Wed To The Warrior

by Madison Faye

  Wed To The Warrior

  Kilts & Kisses, Book 3

  Madison Faye

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  Also by Madison Faye

  Mailing List

  About the Author

  Copyright Notice

  Copyright © 2019 Madison Faye

  Cover: Coverlüv

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  Chapter 1

  Catriona

  Finally.

  My breath lets out in a whooshing sound, and I let my shoulders drop. Sweat dampens the small of my back, and as I set that last bucket down, I push my long, honeyed blonde hair out of my face. A smile plays across my face as my eyes flick over the steaming hot surface of the big metal tub of water, and eagerly, I start to shed my dress.

  Peace. At. Last.

  For a life lived in my father’s castle, surrounded by servants, and maids, and cooks, and cleaners, and… well, people waiting on hand to do just about anything that would need doing, being alone for me is always a bit strange. But today, I can’t even describe how welcomed it is.

  It’s also completely silent but for the birds outside and the highland winds blowing lazily through the big open windows of the tower—further insulation between me and the real world I’ve escaped here to get away from. My dress, slightly damp from the exertion of lugging close to thirty buckets of piping hot water up four flights of stairs, drops to the floor. My undergarments are next, and I blush, turning quickly to look around, even though I am quite alone.

  Exactly how I wanted it when I decided to flee here.

  “Here” is Aerie Doon Keep—a ramshackle, crumbling, leaning, and utterly adorable little outpost tower way up in the highlands. Aerie Doon was probably at some point a guard tower or lookout post of some kind. Somehow, it ended up belonging to my grandmother, Catherine—both my namesake and my favorite relative. And when she passed, apparently, she left the place to me. I’ve been using it as an escape and secret hiding place when I need to get away ever since. And today?

  Well, if ever a day where a girl needed running away to a secret place where no one can find her, it’s today.

  For a second, just before I step into the hot water of the bath, my mind flicks back to the conversation this morning over breakfast back at my father’s castle—the one where I was informed that a man had come forward with a request for my hand in marriage.

  Now, men asking my father for my hand in marriage isn’t a new development. Neither is my father agreeing to one of them. Dad’s always weeded out the bad apples, of course, but that doesn’t mean a single one of them has stuck around after one conversation with me. So much so that I’ve developed a bit of a reputation.

  …Apparently, I’m “headstrong” and “difficult.” Apparently, most highland lords looking for a bride want sweet and docile. Apparently, what they want in a bride is someone to smile pretty, speak only when spoken to, and to cow to their every whim. Someone to warm their bed, keep their opinions to themselves, and bear their heirs.

  I know: how does a girl possibly say no to such a lovely offer?

  I roll my eyes, stepping into the tub and shivering at the sizzling heat.

  There have been nine requests for my hand in marriage that made it past my father’s high standards of men he’d allow to marry his only daughter. And every single one of them have lasted exactly one cup of tea and one meeting with me, if even that, before they rescinded their offer. And I was perfectly content to keep that record going, and to keep my reputation as an “outspoken girl” very much alive and well. That is, until today, when my father told me about offer number ten.

  …And offer number ten is no ordinary offer.

  You see, because the tenth man to ask for my hand in marriage is no ordinary man and no ordinary snooty highland lord. The tenth man to ask for my hand in marriage is hardened, and rough, and fierce. He’s huge, and muscled, and sculpted from years fighting in the wars in the Holy Land. He’s a soldier, and a warrior—a man gruff of voice, fierce of gaze, and imposing of size. A man who knows exactly what he wants, and a man who takes what he wants. So much so that I’m pretty certain that the tenth man who “asked” for my hand in marriage didn’t so much ask as tell.

  His name is Callum Bruce, and unlike the other men who came looking to lock me down, we’ve met before.

  …Oh, have we met.

  My face burns as hot as the steamy water I’m standing in, and slowly, I lower myself into the scalding hot water as the fierce, wicked memories come flashing back. Sinful, filthy memories that send little bolts of lightning through my body to places they ought not to go.

  A month ago, we were strangers. A month ago, at my best friend Una’s wedding to Lord Ballentyne, I’d only heard of Callum Bruce through reputation. Then we met. Then our eyes locked across a room, and I felt a fire inside of me I’d never felt before. Then I found it impossible to look away, or to stop my heart from racing.

  Then he cornered me, alone.

  Then he kissed me, and my entire world shifted on its axis. He kissed me, and I was lost, and I’ve been lost ever since.

  I’ve done everything in my power to deny it—to lie to myself and tell myself that Lord Bruce is a brute of a man I want nothing to do with. I’ve told myself that I want nothing to do with a roughened, hardened, warrior of a man like Callum. I’ve told myself that a man eleven years my senior—thirty to my nineteen—is only after one thing with a girl like me.

  Except, a month later, it’s not working. A month later, his lips are the only things I want to feel when I close my eyes. His whispered words—filthy and commanding—are tattooed across my heart. And if he is only after one thing with a girl like me? Well, a month of wicked, sinful fever dreams and even more sinful daydreams later?

  …I’m ready to give him damn well anything he wants at this point.

