by Willa Blair
Then suddenly, his hand covered hers, pulled it away from the fabric and let her skirt fall. “Do ye think me so shallow something like yer scar would keep me from loving ye?”
He sounded so hurt, she had to look up. His expression was sad, not angry. Not disappointed.
“Ye are an artist, Iain. Beauty is important to ye. I am not…”
“Beautiful? Ach, lass, ye are the most beautiful thing in the world to me. I never imagined I could love the way I love ye. I canna breathe but that I want your scent in my nose. I canna eat or drink but that I want your taste. I want your touch, your voice in my ear, your caress…”
Annie couldn’t hold back tears. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like to let go and cry, but Iain had made her remember. His words, his love for her, broke through whatever had kept them dammed up these past five years.
“I willna cost ye yer inheritance,” she told him, her voice more firm than her conviction that she could make the future he wanted with her happen. Iain had fought for her. He understood her well enough to give her the gift of her heart. And his. His drawing of Belle captured her essence—and Annie’s. She wanted him, laird or not.
“’Twill be worthless without ye by my side, Annie Rose.”
“Mary Anne Rose,” she told him with a wobbly grin.
He caressed her face, wiping away the wetness. “Ye didna lie to me when ye claimed to be Mary.”
“I didna. I couldna help what ye might assume.”
Iain let out a whoop of laughter. “Ye are clever as well as beautiful and kind and…”
Someone knocked on the door.
Annie exchanged a startled look with Iain as Mary’s voice followed the knock.
“Annie, open this door. Let me in. Now!”
Iain stepped aside. Annie flung open the door, glad to have Mary discover them. Father would listen to her. But Mary was not alone. A Rose warrior stood at her back.
“Go get my father,” Mary told the man. “Hurry!” She turned back to Annie and winked as he rushed away. “The fairy pool superstition must work, aye? Even if it requires a little help.”
Annie laughed then, suddenly giddy now that her plan—and Mary’s, it seemed—was in motion.
Mary stepped into the room and smiled at Iain. “I came to speak with Annie and heard yer voices in the hallway. Ye have given me the weapon I hoped not to wield. But I judge we must use this opportunity. I ran for the guard, and returned in time for him to hear ye laugh. The guard will stand witness that while nothing appears to have happened between ye, nonetheless, ye are in her bedchamber. Annie is now compromised, and ye must marry.”
Iain grinned. “It seems all the Rose daughters are clever.” He took Annie’s hand. “Despite his recent decision, I think this is what yer father intended when he sent us out riding alone—and he was disappointed when ye returned…untouched.”
“I think so, too, though I didna dare believe it at the time,” Annie added.
Mary shrugged. “Aye, well, nonetheless, I think Iain should go now.”
“Nay, I will stand with Annie. What kind of husband would I be to allow her to face her father’s wrath alone?”
“I’m more worried about the wrath he will direct at ye,” Annie spoke up and took Iain’s other hand, her worried gaze capturing his.
Mary shrugged. “He’ll be less angry than ye expect. This gives him the excuse he needs to agree to our wishes.”
“If he doesna kill me first,” Iain said, glancing at Mary. Then he smiled at Annie. “Just let me die with yer kiss on my lips, and I’ll die a happy man.”
“No one is dying here,” Mary said and opened the door wider as the sound of their father’s angry voice reached them. “At least, I don’t think so.”
Chapter 8
The following morning, Iain brought the Brodie written offer to the Rose for the hand of his middle daughter, Mary Anne. After the scene the sisters so deftly set last evening, Iain knew it was only a formality, but one he must still observe.
James Rose had been angrier than Mary had predicted, but less than Iain had expected or Annie had feared. After all, Iain was still breathing, still in possession of his extremities—all of them—and not locked in the Rose dungeon, or whatever passed for one here. It was his great good luck Mary had arrived when she did, or she might have found their appearance a good deal more disheveled. In that case, taking advantage of the spur-of-the-moment opportunity Mary had offered would have been fraught with more than anger from her father. If only for appearances sake, Iain supposed James would have been forced to toss him in a cell and forget about him until Kenneth returned with warriors from Brodie.
