When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1) (7 page)

Iain may not know Marion de Lacy
very well yet, but he knew she was angry. Any clot-heid who could see would
recognize it from her narrowed eyes and high color. Plus, she turned swiftly
away from him and her back was stiff and her foot tapping. He knew she wanted
to help, but the best way she could help him was to ensure he did not worry
about keeping her safe.

“Marion, turn around,” he
commanded. When she didn’t budge, he stifled the annoyance that threatened to
overflow and decided to try a gentler approach. She didn’t know the way of the
Highlands, after all. Maybe she didn’t understand that she should obey him
without command, yet given his meeting with her father, he suspected de Lacy
had demanded obedience without question. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe
Marion thought he was going to be as cruel to her as her father must have been.

“Marion,” he tried again. When she
didn’t turn toward him, he decided he could waste no more time. He grasped her
by the shoulders and spun her around. She stubbornly kept her gaze down. He
suppressed an unexpected desire to smile. He wasn’t used to being defied, and
he should be angry, but instead, he was impressed at her bravery. He hooked a
finger under her chin and tipped her face to his until she had no choice but to
look at him. “When I’m talking to ye, I’d like to ken ye’re listening.
Especially when yer safety is involved. Ken?”

“Just because I’m not looking at
you does not mean I don’t hear you,” she said. “And I already told you I want
to help.”

“Ye did. And the best way for ye to
help is to stay here.”

She scowled at him and shook her
head. “
I
know the castle.”

“And ye ken the men. If ye had to
kill one of them, would ye?” When her eyes widened and her lips parted, he
nodded. “Ye see, ye’d be a hindrance and nae a help.” Before she could say
anything, he turned to Rory Mac, who had been standing nearby, silently watching
the exchange.

“Keep her out of the castle,” Iain
commanded.

Rory Mac nodded. “I’ll keep her
safe.”

Iain could tell by the derisive
noises coming from Marion that she intended to argue, so he stopped her before
she could start. “Nay,” he said, his hard tone warning her. “Ye will do as I
say and stay with Rory Mac.”

“I said nothing,” she muttered.

“Ye were going to.”

Marion huffed out a breath.

The little hints of how she felt
fascinated him. He had to force himself to concentrate on his task instead of
wondering what she might do next. “I’ll get Angus and yer priest—”

Her brow furrowed. “Why would you
collect Father John?”

There was no polite way to tell her
this, so he simply stated the truth without preamble. “We need to be wed and
the marriage consummated as soon as possible.”

A shocked expression settled on her
face, and she took a step away from him. “What?” she demanded in a hoarse
whisper.

Rory Mac laughed deeply, and Iain
scowled at him. “Tend to Neil.”

“But I already—”

“Do it again!” Iain clipped.

“Aye, Iain.” Rory Mac turned and
went to the tree where Neil lay with his eyes closed.

Iain stared through the darkness at
this woman who was to be his wife. She was a stranger, yet he already knew she
was brave and loyal, and he did not want to add to the pain he assumed she’d
already had to endure.

He stepped toward her and touched
her elbow. Her body trembled under his fingertips. Was she going to faint?

She surprised and impressed him by
shoving his hand away, notching her chin up, and pushing her shoulders back.
“Since I know it’s not a great need for my person that’s driving you to force
me to be wed in wee hours, I suppose on the dirt upon which we stand will do…”

Guilt pricked him for where her
innocence would be taken, but there was no choice. The marriage needed to be
completed with the joining as quickly as possible. “Nae. We’ll find a nice
patch of soft grass
somewhere
,” he teased in hopes to lighten the grave
situation, but her sharp intake of breath told him she was not amused.

“How considerate of you,” she
retorted. “I suppose you feel the need to seal the marriage before we flee.”

The time for teasing was over. “I
dunnae like the circumstances anymore than ye do, Marion. We’ll flee first,
then see to the other.”

“You’re mistaken if you think joining
your body with mine will stop my father if he’s made up his mind to defy King
Edward.”

“I dunnae think our joining will
stop yer father, Marion, but it will make ye mine in the eyes of my clan.”

“And what about in your eyes,
Iain?” she demanded, her voice belying her anxiety. “Will that make me
officially yours?”

His gaze slid over her voluptuous
body, barely visible now in the dark, but he could remember every detail from
her long slender neck to her delicate fingers to her round bottom that had
pressed between his thighs on the horse. He heated instantly. “Ye were mine the
moment
I consented to marry ye. Now tell me, where might I find Angus and the priest?”

Her jaw jutted out, but she huffed
out a breath and spoke. “The priest will likely be in the chapel near where the
stables were, which is where you will likely find Angus, as well, working to
create makeshift shelters for the horses. Unless—” Her words halted, and she
gulped. “Unless Father has tied him to the post where he beats people and left
Angus as an example.”

