterparts, who right now were probably suffering from the effects of their revelry last night.

She tossed off the blankets just as Bessie arrived to prepare her for the day. “Please get my breeches out, I feel the need for a brisk ride this morning.”

“Yes, milady.”

With very little in the way of preparation, Sybil was striding to the stable in less than a half hour after she rose from bed. She chatted with one of the stable boys as they prepared her horse for a ride. “The Laird just left a bit ago for a ride, too,” he shared with her.

“The McKinnon?” Newlyweds were not known for rising early the day after their wedding.

“Nay, my lady. The MacBride.” Devil take it, she didn’t want to run into the man until she’d decided what she was going to do about his suggestion to visit his home. At this point, she had no intention of accepting his marriage proposal. With her feelings so uncertain, that would be foolhardy.

With the stable hand’s assistance, she mounted her horse and took off across the meadow, giving the mare her head. The wind whipped her long braid, chilling her cheeks, and took her breath away. The freedom of the ride would clear her head, help her with the decision she needed to make, and indeed, she had promised Liam an answer this day.

But for now, all decisions that had her in knots were pushed to the back of her mind as she enjoyed the ride. She inhaled deeply of the fresh air. There was a lot to be said of the Highland air. Sweet and clean, with a hint of salt from the nearby sea.

After about ten minutes, Sybil slowed the horse to a canter, then a trot and a walk. With both rider and horse breathing heavily, she stopped and gazed out over the beautiful landscape. Deep green, almost hard for the eyes to look at. A beautiful place, Scotland. At the sound of hoof beats, she turned to see Liam coming toward her.

His hair was loose and fell around his shoulders as he reined in alongside her. Flushed cheeks and the panting of his stallion told her he’d been racing as well. Perhaps they both needed to clear their heads.

“Good morning to ye, lass. I dinna expect ye to rise so early. ’Twas a long day yesterday.”