When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1) (18 page)

“I’m afeared to let go,” Bridgette
wailed.

“Don’t be,” Marion replied in the
most soothing voice she could muster. “I will not drop you.” They may both go
over the ledge, but she’d not break her vow, even if it meant her own death.

With a low moan, Bridgette grabbed
both sleeves of the gown very slowly, and Marion instantly felt the tug on the
material. “Knot your hands in the gown and try to slide toward the edge.
Perchance there is rock you can put your foot on to aid you.” She hoped there
was.

The minute Bridgette started moving
on the branch, Marion’s whole body was jerked forward. She bit down on her lip,
and the taste of blood filled her mouth. Spitting it out, she leaned backward
and pulled the material tight,
praying
to God that it would not rip.

“I see some rocks I can use!”
Bridgette cried from below. “I’m going to let go with one hand and grip one of
the rocks, and then I’ll pull as ye pull.”

“I’m ready,” Marion answered, her
words a pant from the exertion. Sweat dripped down her brow and into her eyes,
and suddenly the pull on the material increased, making Marion’s body
physically move. She dug in her heels harder and pulled back. Her arms and legs
burned, her lip stung where she had bitten it, and her head throbbed. She heard
Bridgette’s grunts, and she knew every time the woman latched onto another
stone because she could move a little farther away from the ledge. Finally, she
saw Bridgette’s head crest over the edge of the cliff.

Marion gave a great tug, and
suddenly Bridgette was lying on top of her and they were laughing, crying, and
panting. After a few minutes, Bridgette pushed herself off Marion and rolled
onto her back.

Marion turned her head to look at
her friend. She frowned when
she realized
Bridgette’s forehead was cut. “You’re bleeding.”

“So are ye,” Bridgette said.

Marion raised a shaking hand to her
sore lip and pressed a finger to it. “I suppose we better return to the
castle.”

Bridgette snorted. “I suppose ye
better put yer clothes back on, unless ye want to see what yer husband is like
in a temper.”

“I’ve seen his temper,” Marion
said, thinking of how he’d looked when he’d come toward the men who had held her
captive at the river, “and I’d rather not see it again.” She shivered as she
forced herself to stand and put on her gown. It had been filthy before but now
the garment was a ripped, ragged mess. When she put her arm in the sleeve, she
noticed only a few threads kept it attached to the dress.

“Dear God above,” she murmured,
thinking about what could have happened and what Iain would say if he saw her
before she managed to get to her appointed bedchamber and change into one of
Bridgette’s gowns. “Iain cannot see me like this!”

“Dunnae fash yerself,” Bridgette
replied as she held out a hand to help Marion. “I dunnae want to get caught any
more than ye do. My brother is already angry with me for refusing an offer of
marriage. Come”—Bridgette grabbed Marion’s hand—“Let us make haste. But more
carefully this time.”

Iain strode ahead of Alex into the torchlit
courtyard, anxious to see Marion. He’d not intended to train with Alex’s men
for so long, but every time he had tried to leave, another man challenged him,
and Iain could not let a challenge go unanswered. He knew very well his pride
was a sin, and the sin had cost him precious private time with Marion. She’d
likely been fretting waiting in her bedchamber as he’d commanded her to do.

A vision of her asleep on the bed,
perhaps not dressed anymore, filled his head and made him ache for her, so when
he suddenly caught a glimpse of her coming out of the woods with Bridgette,
Iain squeezed his eyes shut, certain he was imagining it. Yet, when he opened
them again, she was still there.

Iain thought immediately of his
conversation with Alex earlier when they had agreed that Bridgette and Marion
likely needed minding when together. Iain stopped walking, and Alex came up
beside him.

“What is it?” Alex asked, confusion
furrowing his brow.

Iain did not remove his gaze from
his wife, who had just passed by a torch and looked directly at him. Her eyes
went wide, and she had tried to duck back into the shadows, her hand darting
out to grasp Bridgette’s.

“I believe Bridgette and Marion
found trouble,” Iain said dryly as he pointed toward the two women. Anger
started to simmer as he watched his wife try to crouch behind a tree.

“Bridgette MacLean,” Alex roared.
“If ye dunnae come out from behind that tree and bring the MacLeod’s wife with
ye, I’ll break my vow to our mother and marry ye to the Campbell tomorrow.”

Bridgette immediately popped up,
yanking Marion up with her. He’d give it to the lass, he thought grimly, at
least she knew when she’d been caught, which was more than he could say for his
wife, who was trying to wrench free of Bridgette’s hold. But though he didn’t
doubt Marion was strong, apparently Bridgette’s fear of marrying the Campbell
gave her superior strength at the moment. She
dragged
Marion forward and then paused after a few steps, the women whispering fiercely
to one another.

“It appears yer wife may be afraid
to come to ye,” Alex said, amusement in his voice.