  I shake my head, shivering as I sink down into the hot bath.

  What I feel about Callum Bruce scares the hell out of me. And it’s for that reason that I bolted when my father told me the news this morning. That’s why I snuck away to the stables, saddled my horse, and came straight here, to my grandmother’s rambling, falling-apart old tower of a hideaway.

  To get away from the sinful temptations of a man I should want nothing to do with. To escape the hungry looks of a man who sends heat teasing through me, who poisons my dreams into sinful fantasies that leave me hungry, eager, and….

  I blush, sinking down into the water up to my chin as I hug my arms around my knees.

  Hungry, eager, and wet.

  I close my eyes, sitting up a little and forcing myself to take deep breaths—my attempt at clearing my head. I relax my shoulders, pushing thoughts of Callum Bruce from my head as I take another slow, steady breath.

  Breathe.

  Slowly, as I breath, I can feel as the tension starts to loosen. I’ll deal with the fact that the most wicked, enticing, sinful man I’ve ever met wants to marry me later. For now, all I need to do is clear my head and—

  The sound of hoofbeats across the gr
ound has my eyes flying open, my thoughts scattering. Aerie Doon Keep is way off of any traveling road. Nor is it on any map. It’s also old enough and ramshackle enough to look just like the boulder-strewn hills it sits amongst from a distance.

  And yet, someone is riding right for it, and here I am alone, naked, and sitting in a damn bath.

  I scurry from the tub and wrap a cloth around myself as I scamper for the window. I crouch low, pulse racing. For a moment, all sorts of horrible scenarios flit through my head—that it’s bandits, or ruffians of some kind. Or worse, an exploring party of Danes—Viking marauders looking for their next castle to sack and girl of noble birth to steal away.

  I tremble, my hands tight on the cloth and my mind scrambling to come up with a plan of escape as I slowly raise up and peek over the edge of it.

  My heart leaps into my chest, and my entire body trembles. Because it’s not ruffians, or bandits. It’s not Vikings.

  …It’s him.

  It’s Callum

  My eyes go wide, my jaw drops, and a forbidden, fierce and wicked heat sizzles through my body to pool between my thighs.

  It’s just him, riding a huge black horse at full gallop as he nears the crumbling old keep. But even at this distance, I can see the hardened look on his face—the tightness in his jaw and the fire in his eyes, that dark hair blowing behind him.

  My hands grip the cloth tight, my body shivering. I tense to move—to go run, or hide, or… I don’t even know what. But suddenly, his eyes dart up the high tower window I’m crouched behind, and there’s no use in even trying to hide in time. Because this time, his eyes lock right onto mine, and when I feel the fierceness in that gaze, I’m rooted to the spot, my pulse racing.

  Callum’s eyes flicker with heat, his jaw tightens, and he grunts as he urges his horse on, riding hard and fast right for me.

  And something tells me, there’ll be no running from him this time…

  Chapter 2

  Callum

  Found her.

  My jaw tightens as my heart thunders in my chest and my hands clench the reigns of my horse. I grunt, urging the steed faster as my eyes lock onto the high window of the tower.

  Slowly, a hungry grin spreads over my face.

  For most of my ride here, I questioned if she’d even be here. It was her father, Lachlan McDougall, who told me where I’d most likely be able to find his daughter after she disappeared from his castle.

  …Not exactly the reaction I anticipated after asking for her hand in marriage, but then, what do I know. Thirty years old, a lord with my own lands, titles, and castle, and never married. It was fighting in the Crusades in the Holy Land that took years from me. But even after I and my friends who fought with me returned, there’s never been a woman to turn my head the way she does.

  …There hasn’t been a woman at all since I returned, at that.

  It’s not for lack of choices. I’ve been approached by numerous lords and ladies looking for me to wed their pretty young daughters. Gods, I’ve been approached by the ladies themselves looking to warm my bed whilst their husbands are off drinking or hunting.

  Needless to say, offers like those repulse me, no matter how tempting the woman offering may be.

  No, I’ve kept to myself since we returned from the Holy Land. I’ve denied myself—quite purposefully—the touch of women, or the comfort of a warmed bed and an eager body to share it with. And I’ve had no problem with that, or with keeping myself focused and strong willed. That is, until a month ago.

  …Until I laid eyes on her.

  On Catriona McDougall.

  It was her wildness that drew me in. It was that untamed fierceness in her eyes that had my pulse racing and the beast inside of me roaring to break free—to claim her, and take her, and make her mine and mine alone. Honeyed blonde hair, sharp blue eyes, hips that were made for my rough hands to hold so tight, and lips that begged to be tasted.

  Her friend Una was marrying my good friend Hamish, and when I questioned around about her, I learned two things. One, that she was not betrothed to another. And when I refused to believe that, I learned the second thing: that it wasn’t for lack of trying on other men’s parts.

  No less than nine men had been granted her hand by her father. And yet, every single one of them had gone home empty-handed. Every one of them had revoked their offer. And the more I asked around and looked into it, the more I learned that it seems Catriona had a bit of a reputation. “Headstrong,” they called her. “Strong willed,” “difficult,” and even “untamed.” These were the reasons men had walked away from her?

