The Highlander's Welsh Bride: Book 5 in the Hardy Heroines series

by Cathy MacRae

  Carys wasn’t certain what she thought. Had she not been so completely furious with him, she might have agreed there was something about him that compelled a need to touch him. A deeply rooted need to turn her life and body over to a man who could so clearly protect her and give her strong children. A need as old as time itself, ingrained in her bones.

  Skinned knuckles and the white scar that traced over his forearm did not bespeak a cautious nature. He was bold and strong. And arrogant.

  “I would wager you are quite used to frightening everyone around you into doing what you wish. I will tell you now, lest there be confusion between us, I will not bow to your tactics. If I marry you, I will not say aye when I mean nae.”

  To her surprise, his arched brow dropped slightly, mirroring a tiny upward flash of the corner of his mouth. He settled his hands on either side of his hips on the bench.

  “Tell me what else ye expect from this marriage,” he invited, his voice pitched low.

  “Before you threw the promise of death into my face,” Carys retorted bitterly, outraged to realize her thoughts of a new life had been sadly misplaced, “I had thought to use my position to help a few people I know. I could have done it on my own, but kicking air from yon rope will do nothing to help.”

  “I have asked ye before to speak to me of yer plans,” Birk pointed out. “Ye are right to think I could be of help to ye.”

  “Ye would help me? Or keep me in your debt?”

  Birk sighed. “Carys, tell me.”

  The line of his jaw was implacable, the tilt of his head commanding. But Carys could find no anger. Frustration hooded his eyes, alleviating some of her ire.

  The captain befriended this man. But did he like him? Did he trust him? Or did he trust him just enough to trade? Can I trust him? What choice do I have?

  “’Tis true you knew Captain Ferguson?” she hedged, seeking the truth of what he offered through a circuitous route.

  “Aye. He berthed his ship at the port at MacLean Castle whenever he sailed up the coast.” Birk leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. “Shall I answer some question for ye only a friend would know?”

  She eyed him warily. Birk held her gaze.

  “He has a son named Tully, whom I have met. He is a likeable lad, for all he’s a wee bit simple. The captain and my . . . laird’s family have a long history. He particularly was kind to Hanna, the auld laird’s wife. She was grieved to hear all aboard the ship were lost. Can ye tell us otherwise?”

  Carys considered the man before her. He was clearly used to intimidating people and getting his way. It was likely rare anyone gainsaid his decisions, and the MacLean laird probably never received complaints from the people of the village. Did the villagers like him?

  His daughters clearly loved him.

  She could do worse than trust the instincts of children. Dear God, the children. The words of the crone echoed.

  Death follows ye like a hound.

  “My brother and I fled Wales after Prince Llywelyn was killed near Orewin Bridge. Our family was gone, my husband dead in the fight with the English as well. Captain Ferguson needed hands for his ship and signed us on. Tully was on board.”

  The matter-of-fact wording did not dull the sense of loss that hummed through her. She swallowed hard. “A storm struck as we exited the Strait of Mull, blowing us back onto the rocks some distance from here. Tully and I and his dog were the only survivors. I promised the lad I would try to get him home.”

  Sympathy and disappointment weighed heavily. Birk was glad Tully lived, but he sorely regretted the final confirmation his old friend had perished. He paused a moment, reflecting on his last conversation with Ferguson.

  She’s a rare lass, and no mistake. She and her brother will do well, wherever they land. And I’m not afraid to say I’ll miss them.

  What would the captain say to know Birk had for all practical purposes kidnapped the young Welsh woman and held her against her will? Would he applaud his choice in bride, or deride his chosen path? The answer was obvious, but Birk was reminded again what awaited him if he allowed Carys to slip through his matrimonial grip.

  “I am sorry for the loss of yer brother,” he offered, pitching his voice low as he might to soothe a frightened filly.

  Carys’s stance altered. Her hands, tucked beneath her arms folded belligerently over her chest a moment before, now gripped tight, as if holding some incredible force inside. Her body, already slim, seemed to draw in on itself, her shoulders slumped slightly forward. Grief flashed across her face, raw and bitter.

