Claiming His Highland Bride

by TERRI BRISBIN

  At first, Alan thought it arousal, but soon he noticed the way her body tensed as though she was fighting for control. He stilled his hand and lifted his head from her.

  Fear.

  Fear in her wild gaze.

  Fear in the tightness of her body. Not arousal. Not pleasure. Almost as if she did not know what he would do. As if she feared him, feared this...

  ‘I will not hurt you, Saraid,’ he whispered. ‘I want only to give you pleasure.’ Alan eased his hand from her and waited on her reaction and to see if the fear receded or increased. He had never forced a woman, by word or by deed, and he would never do anything without Saraid’s permission.

  Then he realised what a fool he’d been. Was this the first time she would be with a man other than her husband? He wanted to smack himself for his stupidity. She was a virtuous woman, anyone could see it in her manners and her ways. He was the first man to touch her so since her husband’s passing and she was nervous and fearful. In spite of any willingness on her part, there had to be some hesitation to accepting another man into her body.

  ‘Forgive me for not thinking,’ he said. ‘This must be difficult for you.’ Alan settled back on his elbow. She slid a scant foot back and did the same.

  ‘Difficult?’ Her voice trembled on speaking. Was it from his caresses or her fears, he kenned not.

  ‘To take another man to you, since your husband’s passing.’

  The fear left her eyes, but was quickly replaced by first surprise, then confusion and then, worst, loathing. For him or herself, he could not begin to guess. Alan sat up and waited as she righted her clothing, watching as she covered herself from his sight.

  The moment of passion and desire had fled and Alan wondered at the cause of it and its demise. Was it mourning over a dead man or something else? She glanced away as though embarrassed by what had passed between them.

  ‘Alan, I...’

  ‘No need, lass,’ he said, waving off whatever words she was about to offer. He stood and held out his hand to help her to her feet. ‘You owe me nothing.’

  She startled as though stung by his words, hurt darkening the blues and golds of her eyes. Although she took his hand and stood before him, she no longer met his gaze. Struck by the differences in their size then, he stepped back to allow her space.

  ‘Come, I will take you back to Clara’s,’ he said, waiting for her to walk past him without touching her. ‘And see to Brodie’s call.’

  An excuse, nothing more, to let her escape. He wanted her more than he had any woman before, but something stood between them. The obvious thing would be her dead husband, but Alan doubted that man was the reason for her reaction. He searched his memory and realised that not once had she used the man’s name.

  ‘What was your husband’s name?’ he blurted out. She blinked several times before speaking, a conspicuous delay now that he was noticing such things.

  ‘Micheil. Micheil MacNeill,’ she said. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I wanted to know the name of the man who stands in my way.’

  They walked in silence all the way back to the path and down to Clara’s as he thought of his words and plans. Something was not right here. Something more that he could not figure out. It teased the edges of his thoughts—bits and pieces and words and images that floated in disarray as they did at the beginning of a search for him.

  He bid her a quiet farewell once they’d reached the smithy and walked back to the keep. By the time he reached it, his purpose was clear in his mind.

  * * *

  It was not until the middle of that night, when he awoke in the darkness of his chamber, that the reason was clear to him.

  Saraid MacPherson, wife of the late Micheil MacNeill, was both more and different from what she seemed to be.

  That much he’d known for some time. Something about her story and her bearing and her education and knowledge did not make sense to him. The real surprise, the one that woke him in the night, was something else entirely.

  He needed to know her secrets because he was in love with her.

  And, in order to claim the woman he loved, he would have to know whatever she was hiding before his uncle could discover them and destroy her the way he had destroyed others he’d loved.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘I need to act on your behalf,’ Alan said, watching Brodie closely as he spoke. Brodie stopped in the middle of taking a mouthful of wine and put the cup on the mantel of the hearth of his chamber before facing him.

  ‘Should you not be acting on your uncle’s behalf? As his man here in Glenlui?’

  ‘Do not be an arse, Brodie. Your spies ken more about my uncle and his actions and intentions than I could ever tell you of him.’ Alan drank down the last of his wine and crossed his arms over his chest. ‘This is not about my uncle.’

  ‘Everything you do is about your uncle, lad,’ Brodie said. Smiling grimly at him, he continued. ‘About your loyalty to him. To your clan.’ Alan cursed and the foul words echoed across the chamber between them. ‘Been listening to Rob, have you?’ The chieftain laughed and put his hand on Alan’s shoulder.

  ‘’Tis the way of things, Alan. Every man must decide his place in the scheme of things and if he can live in it.’ Releasing him, Brodie picked up his cup once more and filled it from the jug there on the table. ‘I have watched you walk this impossible path between our clans for years. Since you grew hair on your b—well, since you became a man.’

  Irritated by Brodie’s ease in seeing the pattern of his life, Alan cursed again and held out his own cup for more. ‘And? So?’

  ‘I wonder if ’tis time for you to make your stand with him.’