“Aye,” Iain agreed, irritated that
Marion was apparently fearful of him. True, he was angry, and there be would
consequences for disobeying his orders, but any sort of punishment would never
include hurting her. He was a reasonable man, after all, and not quick to anger
the way her father had been.

When Marion tried to tug her arm
away from Bridgette again and the right shoulder of her gown suddenly slid down
her arm to expose her skin, all reason fled Iain and anger flared bright
orange. Beside him, Alex cursed under his breath.

Iain stalked toward Marion, his gut
clenching as he stopped in front of her and took in her appearance. Blood
stained her lips and her exposed right arm was streaked with crimson. Bridgette
didn’t look much better.

Iain gripped Marion by the arm,
intending to pull her to him, but when she winced, he immediately loosened his
hold. “What happened to ye?”

She shot a worried glance at
Bridgette, and Iain’s mind leaped to a dozen vile possibilities, all of which
ended with him killing whatever man had hurt his wife. A haze descended on him,
his vision almost blurring.

He raised his sword. “Point me in
the direction of the man who defiled ye. I’ll bring ye his heart, I vow it.” He
cupped the back of her neck and drew her toward him, pressing his lips to her
ear. “I’m sorry, Marion. I’ve failed ye. I’ll nae ask forgiveness.”

Her eyes grew wide, and her hand
came to his cheek. “Iain, no. You do not understand.” She bit down on her lip
and winced again. “I need to ask
your
forgiveness. I disobeyed your
order, and well, the truth is I do hate to be ordered about,” she said quickly.
“But I should have restrained myself and—”

“I compelled her to come with me,”
Bridgette blurted, glancing beseechingly from Iain to Alex, who had come to
stand by them.

“What do ye mean?” Alex thundered.

Bridgette notched her chin up. “I
needed to visit the seer and I did nae want to go alone. On the way back, I
fell and she risked her life to save me.”

“That’s not true!” Marion said.

Iain shifted his gaze between the
women, his rage receding and amusement rising to the surface. They’d obviously
formed a fast and loyal friendship in the few hours they’d known each other. He
was glad for Marion that she’d made a friend and gladder still that her
appearance was due to trying to save Bridgette and not from harm done to her by
another. Yet she put herself in danger by not listening to him, and he’d have
to speak with her about that. And think of some sort of punishment. Yet the
truth was, he could not imagine punishing Marion. He’d had the same problem
with Catriona, and he sometimes feared it was why she’d done as he’d told her
not to and swam in that freezing water, in spite of her poor health.

“Of course it’s true!” Bridgette
replied, bringing Iain’s attention back to where it should be. Bridgette
scooted away from Alex, who looked as if he wanted to throttle her with his
pinched mouth and flaring nostrils. “Ye did save me!”

“No, no. I helped you save
yourself,” Marion said, her embarrassment obvious in her trying to belittle her
courageous act.

Iain smiled behind his hand. Only
his wife would be so selfless as to refuse to take credit for rescuing another.

Bridgette looked thoughtful for a
moment. “I suppose that’s true enough. I did do much of the work hanging over
the edge as I was, and I had to find the footholds.”

Iain and Alex let out a collective
groan that caused both women to look at them. Iain wanted to grab Marion and
kiss her soundly, but he could not let her think it was acceptable for her to
disobey him.

“I require an explanation,” he said
in a hard, stern tone.

She sucked her lower lip between
her teeth, then promptly released it with a hiss. “I know.”

Bridgette cleared her throat. “Iain
MacLeod, if ye’re going to be angry at someone ye can direct yer temper at me.
I talked yer Sassenach wife into going with me, and I ordered my maid to sit in
her bedchamber and claim to be Marion should anyone knock.”

That explained why Rory Mac and
Angus had not come to tell Iain that Marion was gone. The men didn’t know. He
could hardly fault them, though. Nor could Iain lay complete blame at
Bridgette’s feet. Marion should have obeyed him, in spite of her new friend’s
compelling words.

His wife let out a small sigh.
“Bridgette, that’s really so kind of you to try to—”

Marion gasped as Iain whisked her
off her feet. He needed to be alone with her now. Not just to chide her but to
make sure she was not hurt.

With one hand under her legs and
the other around her back, he met Alex’s gaze. “My wife and I will be upstairs
until supper. It seems we have some things to discuss.” Iain could see the
smile Alex was fighting, but his friend managed to keep his face blank.

“I ken. I’ll see ye at supper and
hopefully yer lovely wife, as well, as I’ve yet to formally meet her.”

Iain nodded but did not bother to
present her. There’d be time enough for that, and the need to touch her was
making him shake. He turned to stride away just as Alex started talking in a
rush of angry words at Bridgette.

Marion gazed up at him with a
frown. “That was very rude not to—”

He glared at her, caught between
anger for her disobeying him and relief that she really did seem to be safe
now. Marion fell silent and dropped her gaze to his chest.