  She turned away, stumbling. Birk was on his feet in an instant, uncertain where his sudden desire to protect her sprang from. She stiffened as his arms encircled her, then eased into his embrace as he drew her close. He turned her face into his chest.

  Her sobs tore at his heart. Though Rose’s tears had been prettily designed to bring him to heel, Carys’s grief was real. And he had no idea how to soothe her.

  “If I thought a pretty ribbon or bauble would ease ye, I would scour the village shops.” He touched her hair lightly. “I cannae even bring a foul villain to justice and lay him at yer feet in retribution. ’Twas a storm, an act of God, that tore yer brother from ye. And I learned long ago railing against the Almighty doesnae alter His plans.”

  He sighed, uncomfortable at being so powerless. Neither brain nor brawn would help Carys. He had nothing to offer but himself, and the knowledge humbled him.

  There is naught in me worthy of her. Even Rose found no reason to stay. But, God help me, I cannae let Carys go.

  Hesitantly, he stroked her back as hot tears dampened his leine. Strangely, his heart warmed at their touch.

  What do I have to offer her?

  “I will send for Tully. We will help him find his way home.”

  Her shudders lessened, and after a moment, she slipped away, turning so he could not see her face. He gave her time to compose herself, gladness blending with a touch of pride to see her shoulders straighten. When she faced him, her eyes still shone with tears, but they also sparked with intent.

  “I will keep the promises I have made to both Tully and Gorrie. We will discover where Tully’s family lives and return him there. I will continue to instruct Gorrie in both the bow and the sword until such time as he is capable of continuing his training with the MacLean captain, or he decides to remain on his da’s farm. And I will see the family is fed.” She sent him a mocking look. “I will no longer be poaching.”

  Birk considered her words, a bit taken aback by the passionate demand.

  “It may not be possible for ye to continue Gorrie’s training.” He raised a hand as she bristled. “If ye are unable to assist the lad, a suitable replacement will be found.”

  “You will not deny me the opportunity to train him,” she stated flatly.

  “Nae. But yer time willnae always be free for the lad. Ye’ll have two wee lasses to care for, and their care will come first.” He waited for Carys to accept his reminder. She gave a small nod.

  “Eislyn has some skill with a blade,” he continued. “Her grandma has promised her further lessons. Mayhap ye will consider Eislyn as yer pupil as well. And,” he added, suddenly remembering promises he’d made, “she wishes to learn to sail.”

  “I can help her.”

  “Then it is agreed?”

  “What of Tully?”

  “That request I will grant in full. ’Tis not right for the lad to remain separated from his ma and sisters. If we discover he has no kin left alive, he will have my permission to live here.”

  “He has a place with Lorna and Fergal,” Carys said. “They accepted us and promised to care for him should something happen to me.”

  “They are good people.” He tilted his head. “Ye must be the lass who killed the wolf as well as the men who attacked their croft. There was a bounty on Colin Dubh’s head. It is yours.”

  A hint of amusement crossed her face. “Strange to change from facing the noose to accepting pa
yment for killing an outlaw.”

  The irony in her words stirred a rumble from Birk’s chest. He grinned, wondering at this woman who could stir both his ire and his humor in short order. She also stirred other, more demanding emotions.

  “There is one more item to consider from marriage,” he said, disappointed when her gaze turned wary.

  Her chin rose defiantly, but the lines of her body stiffened. “I have been wed before. I know what to expect.”

  Birk stood. “I want an heir. A lad with yer courage, yer capacity of care for others. Will ye give me a son?”

  “I am also aware there is no way to predict whether a child will be a boy or girl,” she replied crisply. “There is naught we can do to change His plans,” she tossed back at him.

  “If our first child is a lass, will ye give me another?” He loomed over her, not hiding his height or strength. He wanted her knowing full well the man she would accept. “I want ye willing in my bed, not shrinking from my touch.”

  Her breast rose and fell, betraying the turmoil beneath. Carys met his gaze, then looked away.

