The Highlander's Bride

by Donna Fletcher

  She remained speechless, though her hand drifted to the comb tucked snugly in her curls. She touched it, felt the beautiful carvings on the rim, and knew he had offered it as a truce.

  Unable to speak, she simply nodded.

  He smiled and kissed her cheek. “You do the comb justice.”

  How many compliments could the man deliver and continue to sound sincere? Did she question his sincerity, or accept it and savor it?

  He took her hand and brushed his lips near her ear. “We only need make a few more purchases and then I think it would be wise to be on our way.”

  “Agreed,” she said, though wishing they could linger and enjoy their time together. It had been such a pleasure being at market with him, her husband, instead of alone.

  They meandered throughout the stalls, Cullen making certain he refurbished their staples, while a young lad, no more than eight, caught Sara’s interest. She watched wide-eyed as a merchant swung him by the back of his shirt, his ties catching at his throat and choking him.

  With Cullen engrossed with the purchase of wine, Sara drifted toward the scene, where she heard the lad being accused of stealing.

  “I took nothing,” the lad pleaded.

  A frantic woman approached, cutting her way through the crowd, screaming for her son. “Patrick’s a good lad. He would not steal.”

  “He stole a fish from me,” the merchant spat at her while shaking her son.

  “No. No.” She shook her head. “I tell you he would not steal.”

  “Then pay for the fish and be done with it,” the merchant demanded.

  The woman’s ragged appearance confirmed her reply. “I have no coin.”

  “Then what do you at market?” the merchant accused.

  “I came to barter,” she said.

  “Then give me what you bartered for and we’ll be done with it,” the merchant sneered.

  “No, Ma, no!” the lad cried.

  The woman hugged the small bundle she carried to her chest and tears pooled in her tired eyes.

  Sara had enough. The bundle probably contained barely enough food to feed the woman’s family. She marched forward and with a sharp tongue said, “Let the lad go, you stupid fool!”

  There was a collective gasp that Sara ignored as she walked right up to the brute of a man. She near gagged and took a quick step back. Good lord, didn’t men ever bathe?

  “Watch your tongue, woman,” the man snapped, and purposely shook the lad again.

  Sara planted fisted hands on her hips. He didn’t intimidate her at all. He barely reached her chin and had more fat than muscle. She was confident he’d pose her no problem.

  “I won’t tell you again.” Her menacing warning sent mumbles rushing through the crowd.

  “You need to be taught your place, woman,” the man threatened while he held the lad steady.

  “It would take a man to do that.”

  Her challenge hit its mark. The man grew red in the face and spittle flew from his mouth as he tried to retaliate, but words seemed to fail him.

  Sara marched up to him and with a firm yank dislodged the lad from his grip. The lad ran to his mother, who hugged him tightly.

  It took a moment for the stunned man to react. “You’ll pay,” he screamed, and raised his meaty hand.

  Sara sidestepped him with a laugh. “Your lard-filled ass will never catch me.”

  The crowd’s roaring laughter only served to infuriate the man, and he took another swing, which Sara easily avoided.

  She knew insulting him any further wouldn’t be wise, but she couldn’t help it. “Told you it would take a man.”

  He charged at her, and though she moved swiftly, his fist grazed her chin and she stumbled, though quickly righted herself.

  His cheeks puffed red, his eyes bulged, and his feet pawed the ground.

  She grinned and urged him forward with the wave of her hands, knowing her boastful tactics would only serve to anger him more and render him a careless fighter. “Come on, make yourself look more a fool.”

  The man charged at her, and she waited until he was close enough to sidestep him safely while tripping him with her foot.

  He went down hard and the crowd cheered.

  Sara smiled and bowed her head graciously, accepting the many accolades.

  The man turned over slowly, screaming oaths at her, and the crowd gasped when they saw that he was about to fling a knife at her.

  Before he could discharge the knife, however, a heavy sandal-covered foot came down on his shoulder, pinning him hard to the ground.

  “Drop it!” Cullen ordered.” That’s my wife you attack.”

  The man released the weapon and crawled to his feet in order to stand. His manner was far different with Cullen, though he made no bones about telling him how her interference had cost him, pointing to the young lad whom he claimed had stolen from him.

  Sara had joined her husband, standing beside him and listening to the man’s tirade. She wasn’t certain what Cullen would do, possibly pay the man off just to quiet him or to protect the boy. But wouldn’t that make her look the fool?

  When the man finally finished, Cullen turned to Sara and said, “What will you have me do with him? The choice is yours.”

  The man paled, and Sara stood stunned that he should leave the choice to her. She couldn’t help but smile. Her husband made certain she retained her pride, and she wanted to kiss him for his thoughtfulness.

  “I don’t want the lad to suffer, and while I don’t believe he stole from this idiot, I say we pay him and be done with it.”

  Cullen’s smiling eyes and curt nod told her he admired and agreed with her decision, and while the matter was settled and the crowd dispersed, Sara spoke with Patrick and his mother.

  The woman thanked her profusely, and Patrick kept repeating that he hadn’t stolen anything and that he never would. Cullen soon joined them and gave the mother a few coins, though she protested, saying they had done far too much for her and her son already.