  It made me laugh.

  The idea of these strong and noble lords having their lordly feathers ruffled by a girl simply because she wouldn’t smile politely, avoid eye contact, and gushingly promise to do their every whim was amusing to me. Lords of the highlands were supposed to be fierce warriors, and proud, strong men.

  …It seems they had “proud” down quite well. But the idea that a woman having thoughts and a will of her own would send them running made me chuckle. Perhaps it was my time in the wars. Perhaps it was that warrior spirit that roared through my veins. After all, I’d been born into the life of the sword. The castle and the titles and lands had only come after I’d fought in the Crusades.

  Whatever it was though, I suppose it set me apart from most other highland lords. And Catriona McDougall and her “strong-willed sass” was maybe a perfect example of that. Other lords saw “challenging.” I saw a challenge. Other men were put off by a woman like Catriona and her fierce, untamed willfulness.

  …I was hungry for it.

  Again, maybe it’s the warrior in me. Maybe it’s the fighter’s blood in my veins. Whatever it is though, one look at her, and one whisper of her reputation for being fiercely independent and strong-minded, and I was hooked. I was drawn to her like a moth to flame and consumed with the notion not to tame that wildness in her, but to ride it. It’d been years since I even gave a passing thought to a woman. But one look at Catriona and my every damn thought was hers and hers alone.

  One look, and I knew she’d be mine.

  It was at Hamish and Una’s wedding that I first tasted those soft, full, tempting and wild lips. It was that night, after fighting off an attack on Hamish’s castle by the Viking marauder Tor Odinson, that I found myself alone with her, under the pretense of her using her nurse training on a truly benign cut I’d taken in the fighting.

  But one kiss, one taste, one tease of her soft moan in my ears, and I knew. I knew I’d move the heavens above, the rings of hell below, and the earth itself to make her mine.

  There was a part of me—the savage, untamed, wild beast part of me—that thought of just taking her. I imagined stealing her and running off with her and making her mine until her soft moans filled my ears. And after all, it was my and Hamish’s other good friend, Malcolm, who’d done just that a few weeks ago, running off with Catriona and Una’s friend, Ailith.

  I know I could have run off with Catriona. I know what I felt in her when I kissed her. Hells, I know what she felt when I kissed her, because I’ve been reliving that kiss and the way she pressed herself to me so willingly and so eagerly as she moaned into my mouth.

  Of course, it was right after that that she slapped me, flat-handed, right across my jaw. But even now, I’m not angry at it. If anything, it’s just fueled my desire for her. Recklessly. And my cock has been hard as stone for weeks because of it.

  Yes, I could have stolen her. Maybe I should have. But I asked permission from her father first, nonetheless. After all, Lachlan McDougall has my respect as a former soldier himself. So, I asked, and then she ran.

  I growl as the horse thunders closer to the over-grown tower of Aerie Doon Keep.

  Silly princess…

  Because now she will be mine. The chase has my blood roaring. The hunt of tracking her down and reminding her how mine she is. Because I’ve had a taste, and now, I’m here for the rest.

  I know what she reall
y wants. I know the way she moaned when I kissed her before. I know she’s mine, and so does she, even if that wildness in her is insisting on fighting the feeling. But let her run. Let her argue with herself and try and convince herself that she isn’t mine. Let her try and sass me, or try and scare me away, like she did with all of the others.

  She’ll find soon enough that I’m twice the man of any of the rest of them. She’ll learn soon enough that I won’t scare off easily. I won’t run away like a coward. I won’t be leaving at all unless it’s with what I came for.

  Her.

  There’s movement up in the window at the top of the watch tower, and I chuckle as I watch her pretty blonde hair poke up from the windowsill. Her eyes lock onto mine, and I watch, even from this distance, as they go wide, her mouth turning into a little “O” shape.

  A hungry grin spreads across my face.

  Found you.

  I ride harder, until my steed come to a stuttering stop at the foot of the tower, dust kicking up around us as I soothe him. Catriona’s horse is tethered nearby, but when I dismount, I let my steed roam free, knowing he’ll come at my call when I need him to. My jaw tightens as I turn for the big wooden door at the base of the watch tower, and when I stride towards it with purpose, I can feel my muscles clenching in anticipation. A low growl rumbles in my chest, my hands close to fists, and a fire blazes deep inside of me.

  …My cock thickens and hardens to steel beneath my tartan.

  I’ve tasted her once, and it was enough to shatter my world. I kissed her lips and knew there’d be none other for me but her. And now, I’ve come for just that. I’ve come for my bride, and I won’t be leaving without her.

  I do her the courtesy of knocking once. But when all I hear is a muffled scrambling sound from inside, my grin only widens.

  She may have run from me, and tried to hide from me, but I know what I felt when I kissed her that night all those weeks before. And I damn well know what she felt, because it all came out in that kiss. The way she gripped me tightly. The way she moaned so eagerly and so sweetly into my mouth. The way she hungrily tasted me right back, and the way she whimpered in protest when I finally pulled away from her swollen lips.