My Highland Warrior (Warriors of the Highlands Book 1)

by Miriam Minger

  His dark eyes filled with amusement, his warm smile making her heart skip a beat…

  “Och, no, it couldna be,” Magdalene whispered to herself, staring at Gabriel as if seeing him for the first time as he met her gaze.

  His smile gone. His dark brown eyes appearing almost black as he stared back at her while she curled her fingers more tightly around the reins.

  Her sudden memory of him from years ago so incongruent with the brute she knew him to be…yet was he?

  Would a brute speak so gently to her and care that she’d not eaten for two days?

  Would a brute laugh so easily and hug children just as he had done with his own nieces, Keira and Rhona clearly adoring him?

  What manner of man had she been wed to that seemed to have two sides to his nature? One so resolute and harsh and the other, so kind and benevolent that children ran laughing to greet him?

  “Maggie, would you like tae walk the rest of the way into the village? I know it would please the bairns…”

  Gabriel had approached her in what seemed one stride while the youngest children hopped up and down with excitement.

  “Aye, Lady MacLachlan, walk with us!”

  She looked from them to Gabriel, a part of her screaming to seize the chance to kick her horse into a gallop even as she found herself mesmerized by the gentle query in his eyes.

  Her fingers relaxing upon the reins before she was aware she’d done it, Gabriel taking that as her acquiescence and reaching up to lift her with care from the saddle.

  At once the youngest children surrounded her, beaming, as two girls clasped her hands.

  If they had heard she was a lunatic, none gave any sign at all of fear or concern or even curiosity, their eyes shining instead with unbridled joy.

  Magdalene glanced at Gabriel, but he merely nodded that she go with them, his smile making her breath still…the same warm smile she had seen so many years before.

  She knew her mouth had dropped, but she couldn’t help herself. Everything was happening so fast, she felt in a whirl as she tore her eyes away from him and walked with the children into the village.

  Some of them skipping. Some of them singing. The girls holding her hands, swinging her arms and laughing.

  All of them acting as if she had bestowed upon them the greatest gift imaginable.

  Soon it seemed that everyone in the village had heard the commotion and stopped whatever they were doing to spill out into the road to greet her and Gabriel.

  She knew he wasn’t far behind her because she glanced over her shoulder to see him leading their nickering horses.

  His gaze still intent upon her, yet his expression was different now. He looked somber as if mulling over something, but one of the girls holding her hand distracted her by leading her over to a woman whose belly was swollen with child.

  “Mama, it’s Lady MacLachlan!” cried the lass, her mother dropping an awkward curtsey and wiping floured hands in her apron.

  “Indeed it is—but dinna pull her so, Evie! Och, we’re so grateful tae you, Lady, so grateful tae you and Laird MacLachlan for all that you’ve done for us.”

  Others chimed in with the same sentiment, men doffing their caps and women bobbing their heads, but none coming too close to her as if demonstrating their respect for the place Magdalene held among them. The girls had let go of her hands now to remain with their mothers, but the rest of the children still followed her as she walked along the crowded road.

  “Thank you, Lady, thank you!” cried several people near her.

  “Aye, we wouldna lasted another winter if not for you, Lady MacLachlan!”

  That comment made her wonder at what Gabriel had said about telling her the story of how they came to be wed, for clearly it must be a dire one. She nodded at the stout gray-haired woman, who stood arm in arm with what appeared a sister from their similar features.

  “Och, have you ever seen such a handsome couple as our laird and lady? Why, she doesna look mad at all!”

  Magdalene stiffened, and she glanced behind her to see that Gabriel was only a few strides behind her.

  She imagined he’d heard the comment, too. How could he not with them walking so closely together?

  At once she wanted to kick herself for agreeing to accompany the children into the village, yet strangely she had no stomach for bursting into crazed laughter or to do anything else that might make her appear a lunatic.