Iain’s gut twisted in disgust.
“Does yer father do that often?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her right
hand finding her left and her fingers curling around her wrist. She rubbed the
skin as if in memory of being tied there herself.

It took all Iain’s determination
not to tell her he wanted to kill her father. She may hate the man, but he was
still her father. “Where is the post?”

“The bailey near the front gate.”

He nodded. “What can ye tell me
about the castle, in case I need to enter?”

“Let me show you,” she countered,
her voice a hopeful plea.

Though it made a great deal of
sense to have her with him as his guide, he could not bear the thought of
taking her deliberately into danger. If he didn’t come back, Rory Mac would
know to flee and take her to safety. Iain didn’t even need to say it, the Scots
knew each other that well. They’d grown up together, and Rory Mac was like a
brother.

“Nay,” he said, making sure his
tone brooked no argument. “Stay here.” He turned and caught Rory Mac’s eyes,
understanding passing between them. Iain retrieved his sword from his tethered
mount, and then he headed into the black night to rescue Angus and get the
priest.

It did not take long, even on foot,
to close the distance to the ditch that surrounded the castle’s outer court.
The bridge was drawn and the towers manned, which meant the only possible way
into the castle was through the
dark
,
stale-smelling water that filled the ditch. He’d cross the divide from the side
of the wall, scale the wooden stockade, and make his way across the bailey to
find Angus and the priest. Hopefully they were not in the keep, instead.

Iain crouched low to the ground,
hidden by trees, and eyed the stockade, searching for the best place to climb
and contemplating how to draw the guards’ attention away from the wall. Perhaps
another fire?

Just as he settled on the idea, the
pounding of horses’ hooves filled the silent night behind him, and out of the
darkness rode his future wife, the moon shining bright upon her. Her pale hair
glowed in the moonlight, like one of the fairies of Dunvegan Castle. God’s
truth, he blinked to make sure he was seeing clearly, but it was certainly
Marion, calling in a loud voice for the drawbridge to be lowered.

As she rode by him, a look of defiance
graced her face as his plaid flew behind her and landed near where he was
crouched. As he snatched it up and quickly put it on, two thoughts collided at
once: she was brave and beautiful, and the combination was potently enticing
and dangerous.

Stay here,
he’d told her. She’d nodded her agreement, hadn’t she?

He thought back to the moment as he
slipped down the side of the ditch into the dark waters of the moat. When he
dove into the slimy water, the recollection came to him. She’d not agreed. Nay.
He’d not waited for it, either. He’d simply assumed she would listen. That was
the last time he’d assume anything about the Sassenach.

The second slap from her father was the one that
sent her to her knees. She wasn’t there long, though. He yanked her up by her
hair and jerked her head back until stars danced in her vision. Truly, they did
a jig. She blinked and the stars in the sky settled and stilled.

Thank heaven. She was on the verge
of being sick, and she’d almost rather die than show her father such weakness. Her
cheek throbbed painfully, and she considered that, perhaps, riding into the
castle had not been the best idea. When she’d persuaded Rory Mac to walk a
distance away and turn his back to her with the lie that she needed to relieve
herself, she’d only thought of providing the distraction Iain needed to
retrieve Angus and the priest. Hopefully, Iain would consider that if he
decided to rescue her. She wasn’t at all certain that he would come to her aid,
however; he’d likely conclude that having her as a bride would be too much
trouble, and Rory Mac would likely agree.

“Tell me the truth,” her father
roared as he released her head and gave her a shove forward. She almost fell
again, but Andrew caught her by the arm. Her father’s fist crashed into Andrew’s
face, letting the knight know what her father thought about his aiding her.
Poor Andrew staggered to the ground beside her. She quickly shook her head at
him.

“Do not dare to help her,” Father
ordered as he stepped in front of her once again. “Marion, on my word, if you
don’t tell me the truth, I’ll beat you until you beg for death. Now, where did
you go when you fled from here? From whom did you get that horse?” He pointed a
gloved finger toward Rory Mac’s destrier. Iain’s beast had refused to let her
mount him.

Marion slanted her gaze toward the
bridge on the other side of the bailey. Her father had left Angus tied to the
pole at the entrance, as she’d told Iain he might. Just as she was about to
look away from Angus’s slumped form to answer her father, a large shadow rose
up beside Angus. It had to be Iain, she thought, and within seconds, Iain and
Angus were gone. Iain may be a strapping Scot, but his size certainly didn’t
impede his ability to hide. She should have known he’d be clever. Angus had
always said Scots were taught the art of shadow dancing from the day they could
toddle on two legs.