  Since the words mirrored his own thoughts, it was difficult to argue with them or the man who spoke them now. Brodie had known him since he was but a boy and had provided a shelter to him when he needed it. His debt to Alan was long settled, but Brodie had never taken back his support. Some would say, and some had, that it was just to keep pricking at Gilbert. Some said it was just to use his abilities as a tracker. Alan kenned the truth—Brodie was an honourable man and stood by those he called friend.

  ‘It is coming sooner than I’d thought it would,’ he replied, accepting that knowledge for the first time.

  ‘Does this mission you undertake on my behalf have to do with the lovely and accomplished Widow MacPherson?’

  ‘Aye.’ One word spoken and he’d made his claim. He needed Brodie to understand the rest of it. ‘She is hiding something.’

  ‘Does not every woman do that before she trusts a man?’ Brodie asked. Arabella, Alan kenned, had hidden many things from her future husband. Not strange considering that Brodie kidnapped her from her own wedding and held her prisoner. ‘’Tis the telling and revealing of those secrets that sometimes lead to love.’

  ‘My uncle cares not for love or trust, Brodie. You ken him. I need to find out what she hides before he can discover it and destroy her.’

  ‘As he did Agneis?’ Brodie asked. Alan nodded. ‘The problem there was that you were her secret and she yours. Your uncle found two weapons in one and wielded them expertly. Will he do that once more?’

  Alan threw the cup before he’d even thought to do so and it crashed into the wall just above Brodie’s head. To hear his past put so coldly into words made him want to rage and strike out.

  ‘You have swallowed your uncle’s insults and injuries for a long time, Alan. What makes this woman the one for whom you would go to war with him?’

  That was what had kept him up these last nights. He kenned that something was different in the way he felt about her from their first meeting. Mayhap it was because he kenned she was the one worth fighting over? Or that this was a perfect mix of the woman, the love he felt and his own readiness?

  ‘Simply put, Brodie, she is the one w
ho makes me want to do just that.’

  Brodie did not speak immediately. Instead, he saw to the cup on the floor first, giving that declaration time to sink into Alan’s mind. Did the young man he thought of and treated like his own son know the importance of those words? Did he understand what would come his way?

  The widowed Saraid MacPherson was not the only person with secrets to be withheld or revealed in this. Confidences were held, actions covered over and old wounds to be torn open if Alan followed this path. Brodie could not tell him the right or wrong of it, for it was not his place to say such things. But, at the same time, he would not mind Gilbert Cameron facing his past and being found wanting.

  ‘Have you asked her for the truth? Have you told her about your own past?’

  He could tell from Alan’s expression that he had not. Someone with Alan’s skills was more adept and experienced in finding out and gathering knowledge about another than in sharing his own.

  ‘Speak to her first, before seeking out anything else about her,’ he suggested.

  ‘And if she holds her secrets to herself?’

  ‘Then, ’tis up to you.’

  He did not say more, for the fact that Alan understood his choice lay there plainly on his face. Brodie had fallen in love with his Arabella knowing she kept secrets and betrayed him. And Bella had loved him in spite of believing Brodie had killed her brother. Their love, born in the fires of hell, was the strongest kind of love—one tested and toughened by the obstacles they’d had to face and overcome. It had never been easy, but every moment of it was worth any pain he’d paid to claim her.

  ‘If your uncle summons you, what should I tell him?’

  This journey was going to happen, Brodie had no doubt of it. From what he’d seen of Alan and the widow, the love was there already. The only question was could it survive the coming challenges. When his Arabella offered her counsel, she told Brodie she believed it would. She’d stated confidently that Saraid MacPherson would not spend one day inside the walls of a convent.

  But his beloved did not ken the depths and darkness of her uncle as Brodie did. Looking at Alan now, Brodie knew the young man was strong enough to face his uncle, he just did not know if he was strong enough to face and survive the coming revelations from everyone else around him.

  ‘That I will return soon and will answer his call as quickly as I am able.’

  Alan held out his hand to Brodie and Brodie took it, clasping him tightly. There was more he would like to say, but Alan must discover many things on his own and it was not Brodie’s place to interfere right now.

  ‘Try not to start any new feuds in my name,’ he did advise.

  ‘Brodie,’ Alan began. ‘I would...’

  ‘There will time enough to speak on matters of all kinds later, Alan. Seek her truth and yours.’

  Alan nodded and turned to leave. He paused at the door after lifting the latch and Brodie thought he’d speak more, but he did not. He listened to Alan’s footsteps leading away from the chamber and down the stairs with a heaviness in his heart.

  One way or another, the young man who left here today would not be the same one on his return to Glenlui after his search.

  * * *

  Saraid looked up from the chair near the hearth to find him there at the door. He had made no sound, so she had no idea for how long he’d been there, just watching her sew. Clara, Jamie and the children had gone to visit their cousins for the day and so Saraid had taken advantage of the quiet and solitude. The door was ajar to let in the unseasonably warm breeze as she worked.

  Clara had known something was not right since Alan brought her back here the other afternoon, but Saraid could not find the words to explain the situation and the problem. How could she tell her cousin that she despised herself for the story they’d made up to protect her? How could she say that she wanted nothing more than to remain here and be with him?