  She felt so confused, the sincere gratitude on everyone’s face touching her deeply. All of the villagers appearing well-clothed and well-fed, though Gabriel had said his people were starving only months ago.

  Could her dowry have done all this good and so quickly? Was it really as simple as the thought that suddenly struck her? That Gabriel had taken a lunatic as his bride to save the lives of these villagers as well as those inhabiting the castle?

  She faltered, feeling wretched inside that she could have misjudged him so harshly if that indeed was the truth.

  Yet how could it not be? What man in his right mind would take a madwoman to wife? A selfish brute of a man, mayhap, but such a one would have spent her dowry on other things than food and clothing for his clansmen and much needed repairs to a castle that gave shelter to so many.

  That meant Gabriel MacLachlan was no selfish brute at all, but mayhap one of the most honorable men she could have ever encountered—ah, God, she felt as if everything was suddenly spinning around her!

  “Maggie?”

  She heard Gabriel’s deep voice behind her, but she could only bury her face in her hands as scalding tears welled in her eyes. She had never felt so ashamed, so foolish, so ridiculous, so blind—

  “Maggie!”

  She felt him catch her as she collapsed, Gabriel lifting her into his arms as everyone gasped around them.

  “God help the lass, it’s the curse! The MacLachlan curse come tae steal her away!” shrieked a woman, while high-pitched wails of horror receded into nothingness around her.

  Chapter 14

  “It’s not the curse!” Gabriel shouted, though Magdalene had gone so limp in his arms that he felt cold fear. “She’s not eaten much of late—I shouldna have brought her out so soon! Grab my horse, man! Grab my horse!”

  At once a villager brought Gabriel’s steed to him, snorting and prancing, while he handed Magdalene to another man so he could climb into the saddle.

  “Hand her up—and take care with her!” he commanded, wanting her in his arms again, wanting to feel her breathing against him.

  Magdalene wasn’t conscious, he could tell as much when she was lifted into his embrace, her head lolled back and her long hair streaming down.

  What could have happened? One moment she’d seemed fine, though he had seen her falter in front of him, a catch in his gut. He had thought she might bolt down the road to reaffirm she was indeed a lunatic after the telling comment from that woman.

  Why, she doesna look mad at all!

  Aye, he’d heard it, too, bracing himself for what else she might choose to do. Spin around in place and cackle like a madwoman? Try to snatch the reins of her horse from him so she might jump into the saddle and ride away?

  He had been expecting as much since the moment they had left the castle together, riding side by side with Gabriel almost certain that Magdalene couldn’t wait to catch him off guard.

  Yet that moment hadn’t come, even when he had dismounted to greet the children—and still she hadn’t set off on her horse and left him choking on dust.

  Gabriel gathered her close against him, staring into her face so beautiful that his breath caught in his chest.

  Surely she wasn’t feigning her collapse? Was this what she’d intended to do? God help him, scaring everyone to death—including him?

  Now he kicked his steed into a gallop, the villagers scattering out of his way.

  Anger blurred his vision—all thoughts of patience and gentleness flying from his mind.

  He could feel her breathing steadily. Was that a hint
of a smile upon her face or had he imagined it?

  Och, there was one way to find out—the lough only a short ride away. A good dunking in shallow water would tell him if she had truly fainted. Holding her close, his own breathing came hard as his chest tightened that she would cause such a ruckus in front of his people.

  Men, women, and children thanking her right and left with such earnest gratitude that she should have been moved by it and not spurred to upset everyone!

  Did the woman have no heart? Was she so determined to return to her blasted convent that she would do anything to achieve it?

  Gabriel’s jaw so clenched now, matching the fierceness of his embrace, that he wondered if the discomfort alone might encourage her to wake from her feigned swoon.

  It didn’t, but what did that matter? He was already to the lough, the surface of the dark water sparkling in the sunlight. He reined in his mount and slid from the saddle with Magdalene held tightly in his arms, and still she didn’t squawk or open her eyes or start to struggle as if guessing his intention.