All in all, this journey was not working out the way he’d expected, but it appeared to be turning out even better than he’d hoped.
As long as James signed. He’d had the rest of the night to sleep on it. Last night he declared the marriage inevitable. What if he’d thought of a reason to ruin their happiness? Iain had no way of knowing all of the pressures on the Rose laird. He needed a wife. The Rose wanted an alliance. The difference between need and want might still be Iain’s undoing. James, after all, could prevent Iain from becoming the Brodie chief. If Iain left here empty-handed, he might not have time to find another lass to his liking. And he would leave having made a life-long enemy.
While any lass would do to satisfy his father’s requirement, Iain did not want to face a lifetime with any lass. He needed Annie.
However, if James felt he had a role in making Iain chief, so that Iain owed him for his position—not to mention the hand of his daughter—then he would recognize it was in his best interest and sign the written agreement. His attempt to pair Iain with Mary had been out of a father’s concern for his daughter…and perhaps guilt for the grief his delaying had caused her. That told Iain the man had a core of honor within him. He would be a canny, and probably demanding, father-in-law. Iain looked forward to their future dealings.
Iain kept his gaze as steady as he could, given the pounding in his chest threatening to make his whole body vibrate while he waited to see what Annie’s father would do.
James gave him another of his indecipherable looks, then bent, scrawled his signature on the document and handed it back to Iain.
Iain’s relief nearly sent him to his knees.
“Ye’ve gotten yer way on this. Ye and my scheming daughters. I hope ye have made the right choice, for yerself and for Brodie.”
“I have nay doubt,” Iain told him, able to smile now that the Rose had signed the document and it was secure in his own hand. “Ye ken I love Annie. The Brodie will agree to this. Given my father’s condition, ’twas best done quickly.”
“We’ll be there four days hence. The lasses must pack Annie’s things, and Annie will have many farewells to deliver.”
“Agreed. With yer permission, I’ll go tell Annie we are betrothed before I return to Brodie.”
“She’ll be glad of the news.”
Iain nodded and offered his free hand, relieved to see it steady.
James took it, his grip steely and implacable. “Ye will treat her well.”
Iain had no doubt he meant it as an order and would exact consequences should Iain fail to do so.
“All my life,” he replied, unable to imagine anything else.
James nodded. “Very well. Go to Annie, but remember, ye are betrothed, no’ yet married.”
Iain grinned. “Aye.” He turned to go and found Kenneth waiting by the door. “Is something amiss?”
“Nay. I have a request of my own to make of the Rose.”
“Come in, then,” James told him.
Kenneth looked odd to Iain, flushed, tense, and not at all like himself as he approached.
“What do ye want, lad?”
“I’ve come to offer for Catherine’s hand,” he announced. “I ken it is no’ why we came here, but she and I have come to an understanding.”
“Indeed?” The pitch of James’s voice climbed as he uttered t
he word.
He looked no more surprised than was Iain himself. When had Kenneth decided this, and how had he failed to notice? “Are ye certain?” he asked Kenneth.
“I am. As is Cat.”
“My daughter has said nothing of this to me,” James answered. He crossed his arms and studied Kenneth.
“She felt it more important to resolve Iain and Annie’s future first,” Kenneth admitted. “But now that’s done…”
James glanced aside at Iain, who nodded. If he had been looking for Iain’s approval, he had it. But then he turned back to Kenneth. “Ye appear to be a fine lad, but I willna agree until Anne is settled at Brodie. Catherine is young. If ye both feel as ye think ye do, time will prove the match.”
Iain couldn't help but recall what waiting had cost Mary. He thought he saw a shadow pass over her father’s features and suspected the same had occurred to him.
Kenneth started to object, only managing to utter, “But…” before James held up a hand, forestalling him.
“Iain has a valid reason for haste, and Anne is older and more sure of herself. Neither of those reasons apply to ye or to my youngest daughter.”