  Cullen wouldn’t have it any other way, and he was quick to take Sara’s arm and tug her away. She realized he was urging that they leave quickly, and saw why when she turned where his eyes looked in the distance behind her. A troop of soldiers were heading into the market.

  They both moved quickly off, ducking into the woods at first chance.

  “We need to put a good distance between us and the market,” Cullen said as they hurried through the woods.

  Sara kept pace with him, taking the burden of a few of the parcels he carried.

  “I appreciate what you did back there,” she said.

  He shook his head with a laugh. “At first I thought to interfere, but you seemed to have matters well in hand.”

  “You watched?” she asked with surprise.

  “How could I not? You had gathered a large crowd, and I could understand why. You were making a fool of the idiot, and everyone was enjoying the show, including me.”

  She smiled as her sure footing matched his along the uneven terrain. “You let me deal with him?”

  “You were doing a good job and I was prepared to help you when the time came.”

  Sara was even more surprised. “You were confident I could handle the situation?”

  Cullen stifled a laugh. “Confident? Good Lord, anyone with eyes could see that you were intimidating that fool.”

  “So you waited?’

  “I wanted to see how you would finish him off.” His smile soured. “When he pulled the knife, that was the end. There was no way I’d take a chance of you being harmed.”

  Her heart soared, though her practical side reminded her that he needed her. If anything happened to her, he’d never find his son. Still, for whatever reason, he had protected her and her pride.

  He had in essence been her hero when no one had ever defended her.

  She reached out and touched his arm briefly, their hurried pace not allowing for more contact. “Thank you.”

  His reply came quick
as he ducked a low branch in his path. “You’re my wife.”

  It was simple to him. Whether the vows were spoken in earnest or in need, he took them seriously. He would allow no one to harm his wife.

  He obviously was a man of his word, and that she could count on him wasn’t a question. He was a good man and would make a good husband.

  The thought saddened her, for she knew he would not long remain her husband.

  Chapter 14

  They camped at dusk, a good distance from the market and the soldiers, exhausted from their arduous pace. Cullen settled the horses and wasn’t surprised to see that Sara had seen to building a campfire. She wasn’t the type of woman to sit around and wait for a man to do for her. She took charge and got things done even if it meant placing her life in danger.

  He had been shocked to see her confronting the man in the market. He had first thought to intervene, then was amused at how easily she had handled the fool. So he had watched and waited and enjoyed the show.

  She was a remarkable woman, who stood her ground with courage and confidence, and he admired her more each day.

  With a fatigued sigh, he collapsed to the blanket beside the fire. She sat on the opposite side munching on bread and dried fish. He saw that she’d arranged a portion of the food for him and left it on his blanket.

  She looked exhausted, her blue-green eyes lacking their usual luster and curiosity, but then, it had been a long day.

  “You’re tired,” he said.

  She licked fish crumbs from her fingertips. “We both are. We need a good night’s sleep. In three days’ time we’ll arrive at my home, and soon after you will be reunited with your son.”

  “Alexander is close by?”

  She nodded. “He is near and you will be with him soon.”

  Cullen felt a twinge of guilt. She would keep her part of the bargain; not so he, and he didn’t like the thought. He had given his word, and today had protected her. How could he walk away from her and leave her unprotected, vulnerable to her father discovering the truth, once again placing her in danger?

  Perhaps seeing her courageously defend the young lad had made him realize she depended on no one but herself. And why? Had it been a necessary learned trait? Had she always had to depend on herself? Alone? No one to help her?

  And had it been that learned strength that enabled her not to think twice about rescuing his son?

  “I can’t wait to be with him,” he said, eager yet grateful.

  “It is good he is so young, just about eleven months, he will know only you and not remember the people who cared for him the first year of his life.”

  “Good people, right?”

  “The best,” she said with an affirmative nod.

  Her confidence gave him confidence as well, and while he would have liked more information, he knew she’d give him only what she deemed necessary. He’d been patient, having no other choice, and besides, he trusted her. She had proven herself truthful and trustworthy, and he was grateful his son had landed in her arms.

  A sudden thought hit him. “The couple won’t mind me taking him?”

  She shook her head. “Not at all. They expected me to come for the child.”

  He eyed her strangely. “You intended to raise my son?”

  Her head snapped up. “Of course. I didn’t plan on deserting him after having rescued him. Besides, I had hope that his mother would return for him.”

  “And his father?”

  “I knew nothing about him. Had he truly loved the woman giving birth to his son or had he merely used her? I planned to be cautious where he was concerned. If the time ever came.”

  “It has, and you’ve certainly been cautious.”

  “I didn’t protect him to see him hurt in the end.” She yawned and stretched.

  “You should sleep.”

  Sara stretched out on the blanket. “So should you.”

  “I will,” he said, and thought to say more, to thank her for her bravery and unselfishness, but he didn’t feel he could, not unless he gave as unselfishly as she had. How he’d be able to do that, he wasn’t sure. He only knew he had to try. He owed her so much more than she realized.