  “What is different this time?” Birk asked. “What makes ye recoil from a second marriage?” His curiosity ate at him, punishment for whatever lack Rose had found in him that had sent her to the arms of her lovers—and to her death. Anger swirled with frustration, feeding on the humiliation of the loss of his wife’s fidelity.

  “When I married Terwyn, I knew he cared for me. He gave my cloak to his mother and sister to sew a seal skin into its lining. They offered it to me out of love and acceptance into his family.” She returned her gaze to his, eyes now clear. “When he came to me on our wedding night, I wanted his touch.”

  “Is this beyond our resolve?”

  “I’d known him for years. You, I do not know, nor is anyone I trust able to recommend you. You ask me to passively accept marriage to a man I know little about. And while ’tis true my first marriage was arranged, this one is by my choice.”

  Carys cast a quick glance over her shoulder where the gallows pierced the morning sky then back at him. Birk gritted his teeth, knowing his tactic did as much to draw her in as push her away. Should she come to their marriage bed cold and unwilling, he had no one to blame but himself. Dugan was right. If he wanted a willing lass, he was going about it the wrong way.

  There was nothing to be done about it now. If he could find a way to bed her without worry she’d cut his throat during the night, he’d consider his deceit worth the effort.

  She lifted her chin.

  “Nae. If you will honor your promises, I will honor mine.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Carys settled gratefully into the tub.

  Ah-h. The word was almost inaudible. The pleasure of hot water in a tub was so much better than a perfunctory splash in a cold stream. But was the luxury worth her freedom? Water lapped about Carys’s shoulders and lavender-scented steam drifted from the surface. Her knees rose like twin mountain peaks from the glistening water, dark gold in the firelight.

  Her freedom was no longer in question. Tonight, though released from the tower into a much more commodious room, she was still a prisoner. Tomorrow, her freedom would be within the boundaries of matrimony. A different kind of prison altogether.

  The thought threatened to chase away her contentment induced by being thoroughly clean and warm for the first time in weeks, perhaps months. Carys pushed deeper into the water and closed her eyes, drifting beyond the squalor of war and life aboard ship.

  Hywel’s face came to mind, his easy smile and the way he drew her into whatever mischief he was about. His promise to see her settled well echoed in her memory and tears fell unbidden at her protest against marrying, against needing a man to protect her. How wrong she’d been. Men ruled the world, and she needed this one to save her life. While she was willing to acknowledge Birk’s offer did indeed save her, she found herself unable to muster any gratitude.

  A giggle woke her. The tepid water rippled gently against her legs, her exposed knees frigid. A tiny splash sent sparkling droplets into the air. Carys rolled to face the doorway, careful to keep below the edge of the tub.

  Two pairs of mischievous eyes met hers. Eislyn clapped a hand over her mouth, a chunk of bread clasped in the other fist. Abria flung another piece of bread toward Carys, crumbs scattering like dandelion seeds in the wind. Tegan yipped and raced to the tub, her short legs giving her little purchase against the wooden slats. Her black button nose and enormous pointed ears appeared over the edge then disappeared with a clatter of toenails on the floor.

  Carys’s heart did a somersault.

  “What brings the two of ye to my room?” she asked, giving her tone a slight growl.

  “Da says we can see ye whenever we like, ’cause ye are living with us now,” Eislyn asserted, ignoring Carys’s mock scold.

  Abria’s eyes widened and Carys immediately softened. “I don’t mind you coming here, but mayhap you could learn to knock first.”

  “We did!” Eislyn piped up. “Twice!” She giggled. “Ye were asleep. In the tub!”

  Abria glanced at her sister and added her soft titter of glee.

  “Then give me a moment’s privacy whilst I towel dry,” Carys instructed. “I’m freezing!”

  Flinging the bread onto the tray, the girls fled across the room and bounded onto the tall bed. Tegan circled the carved posts, yipping excitedly. Carys grabbed a thick square of linen from the back of the chair where a maid had left it to warm—hours ago? She quickly wrapped it around her as she stepped from the tub, then bent to prod the embers back to life.