  How could Saraid stay and live the lie while knowing the wrongness of it? Nay, the growing feelings she had for Alan forbade her from putting him in the centre of something he had little to do with or little say over.

  She’d wanted to lie with him in the forest that day. Saraid wanted to give herself to him and take with her the memory of such a time in the arms of a man she loved. But, at the last, as he pleasured her in his embrace and in intimate ways she’d never dreamt of, she could not. He thought it was because of a dead husband when it was simply the conscience within her finally speaking.

  ‘May I speak with you?’ he asked when she did not greet him.

  Saraid stood and nodded, inviting him to the table in the centre of the room.

  ‘Walk with me?’ he asked. ‘To the bench?’

  She followed him outside and around the cottage to Jamie’s work area. The bench gave them some privacy, but was in plain sight of anyone walking the lane there. He stepped aside and waited for her to sit. Clenching her hands together, she knew she must say something about her behaviour.

  ‘I would ask your pardon for the other day,’ she said softly, not able to meet his gaze as she spoke. ‘I did a terrible thing and you did not deserve such a thing.’

  He frowned, his brows gathering close, and his eyes darkened as he studied her. ‘A terrible thing?’

  ‘Aye.’ She nodded, watching some leaves moving around near her feet in the breezes. ‘I...led you to believe that...I...led you on...’ His hand, gently lifting her chin, stopped her words and forced her to look up at him.

  ‘Do not lie to me, Saraid,’ he whispered. ‘Just answer me this—did you want to lie with me?’ She hesitated for several long moments before replying.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘You wanted me to make love to you, did you not?’ he asked. Not letting her look away, he continued. ‘You wanted me and offered yourself to me in that way.’ He sat at her side then, leaning down towards her. ‘Then why did you stop?’

  She wanted to deny his words and to protest his declaration, but she could not make her sins even worse by doing that now. She had kept the lies alive and added to them that day. Now, the weight of all of them pressed down on her and she wanted nothing more than to scream out the truth.

  She loved him.

  She wanted him.

  She wanted to stay with him.

  Letting out a sigh, she reached out and caressed his cheek before adding more lies to her ever-growing pile. The strange thing was that her answer to this was not a falsehood at all. She could never be with him.

  ‘Fear. Fear stopped me.’

  He cupped her hand against him and tilted his head to gaze into her eyes then. ‘Tell me what you fear, Saraid. Tell me how I can rid you of it.’

  ‘There is nothing to be done, Alan. I cannot remain here. I cannot be with you.’

  Alan stood then and pulled free of her touch. It was better to have some distance between them for it made it less likely that she would fall into his embrace and give in to the longing she felt for him. Still, she mourned it.

  ‘I think I began falling in love with you that first time I saw you in the hall. Standing with Clara and speaking to Jamie and the others. I sensed a kindred soul within you even then and have found so many things about us that make us companionable.’ He paused then and stared at her. ‘Tell me, I pray you, why you must leave behind any chance for us? Tell me what you fear, what haunts you so that you must flee to a convent.’

  How easy it would be to pour out her story to him now. To tell him that she’d felt the same magical connection to him even in those first moments. To beg him to make this all right for them. But her mother’s words echoed in her thoughts, her heart and soul then.

  Loyalty. Honour. Courage.

  The first two were about him—he was honourable and loyal and he would be forced to turn her over to his uncle if he knew her identity. The third was for her�
�she must have the courage to stay with the plan her mother had begun to save her from exactly that.

  ‘I do not flee to the convent, Alan. I go there willingly to seek a place away from the world in prayer.’

  She’d expected him to argue with her. Even to yell out his anger. But, when he nodded and walked away in silence, she was stunned. He’d taken several paces towards the road when he abruptly came back and took hold of her shoulders, pulling her to her feet in front of him.

  He stole her breath and her thoughts with a searing, possessive kiss, slanting his lips over hers and thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth. As quickly as it had begun, he ended it, tearing his mouth from hers and releasing her.

  ‘I leave in the morn to see to something for The Mackintosh. If you have need of anything while I am away, seek him out. You can trust him and Arabella, even if you cannot trust me.’

  When she would have argued his words, he turned and disappeared down the road towards the keep. Sorcha dropped back on to the bench, out of breath and confused. She wanted nothing more than to trust him. But that would place him in an impossible situation and give him no choices over his actions.

  * * *

  Her cousin returned some hours later to find her still sitting there on the bench, staring off down the road. Sorcha blamed it on exhaustion and a sleepless night—another lie added to her ever-increasing roster of them. If she wanted to press for more, Clara gave no sign. Instead, she took Sorcha inside and made tea for her that would aid her in sleeping.

  * * *

  By the time Sorcha had risen the next day, the sun was halfway across the morning sky and most of the tasks the two of them accomplished by midday were done. Over the next few days, she found herself hoping for his return. Hoping that he would grab her from behind and kiss her. Hoping that he would sit next to her at table when the lady began her questions. Wishing that his voice would interrupt her walk from keep to village.

  None of that happened for he was gone. Though no one spoke of his specific task for The Mackintosh, the lady let one detail slip when Sorcha mentioned his absence.