  In three strides, he reached the water’s edge and tossed her in—cloak, gown, and all!—though Gabriel cursed at the painful twinge in his shoulder.

  Yet it was nothing to his curse that resounded from the mountains around him as Magdalene sank—like a stone.

  Nothing left to mark her presence but the ripples radiating in ever-widening circles as Gabriel lunged into the water.

  “Magdalene!”

  Immediately he sank, too, over his head, no rocky bottom to catch his feet upon as the water was too deep, his mind screaming that he had made a deadly misjudgment. He struggled, weighted down by his clothing, his boots, his sword—but desperation to find her before she drowned made him wildly flail his arms.

  Where was she? He coughed, sucking in water, nothing but murky blackness around him as a terrible realization struck him that they might both drown. God forgive him, he’d never been the strongest swimmer, but somehow he kicked himself to the surface to draw in a great heaving breath—

  “Good God, man, have you gone as mad as your wife?”

  Gasping, Gabriel felt himself hauled bodily to the shoreline even as he fought Finlay, who appeared a great, russet-haired drowned rat.

  “Let me go! Magdalene—she’s down there!”

  “You mean laying on the bank where I’m trying tae drag you, Gabriel—wipe the water from your eyes! Canna you see her? Canna a man enjoy an afternoon fishing without having tae dive into the blasted lough?”

  Gabriel did swipe away the moisture in his eyes, relief overwhelming to see Magdalene coughing and shivering only feet away from him. His chest still heaving, he dragged himself toward her…though the paleness of her face chilled him more than his wet clothing.

  What had he done? She hadn’t feigned a swoon at all—while he might have lost her if not for Finlay’s quick action.

  “You better get her back before you both catch your death.”

  His cousin’s grim words spurring him into action, Gabriel hauled himself to his feet though he staggered. Finlay caught him by the arm to steady him, shaking his head.

  “You were never an able swimmer, Gabriel.”

  “Aye, I know.” He didn’t say more, but went to Magdalene and grabbed her up from the wet ground, though this time she did try to fight him.

  Weakly. Shivering uncontrollably. The only thing not chilled the hot tears coursing down her face and dripping onto his arms.

  “She shivers still, Laird. I canna stop it—and here I bade you tae be gentle with her—”

  “Enough, Clovis,” Gabriel grated, as disgusted with himself as he imagined the healer must be. He glanced at the bed where Magdalene lay pale and shaking under a mountain of blankets while logs blazed hot and crackled in the fireplace.

  The room was as warm as he’d ever felt it, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough! Magdalene had turned her face away from any attempt to feed her soup or warmed cider, and the potion Clovis had concocted to aid her in falling asleep had dribbled from the corners of her mouth.

  She stared unblinking at the brocade canopy overhead while Clovis clucked his tongue, shaking his head.

  “The lough this time of year is still too cold, Laird, surely you considered that before you tossed her in…”

  Gabriel’s dark scowl silenced the man, who sighed heavily and went back to the bed.

  Aye, he had told Clovis the truth of what happened so the healer would know how to care for Magdalene, the mere recounting of it making Gabriel feel sick inside.

  Hating himself.

  Cursing himself that he had lost his temper and so misjudged Magdalene’s swoon.

  Misjudged the depth of the lough at that spot when he should have noticed, if not for the hurt and anger that had blinded him even to Finlay fishing so close by.

  Aye, hurt, cutting him so deeply that he was nearly beside himself from the pain of it.

  She wanted nothing more than to leave him, Magdalene had made that very clear time and time again. He had no idea what had made her falter in the road and collapse into his arms, but he knew as surely as she breathed that it had something to do with him.

  She hated him. He was certain of it…while the intense ache in his heart at that moment told him that he loved her.

  More than life itself. When she had sunk into the depths and he hadn’t been able to find her—God help him, the pain he felt that she wanted nothing to do with him was no excuse for what he’d done to her!