  “Don’t the two of you have a new nurse?” She asked glanced over her shoulder to the bed where the two mischievous pairs of eyes peered at her from the pile of blankets.

  Eislyn sat, tucking her feet beneath her. “We dinnae need a nurse. Da says ye’ll take care of us now.”

  “Indeed? What else did your da tell you?” Carys rose and twitched a shift from a peg near the door. She dropped it over her head, letting the linen fall to the floor, then added a heavy robe over the top. She knelt beside the bed and, laying her palms on the edge, propped her chin on the backs of her hands. Tegan snuggled against her thigh, head across her lap.

  Eislyn gave her a solemn look. “Da says ye’ll be our ma.” Her brow furrowed. “Ye willnae leave us, aye?”

  Carys’s heart broke. “Is that what happened?”

  Eislyn nodded. Abria burrowed deeper into the quilts. Carys decided asking further questions would only cause more hurt. She would ask them of Birk.

  “Your da has asked me to marry him,” rather than hang. “And that means I will be your ma, though I don’t mean to replace her. You must feel free to speak of her if you wish.”

  Both girls watched her quietly. At last Eislyn nodded. “I think ye will be a good ma. And I will try to be very good, also.”

  “Though I prefer you mind your manners and be polite, whether you are good or not makes no difference to me being your ma. You will have grumpy days, and I will have them as well. But I will still be your ma, and you will be my daughters. Do you understand?”

  Eislyn nodded slowly. “Aye.” Her voice was slightly skeptical, but she appeared to accept Carys’s word.

  Carys turned her attention to Abria. “How does that sound to you, fy merch?”

  “What is fy merch?” Eislyn asked.

  “It means my daughter,” Carys whispered past the lump in her throat. Abria’s eyes sparkled with tears and her lower lip trembled.

  “Will you be my daughter?” Carys murmured, uncaring that her heart had opened wide and enveloped both girls.

  “Yes.” Abria’s soft answer brought tears to Carys’s eyes. Moving the puppy from her lap onto the floor, Carys rose and joined the girls on the mattress that crackled beneath her weight, sending the faint scent of moss and lavender to her nose. She gathered both girls in her arms and hugged them close.

  After a moment, Eislyn tugged free. “Can we sleep here?”
She glanced about the bed then patted the mattress. “It’s softer than ours, isn’t it, Abria?” Her vigorous nod encouraged a similar response from her sister.

  Carys canted her head to the side. “You don’t snore, do you?”

  The girls giggled.

  “Or kick?”

  Eislyn fell to her back, paddling her feet in the air, Abria mimicking her an instant later.

  “You won’t tickle me during the night, will you?” Carys demanded as she fell upon the girls, poking their ribs and tummies. They shrieked with laughter and rolled away. Carys dropped to the mattress and peered up at them.

  “You won’t wake me at dawn?”

  Eislyn shook her head, gasping for breath. “Nae!”

  Tegan planted her furry forefeet on the edge of the bed and barked. Carys rolled over and stared at the pup. Tegan yipped again.

  “Whose turn is it to take the dog out?”

  * * *

  Birk raised his head slightly as Dugan dropped to a chair next to the hearth.

  “I thought ye’d be pacing the floor,” Dugan remarked.

  Birk grunted.

  Dugan leaned over and sniffed a flask on the small table between them “Drinking—the night before yer wedding?” He shook his head. Picking up the flask, he swirled the contents. “Planning on getting drunk?”

  “Join me, won’t ye?” Birk asked in parody of a request, his teeth showing in a grim smile.

  “Not likely,” Dugan laughed. “Not enough whisky left in the flask to warm my belly. And ’tis no good trying to drink ye under the table. I learned that years ago.” He settled back into his seat. “Are ye having second thoughts?”

  Birk grunted again and stirred himself, setting his mug on the table with a thump.

  “Nae. She’s th’ lass I’m goin’ tae marry,” he replied, slurring his words. “But I’ve dug a hole deep enough to bury the whole of the castle in.”