“Catherine…”
“I’m no’ saying nay, lad. Just take some time.”
Kenneth bowed his head. “As ye wish, Laird Rose.”
“Indeed. Let’s celebrate with a wee dram before ye run off to find my daughters. This will be the first time since ye two rode in that I’ve gotten my way with those scheming lasses.”
* * *
Annie waited in the garden on a bench in the sunshine, hoping the warmth of the sun would chase away the chill that had settled over her. Iain had taken the betrothal agreement to her father. She expected, after last night, he would sign, but if he’d had second thoughts…nay, she couldn’t dwell on that. He had to approve. She wanted Iain, he wanted her. They loved each other. And her father was crafty enough to want the advantage of the debt Iain would owe him if this marriage secured the Brodie chieftainship for him.
Suddenly, Iain appeared at the garden gate.
Her breath left her.
He paused, his expression solemn, before opening the gate and approaching her. Her heart leapt to her throat. Why did he look so serious? If her father had agreed, shouldn’t he be smiling? If he bore bad news, she might never forgive him.
But when he reached her, he smiled.
“Dinna fash,” he told her. “We have what we hoped for.” He knelt before her. “We are betrothed. All we lack is the Brodie’s signature—and the kirking.”
Her heart leapt free. “Iain! He signed?”
He nodded. “Aye, he did. I leave today to take the agreement to the Brodie. Yer father said ye will follow in a few days, and we’ll be married.” He took her hand and kissed the back, then turned it over and dropped a warm, intimate kiss in the center of her palm. “Ye will be mine.”
“And ye will be mine,” she answered and held his hands. “Is this real?” She could barely believe the change one day brought.
“Let me prove it to ye,” Iain said and kissed her, lightly at first, then with more fervor as she responded.
In moments, he had pulled her to her feet and backed her against an apple tree a few paces from where she’d sat. “Ye ken I canna wait for the wedding,” Iain whispered in her ear. “Why should we?”
Annie tangled her fingers in his hair and gave him an impish grin. “So ye wish to have yer way with me in the garden?”
“Nay, lass. I want to take ye up to yer chamber and strip this finery from ye,” he growled, fingering the lace at her collarbones.
“Wheesht!” Annie grabbed his hand to keep him from drawing it lower. “Someone might hear ye…or see us.”
“Then let’s go inside,” he urged.
Annie wanted to. More than anything, she wanted to go with Iain to her chamber. To let him make her his. To touch and taste every inch of him, too, so she could endure the days they would spend apart. Now he’d found her, now they were betrothed, she didn’t think she could bear to be without him. She cupped his cheek and let the hunger in his eyes enchant her. Let him stare into her soul and see how much she wanted to say “aye”.
The door to the kitchen banged open. They broke apart, but Iain kept his gaze on her, his eyes feral, claiming her as his lips had moments before, as she wanted his body to do before he left Rose.
“Ah, there ye are,” Mary said, stepping down into the garden. “Da sent me to find ye, Annie. And,” she said, turning to Iain with a smile, “to send ye on yer way. I believe there’s still the matter of the Brodie’s agreement?”
Iain frowned, as if coming back to reality from a dream world only he and Annie inhabited.
“There is,” he replied, his voice gravelly.
“Dinna delay, then. Ye have what ye want from Rose.”
Iain cut a frown at Mary, then turned back to Annie, the promise in his gaze making Annie burn.
“No’ everything,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he studied Annie’s face, then dropping to her breasts and below. He took a deep breath. “No’ yet. But I will in a very few days.” He bent forward and kissed Annie again.
She melted into his kiss, unable to remain aloof, even in front of her sister. “I will miss ye.”
“I love ye, Mary Anne Rose.” He kissed her hand. “Come to me, as fast as ye can.” Then he went to her older sister and gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Thank ye for all ye’ve done, Mary Elizabeth Rose. I wish ye happiness.” With a longing gaze at Annie, he left them.
“Whew,” Mary breathed. “I believe him.”