  He hadn’t considered the coldness of the water.

  He hadn’t considered anything, just assumed she would land on her bottom and open her eyes to shriek at him—his belief that she’d feigned her swoon confirmed.

  Yet what would he have done then? Revealed in the face of her sodden outrage that he knew her madness was nothing but a ruse? Even though Clovis had advised him to earn her trust with patience and kindness so that Magdalene wouldn’t fear she might suffer the same wretched fate as Debora? So that she wouldn’t be pushed so far as to lose her grip on sanity after all?

  A terrible lump in his throat, Gabriel moved closer to the bed as Clovis came around to meet him, the healer’s expression grim.

  “I fear she’s giving up, Laird. She stares at nothing and willna speak—”

  “No, that canna be.” Gabriel had whispered the words fiercely, but still Clovis shook his head.

  “I’ve seen this before. If one canna reconcile what life has become, then hope is lost and so the will tae live—”

  “No!”

  His roar resounding in the room, Clovis jumped and so did Euna and Donella, who stood silent and wide-eyed near the door.

  A small gasp came, too, from the bed, and Gabriel cursed himself even more roundly.

  Mayhap the task was lost upon him and there was nothing he could do to save her.

  He was a warrior, after all. What did he know of true gentleness?

  Aye, hugging a child was easy enough to do, but he had consigned more men to their graves than he could count. He knew more of fighting and death and bloodshed than anything else. He had never imagined that he would have the responsibility for caring for so many lives, and he’d done his best toward them, but now he had a wife, too—whom he had failed at every turn.

  Gabriel sighed raggedly, for the first time in his life not knowing what to do. He glanced over at Magdalene, who had rolled onto her side into a ball, the covers quaking above her.

  Quaking!

  “Leave us.”

  “Laird?”

  Gabriel met Clovis’s confused gaze and waved toward the door, one sudden desperate idea fueling him. “You…the women, go! Now!”

  His emphatic command brooking no argument and no dallying, Clovis, indeed, did clear the room after hustling Donella and Euna out the door in front of him.

  That left Gabriel alone with Magdalene, his first action to stride to the fireplace and stoke the flames so that the logs burned even brighter, even hotter.

  Then
he quickly undid his sword belt and hung it on a chair, and proceeded to strip from his body the clothes that had dried to him like a second skin. His breacan. His tunic, everything discarded upon the floor along with his still-sodden boots.

  Gabriel took only a few moments to stand naked before the fire, warming himself, and then he strode to the bed and eased back the covers.

  With Magdalene facing the opposite wall, he wondered if she even knew that he was climbing in beside her—but she stiffened and cried out when he gathered her into his arms.

  Nothing between them other than her white nightgown, which he grabbed in his fist and tore from her shivering body with a sharp rending sound—and now she screamed in fright.

  “Shh, Maggie, it’s the only way tae warm you!”

  If she heard him, she wasn’t comforted at all, but only heightened her struggles, Gabriel taking heart at how fiercely she began to fight him.

  He only pulled her close against him, as close as could be as he lay on his side behind her, the icy chill of her skin alarming him more than anything Clovis had said.

  He’d felt such coldness before when stacking the dead after a battle—heaven help him that his effort to help her hadn’t come too late!

  He began to rub her body with the flattened palm of his hand, up and down from her trembling shoulder to the curve of her waist and rounded hip to her upper thigh, over and over again. Still she thrashed against him, crying out, pleading with him to stop and to release her, which heartened Gabriel even more.

  One good kick caught him in the shin and he grunted, which made her kick him again, even harder. Gabriel knew then as if an angelic gift had been bestowed upon him that her will to live, to fight, was returning.

  Her shivering was lessening, the warmth of his body against hers doing what he had hoped it would—prayed it would.

  For indeed, he was praying…that he wouldn’t disappoint her again, and that somehow she might learn to trust him…this beautiful woman who ruled his emotions.