Slowly, she faced her father once
more. “I already told you the truth. Someone tried to snatch me from the hill
in front of the castle. I don’t know who it was! I fell into the water in the
struggle, and they fished me out and then rode me all the way to Newcastle. I
escaped when they thought I was sleeping, and stole this horse to return
directly to you.”

“If you’re lying, Marion—”

“I’m not. I swear it.” That lie
would cost her a great number of coins to Father John, but it was worth it.
Perhaps all was not lost.

An idea occurred to her then, one
that would lead her father and some of his men away from the castle to make
things easier for Iain. “I can lead you to where they took me. I know what they
look like.”

“Give me their descriptions and the
exact position. I’ll ride out with some of my men to find them, and you”—he
offered a malicious smile—“will stay here and ready yourself for your wedding.
Froste will have to be fetched from Newcastle. He arrived earlier and I told
him you drowned, so he went into town to—er—deliberate with his brother.”

Marion knew that was a lie. Froste
had gone into town to seek a whore to warm his bed for the night. That’s how
distraught he was by Marion’s presumed death. She snorted inwardly as she
studied her father from under her lashes. So her father truly meant to defy the
king. Or maybe he simply intended to claim she’d been married to Froste before
he knew of the king’s new orders. That was very likely. But it would mean her
father had every intention of hunting down Iain and killing him and Rory Mac so
they could not tell King Edward otherwise.

Marion needed to escape quickly,
now that Angus was safe with Iain. But how? Before she could consider it
further, her father spoke.

“Sir Thomas will escort you.” Her
father nodded to a knight Marion didn’t know.

“There’s no need,” she replied,
striving to sound accommodating though she was feeling desperate.

“There is a need, Marion.” Her
father’s dark eyes bore into hers. “Someone tried to seize you. I will see you defended
at all times.”

It had been years since she’d
allowed herself to hope her father might feel any true affection toward her,
but that hope had apparently never died as it now flared in her chest. “Father,
I’m touched.”

“Don’t be,” he snapped. “I simply
can’t have you disappearing again before I marry you to Froste.”

“Of course,” she replied, her face
heating with anger at herself. Why had she been so foolish to allow any hope?

She followed the knight across the
bailey, over the bridge that covered the second moat, and up the stairs that
led to the keep—and her room—while she plotted her escape. She needed to get
Sir Thomas away from her door.

She paused as he opened the door
and stepped aside for her to enter. “Could you fetch Father John from the
chapel for me?” He would normally be there at this time of night, but she
prayed he was already with Iain. However, the errand would occupy the guard for
a bit. “I have some sins to confess before I marry.”

“Certainly, my lady,” the knight
readily agreed.

Well, it was certainly easy enough
to send Sir Thomas away,
Marion thought as she walked past
him and into her bedchamber. The door clicked shut, followed by the distinct
snap of the lock setting in place.

“What are you doing?” she demanded,
pressing her ear to the closed door, her pulse ticking up several beats.

“Your father ordered you to be
locked in, my lady. I’ll return shortly with Father John.”

“Wait!” she shouted, even as she
heard his footsteps carrying him away from her. She gripped the door handle and
pulled on it for several seconds before she forced herself to let go.
Desperation wanted to overcome her, but she refused to succumb.

This was terrible! She’d not
foreseen being locked inside her chambers when she’d decided to provide the
distraction the stubborn Scot needed so he wouldn’t get caught entering the
castle. And though she’d certainly delivered the needed diversion, she now not
only had to escape the castle but she had to escape her room.

Thinking quickly, she decided that
once she was out of the keep, she’d scale the keep wall, make her way down the
backside of the hill, and swim the treacherous, snake-filled waters to escape
and meet with Iain. That was assuming no guards stopped her.

She gulped at the daunting task. At
least she knew Iain had Angus, and if he didn’t have Father John—she smiled
grimly to herself—well, then she would not have to be wedded and joined with
him so soon.

She stalked to her bed and ripped
off the coverlet, then dragged the heavy blanket—and two others she collected
from her trunk—over to the window, which she threw open. Glancing out the
window to the ground far below, her stomach
knotted
.
She inhaled deeply, then let it out and muttered to herself as she began to tie
the blankets together. Once they were secured, she fastened one end to the iron
of the window and dropped the other out of the small space until it dangled
toward the ground.

She swung a leg over the window
ledge and wiggled out of the cramped space. She gripped the coverlet, sweat
dampening her brow with the effort to hold on, and shimmied all the way to the
end of her rope. With a hopeful prayer, she glanced below to see if she was
close enough to leap. Her heart sank. The ground was still so far away.
Climbing back up was not an option. Not only were her hands beginning to cramp
but there was no way for her to escape her room with the door locked.