“Where is your bedchamber?” he
demanded.

“Bridgette mentioned that it was up
the stairs and to the right,” she mumbled. Her small, pitiful voice made him
wince with guilt that she was worried, but God’s truth, the woman needed to
worry a bit so she’d not repeat what she’d done.

He took the stairs two at a time,
and when he came to the top and rounded the corner to where her bedchamber was,
Angus and Rory Mac scrambled to a standing position from the spot by her door
where they’d been sitting. Both men gaped at Iain.

“How did she get out of the
bedchamber?” Rory Mac asked, his brow furrowed. The man looked at the closed
door and then back at Iain.

“My crafty wife never went in the
bedchamber,” he growled as he set Marion on her feet. “Knock,” he demanded.

Marion’s eyes widened. “But—”

“Knock,” he said more harshly,
though he did feel bad about it. She had to understand there were consequences
to her actions, and he’d just realized how to best make her see it.

Her shoulders drooped as she
stepped to the door and knocked.

“I’ve a stomach malady,” a woman
called from within. “Please leave me.”

Beside Iain, Angus hissed, and
Marion turned back toward them, her cheeks stained with her embarrassment.

“Ye ken better than te lie,” Angus
chided. “And te force a servant te lie, as well.” Angus caught Iain’s eye
quickly as if to say,
Allow me
. Iain nodded, relieved that someone else
would prove the point. He was loath to cause Marion any further embarrassment.

Angus placed his hands on her
shoulders. “Ye could cost the woman in there her position in this household if
the MacLean decides she’s nay longer worthy.”

“Surely, he’d not do that!”

“He could,”
Angus
replied
.

A look of horror crossed Marion’s
face, and she slipped from Angus’s hold and started past Iain. He snagged her
by the elbow. “Where are ye going?”

“To talk to your friend and beg him
not to do such a thing.”

Iain met Angus’s gaze. “Leave us.”

“Likely wise.”
Angus
chuckled as he walked past them toward the stairs.

Iain expected Rory Mac to follow,
but his friend just stood there with a look of amusement on his face.

“Why are ye still here?” Iain
growled, his patience slipping away.

Rory Mac’s smile grew to a grin. “I
thought ye may need my counsel in speaking to yer wife since ye’ve nae had to
do such things in so long.”

“Rory Mac,” Iain warned.

The Scot threw up his hands in a
gesture of surrender. “I can see ye nae want my help,” he said. “I’ll just go
see how Neil is faring.”

“Where is Neil?” Marion asked.

Rory Mac chuckled. “The healer has
told him he must stay abed, which has made him verra angry.”

Marion nodded. “The healer is
wise.”

“Aye, but that does nae make it
easier for Neil,” Rory Mac replied, then turned and departed.

When the corridor fell silent, Iain
faced Marion. “Alex is a reasonable laird and would nae punish a servant for
following the command of his sister. But ye did nae ken that. Ye simply consented
to what Bridgette proposed.” When Marion opened her mouth to speak, Iain held
up a staying hand. Truly, he didn’t want to admonish his wife. He wanted to
take her in his arms and bring her pleasure. Yet certain things had to be said for
her own good. “Ye disobeyed me.”

Her chin jutted out. “I’m not a
dog.”

He frowned. That was the second
time she’d mentioned this. Something needed to change, and he was willing to
admit it might be the way he was treating her. He was used to giving orders and
simply being obeyed. And the truth was, Catriona had done as he’d said, until
the very end, and had never questioned him. It had not occurred to him until
just now that he was interacting with Marion, who was headstrong and certainly
not meek, as he’d always interacted with Catriona. He’d told Marion that a wife
must listen, but he would try to listen, too.

He took Marion’s hand in his. “I
dunnae think ye are a dog, but I see that I’ve been ordering ye about. I want
to explain and see if we can come to an understanding.”

Her eyes widened in clear shock.
“You want to come to an understanding with me?”

“Aye,” he said simply.

Marion threw her arms around him
and hugged him hard. “Thank you, Iain.”

He ran his hands up the length of
his wife’s small back and pressed her close until her body molded to his. Had
he known that simply telling his wife he wanted to understand her would please
her so—and get her in his arms—he would have told her the day they’d met.

“Why do ye thank me for wanting to
understand you?” Really, he thought he knew, but he didn’t want to make assumptions.

Marion pulled back and traced her
finger along his chest. His muscles jumped to awareness under her tender
ministrations. “My father never tried to understand me. He did not think me
worthy enough of understanding, so it means a great deal to me that you are
making an effort.” She offered him a sweet smile that made his breath hitch.

He cleared his
throat
and forced himself to concentrate on what he wanted to say and not how nice she
felt pressed against him all womanly and soft. “Ye must understand that as
leader of a clan of six hundred men, I kinnae have my wife openly defying me.
Why would they think they need to follow my orders if my own wife does nae?”