  He watched her drift off to sleep, her eyes closing slowly, her breathing growing steady. She rested on her side facing the fire, facing him. The fire’s heat tinged her cheeks pink and gave softness to her sharp features.

  Something in him swelled and twisted his gut. He didn’t know what to make of it, or if he should make anything of it. He’d been so busy tracking down his son that he had paid little heed to anything else, especially his feelings.

  He stretched out on his back on the blanket and gazed up at the night sky sprinkled with stars. Alaina had been his world. and when he lost her, he’d lost himself. If it hadn’t been for his son, he wouldn’t have wanted to live.

  As the months passed, his pain subsided, thanks to his determined search for his son. That was all he thought about, all he wanted to think about—finding Alexander, leaving Scotland, and most of all, avenging Alaina’s death.

  He had not intended to marry. He turned and looked at his wife.

  It still unsettled him to think of Sara that way—as his wife—and yet today at market his first instincts had been to protect his wife. She had good qualities and was a woman a husband could depend on.

  If he chose to wed for the mere sake of having a wife, a companion, Sara would be a good choice. She had even cared enough for his son to protect him, a motherly instinct. She was a good woman.

  Her anxious moan caught his attention and he turned on his side. She scrunched her face as if in pain and her sorrowful whimpers attested to her suffering. Did nightmarish memories haunt her? Or did dreams of the future cause her unrest?

  A heart-wrenching cry had him up and over to her in no time. He stretched out beside her, his arm going around her and easing her back against him.

  “Shhh,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re all right. I’m here. You’re safe.”

  She pressed her fisted hands against her chest. “Nothing will stop me. I promise. I prom…”

  Her words faded, along with her dream apparently, and she settled comfortably in his arms, a fitful sigh escaping now and again. She felt good wrapped snugly against him and it felt good for her to be there. He liked being wrapped around her, the feel of her springy red curls tickling his face.

  He had looked forward to sharing intimate moments like this with Alaina. They’d merely had stolen moments, each one all too brief. He had dreamed of so much more, but his dreams were replaced with nightmares after her death.

  In the first few weeks following Alaina’s passing he had rarely slept. He didn’t want to close his eyes for fear of reliving her death or to have dreams in which he held her in his arms.

  He tightened his hold around Sara, drawing her as close to him as he could. He had hated waking from the dreams where he felt Alaina so alive, so real in his arms, only to open his eyes and find himself alone, with her gone forever.

  He couldn’t replace Alaina; he didn’t want to, would never want to, but couldn’t help relishing the feel of Sara in his arms, knowing they could sleep side by side, wrapped around each other all through the night, to wake together in the morning.

  He might not love Sara, or she him, but at least they weren’t alone. She helped fill a void, an emptiness inside him that was tearing him to pieces, and for a while he wanted to savor having a woman in his arms, a good woman at that.

  And what of Sara?

  Hadn’t she wanted to experience intimacy with her husband while sealing their vows and guarding her future?

  He squeezed his eyes tight. The simple bargain they struck had suddenly become complicated. He shook his head. He couldn’t allow that to happen. His first and foremost thought, action, and deed had to be his son. Nothing else could stand in his way.

  He breathed deep and caught a whiff of pine, not a heavy scent, but a light, barely discernible one, and yet appealing. He wi
ggled his nose to dislodge the red, pine-scented curl that tormented his nostrils. It remained stubborn, refusing to budge.

  He finally had no choice but to swat at it with his fingers, but that only managed to release two other curls joining the stubborn one. He grabbed hold of all three and stilled, rubbing the strands between his fingers. They were silky soft, and he rubbed them against his cheek, then over his lips while drinking deep of their intoxicating scent.

  “Damn, damn, damn,” he whispered, and buried his face in her hair.

  He got lost in the scent of her, and claimed by intoxication, fell sound asleep.

  “No! No!”

  Cullen was jolted awake by Sara struggling in his arms. She was dreaming again, and he sought to soothe her.

  “Shhh, be still, it’s all right.”

  She didn’t listen or didn’t hear, and struggled harder.

  He had to stop her thrashing or one of them would get hurt, and so threw his leg over her legs and, with a firm arm around her, held her tight, all the while trying to reassure her.

  Her eyes sprung open and she glared at him until recognition finally struck and her fear gradually subsided.

  “A bad dream?” he asked after giving her time to calm.

  She confirmed with a nod and a relieved sigh.

  “They’ve haunted you since you’ve fallen asleep.”

  “They plague me now and again.”

  “Want to talk about them?’ he asked.

  “No, I want to forget them.”

  Cullen wasn’t surprised when she turned in his arms and cuddled against him. She buried her face in the crook of his neck while grabbing handfuls of his shirt and pressing tightly clenched fists against his chest.

  He rested his cheek atop her head. “You’re safe.”

  He couldn’t make out her muffled reply, but the way her body grew taut in his arms, he sensed that she didn’t agree.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said, wanting to ease her fears, whatever they were. He had woken too many times from nightmares wishing he wasn’t alone, aching for a pair of comforting arms. At least, he thought, he could give that comfort to her.