Annie did, too. She smiled, holding on to the joy Iain gave her, even as tears threatened because he was leaving. “I canna believe I once said I didna wish to marry him.”
“Ach, Annie, dinna cry.” Mary joined her on the bench and put an arm around her. “’Twill only be a few days…very busy days…before ye see him again. Then ye will be wed and all will be as ye wish.”
“And what of ye?”
“My turn will come. But enough of that. This is yer time. And we’ve plenty to do. Come, ye have to pack.”
* * *
Iain stood at the front of the kirk, waiting for Annie to appear. The Rose escort, already seated, included both her sisters and the widowed Lady Mhairi Grant, one of the many from surrounding clans here for the wedding of the Laird’s heir. James Rose had met her shortly after arriving at Brodie and, by all Iain had observed, had left her side only to meet with the Brodie or when required to attend to one of his daughters. Iain hoped a real romance developed between them. If they married, she would become the Rose’s chatelaine. It might not be long before Mary would be free to find her own love.
James himself would walk his middle daughter to join Iain, then take a seat beside the woman.
For many reasons, Iain rejoiced his father had lived to see this day. Thomas Brodie sat at the front of the kirk, looking exhausted, but satisfied. He’d approved Iain’s choice and laughed at the way the sisters had manipulated their father into doing what all of them wanted. Then he’d told Iain he was proud of the way Iain had stood by Annie, refusing to let her face her father’s wrath alone. Those words had touched something in Iain he’d forgotten existed after years of his father’s disapproval. He loved his father, and his father loved him and, finally, was proud of him. All it had taken was the love of Mary Anne Rose to turn Iain’s life around. He vowed to spend his father’s last days learning all he could from him and making sure his father knew how much his son would miss him when he was gone.
When the Roses arrived, the two chiefs, together with Iain and various cousins, had shared a good laugh over Mary’s creativity. Iain had been the subject of many toasts as the evening wore on, all, he suspected, in an attempt to keep him from Annie. It had worked. Today, he suffered the result of drinking too much whisky, but ignored the pain behind his eyes.
Annie would be here in moments. And soon after she appeared, she would be his bride.
He noticed Kenneth, beside him, smiling at Catherine. The lad still held out hope that her father would agree to another Brodie and Rose alliance. Perhaps he would. Iain had seen how well his daughters manipulated him. He suspected Catherine would get her way…eventually. Unless another lad caught her eye.
A movement at the doorway to the kirk drew his attention. James appeared, then moved to one side to allow Annie room to enter, arm-in-arm beside him.
Annie!
Her beauty stole every thought from his head except one. Iain wanted to rush to her and take her in his arms. But mindful of the priest behind him, he stood his ground and enjoyed watching as she walked, expression solemn, up the center aisle to join him. Her pale pink dress shimmered in the fading sunlight, silk or some fabric Iain could not name. In her hand, she carried a bunch of pink roses. Their scent reached him before she did. He took a deep breath, both to enjoy the fragrance, and to steady his wildly beating heart.
James took his daughter’s hand, kissed her on the cheek and gave her hand into Iain’s keeping. Iain nodded, acknowledging the responsibility her father passed to him. He drew Annie beside him, his gaze fastened to her face. She looked pale, but pink, the shade of the roses she carried, tinged her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Her eyes, as she met Iain’s gaze, sparkled. She’d saved her smile for him alone. He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it, then turned them to face the priest, and they knelt.
Iain barely heard a word the man said. Every sense was focused on the woman kneeling beside him. Her slender fingers curled around his. Her body, so close to his side they almost touched, warmed him. Her voice, as she answered the priest, filled the kirk with the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. Especially when she turned to smile at him and said, “I do.”
Iain fumbled through his responses, desperate for this ceremony to end, to hold Annie, for her to be his for as long as they lived. He lost all sense of the space they were in and the people watching. He saw only Annie, and heard only enough of the drone of the priest’s voice to answer when called upon, and to rejoice when he pronounced them forever man and wife.