She squeezed her eyes shut, took a
deep breath, and released the material. She dropped with a speed that stole her
breath and made her body tighten in expectation of a painful landing. She did
hit something hard, but it was warm, too, and the landing, though jarring,
wasn’t agonizing. Her eyes flew open and met an angry—or was that
astonished?—blue gaze.

“You returned for me,” she said in
surprise.

“Aye,” Iain growled, setting her
roughly on the ground. “And now I’m questioning why.” He gripped her by the
shoulders and fairly dragged her against the castle wall. “Ye would have broken
yer neck had I nae caught ye.”

“Nonsense,” she replied, annoyed
that instead of one word of praise for her creating the perfect distraction for
him, he was angry. “I know what I am doing,” she snapped.

He crossed his arms over his chest
and glared at her. “Do ye now?”

His voice was hard, and she vowed
he’d made the question sound threatening on purpose. She notched her chin up.
“I do.”

His glower became fiercer as he
stepped so close to her that his heat overwhelmed her. “Then ye have the priest
with ye?”

“Well, no,” she hedged, not willing
to admit quite yet that she didn’t have everything in hand. “We will simply
have to make haste to the chapel and find him. I thought you would have done
that with Angus and been away from the castle by now,” she snapped.

“Ye thought that, did ye?” He
pressed closer to her, his hands coming to either side of her shoulders.

She could feel the anger rolling
off him in waves of scorching heat that seemed to create steam from his wet
body, hair, and clothes. Fear lodged in her throat, but she refused to show it.
She squared her shoulders. “I did. I created the perfect opportunity for you to
do what you needed. You should have trusted me to escape and find you outside
the castle walls.”

“I should have trusted ye?”
Incredulity shook every word as his face came very close to hers. “
Ye
should have trusted
me
,”
he growled
.
“I am your laird.”

Her heart pounded viciously, but
she forced herself to speak, praying she didn’t sound scared. “Not yet you’re
not.”

He blew out a long, hot, clearly
angry
breath that fanned her face. “Ye ken ye have nay choice but to marry me.”

Her gut clenched with bitterness at
the truth of his words, but she refused to acknowledge out loud that he was
right. Instead, she said, “Where is Angus?”

“When we saw yer father’s knight
leading ye to the keep, Angus said ye were surely being taken to yer room. We
decided that he’d get the priest and I’d come for ye.”

“Because I’m yours?” she asked,
feeling slightly bemused by his nearness, his masculine scent, and the power
that he projected by his sheer size.

He laughed. “Nay, but
ye
are
mine
.” The words held a ring of
finality she did not dare argue with.

“Then why did you come for me and
not Angus when he knows the castle and you don’t? Oh no!” she cried suddenly
and clutched Iain’s arm. “Angus is hurt.”

“Just bruised. He’ll mend, but he’s
slower than usual and was uncertain he could properly defend ye if the need
arose.”

He took her hand in his big, warm,
rough one, and a jolt shot from her fingertips straight to her stomach. “Come.
We’re meeting them outside the castle where I presume Rory Mac is still waiting
for me as I bid the
two
of ye to do,” he said pointedly.

’Twas true that it was hard to pull
her thoughts away from the tingly sensation Iain’s fingers were causing, but
somehow she managed. “Don’t blame Rory Mac. I deceived him.”

“I dunnae doubt it,” he grumbled,
“but the man should ken better than to fall prey to a woman’s charms.”

“Well, in his defense, he doesn’t
know me.”

Iain made a derisive sound in his
throat. “Ye’re nae helping his cause,” he said and then pulled her into the
wall of brick that was his chest. She pressed her hands against the sinewy
muscle and froze, enraptured by the fast beat of his heart tapping against her
fingertips.

“Sassenach,” he said gruffly.
“There will be time enough for ye to show me how much ye desire me, but now we
need to leave.”

“Are you always so arrogant?” she
managed, though her throat felt thick and her thoughts spun a little.

“Aye,” he replied. “Now let’s go
meet the others.”

She gasped, suddenly realizing the
consequences of sending the guard to fetch the priest. What if the guard had
come upon Angus retrieving Father John?

“We may have a slight problem,” she
said.

“What?”

Marion bit her lip. “I sent the
guard to get the priest in the chapel,” she blurted, thinking telling it
quickly may make it less terrible. It didn’t.

“Why’d ye do that if ye intended to
escape?” he demanded.

“I didn’t know that Father’s knight
was going to lock me in my room,” she grumbled. “I thought I’d escape while he
was fetching Father John.”

“And that’s what ye call knowing
what ye’re doing?” he growled.