The Highland Laird's Bride

by Nicole Locke

  ‘I have purposely kept things from you, Finlay—’

  ‘I doona like it,’ Finlay interrupted.

  ‘But I will continue to do so as a friend. You know we withheld from Dunbar, but I did not do it without knowledge by a certain person of power. I am not a traitor, but other matters have transpired since—’

  ‘Nae, I doona want to know. You could never be a traitor.’

  Bram breathed out slowly. He had been about to confess and didn’t realise how much he needed to. The truth burned inside him, and the sun was beginning to set. The day was almost over.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said to Finlay as he sought a glimpse of Lioslath in the fields. She was there, on her hands and knees, gleaning along with her siblings and clansmen.

  All day he waited for her answer, while she ignored him.

  Finlay gestured around at the work to be done, at the din and disrepair. His face held a sense of bewilderment. ‘Is this what you truly desire?’

  This clan needed him. So did his own. But he was the master of manoeuvres and he would find a way to take care of them both. His clan’s safety warred with Lioslath’s trembles. He would find the balance somehow.

  As if she knew it was time, Lioslath straightened and met his gaze. Her eyes held his in a determined wariness as she said a few words to Donaldo.

  If possible, she was more beautiful to him. Especially now, when daytime was merging with the night. When it lit the dark of her hair with sunlight but shadowed the brightness of her eyes. Had he ever seen a woman look as she did? Had he ever heard of a woman protecting her clan as she had done?

  Simple desire, complicated plan. And too many lives at stake for him to fail. Was this what he desired? To take care of a woman who despised him? What would it be like to have her as a wife? One he could not touch, and now with her troubles, one he craved to protect?

  It would be hell.

  ‘Wholeheartedly,’ he lied.

  Finlay tilted his head. ‘It’s good to have you back.’

  ‘Was I someplace else?’

  ‘I know that gleam. It was missing until you took her hand and announced your betrothal.’

  Control wrested, but only enough to save face and to protect Lioslath. But if she didn’t agree to the rest of his plan, it would all come tumbling down. He almost laughed. Even his plan was temporary.

  The winter was such a short time and he couldn’t stay. Yet he felt like growling as Finlay also gazed at Lioslath steadily walking towards them.

  Her unwavering gaze only increased his need of her. What would it feel like to kiss her properly? To see her summer eyes darken before he pressed her body to his?

  He choked his thoughts. Regardless of her answer, he would never know. If she declined his offer, he’d have to walk away. If she accepted... He shuddered. They agreed it would be a temporary marriage like Gaira and Busby’s. That marriage wasn’t to be consummated. He made the terms of their marriage and Lioslath accepted them. If they did marry, there would be no knowledge of Lioslath’s body, or of how her lips tasted.

  ‘She’s stunning, Bram, and this land is fertile. It has nae leader and is only waiting to be conquered.’

  Aye, control for his own clan at the expense of the Fergussons.

  ‘Yet you announced a betrothal and view her too greedily,’ Finlay continued. ‘Could you be waiting for her answer?’

  A low chuckle, since his friend had found the empty chink in his plan. ‘Finn, you’re too observant.’ Everything hinged on Lioslath accepting his betrothal. Everything depended on her accepting a quick, decisive marriage. She showed him a vulnerability, but still she challenged him. He wrested control, but in appearances only.

  ‘Though she walks ever closer, she doesn’t look as if she’ll agree.’

  He waited, to find if he could wait. The irony was not lost.

  ‘You are too patient with this clan,’ Finlay said.

  Bram felt as if he was standing outside his own skin. Patience. He had none. He wanted to protect her, though by staying, even temporarily, he could hurt her worse. He was a traitor in the eyes of his countrymen and the English. Marrying Lioslath could endanger her.

  ‘They deserve our care and protection.’ And he must fulfill his duty to his clan. Few knew his whereabouts. The risk was low.

  A few steps more and Lioslath would be here. His chest burned until he realised he held his breath. Exhaling, a calm descended upon him and he smiled. For he knew, in any heated negotiation, appearances counted.

  Lioslath stood in front of him now. He could see Finlay give her a courteous nod before he walked away.

  Moments. A pause.

  ‘I’ve come to give you my answer, Colquhoun,’ she said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was evening. Late. The hall, the courtyard, noisy, despite the hard work of the morning, and the preparations of the afternoon. It had happened so fast, so fast, and yet it felt inevitable. Lioslath didn’t try to hold in her shaky breath. She had married Bram of Clan...Fergusson now.

  A simple decision and one not made easily. In the end, she knew what she had to do. She had to accept Bram’s marriage offer. It took every bit of her resolve, but she did it.

  She was relieved when Bram answered her acceptance with only a curt nod. His words and voice, for the first time, mute. She wondered about that. She wondered, too, about the slight flexing of his fingers and the fisting of his hand as if he wanted to hold on to something. But then she left without another word and that had been that.

  It didn’t bother her. It allowed her privacy and her own thoughts again. That was until she was descended upon by Donaldo and Aindreas, who wanted their answers.

  But she’d done it. She secured an alliance that would help her clan for generations. She accomplished more than her father’s agreement of sheep and she’d done it without stabbing Bram. As much as she could, it was a marriage on her terms and for herself.

  Slow, steady steps as she followed Bram to her...their...bedroom. There had been a solemnity to the wedding and it carried on between them now. Except Bram was even more taciturn than when he gave his vows. As if once they placed their hands in each other’s and pledged in front of her clan, he could no longer touch her.

  Her hand in his was the only contact throughout a hastily prepared and eaten meal. Hasty preparations, but none of it dimming the fact that a part of her knew she sacrificed herself this day. But if she felt sacrificed, she knew she’d been steadily, abruptly, walking towards the firepit since April.

  Since her father’s murder, she’d been forced to interact with her clan. Forced to change the way she lived. From sleeping in the stables to having a bedroom in the keep. From only hunting to deciding the evening meals. From observing her siblings play and laugh with her father to them now hovering around her. Her agonised acknowledgement that they wanted to climb on her, too. Always fearing she’d drop them, she walked away before they got too close.

  Then the English came and she knew she couldn’t hold herself apart any longer. Had to do what her clan needed her to do. She had to represent them. There simply wasn’t anyone else.

  Yet, as much as this marriage felt like a sacrifice, there was something more she felt than that. Her feeling had nothing to do with this man she followed to her bedroom. Although the desire to kiss him was there. Constantly there.

  While they pledged to each other, she had felt the warmth of his hands around hers, seen his breath expand his fine clothing, felt each word he spoke in that deep voice of his.

  It was dark in the Hall and candlelight dimmed the brightness of his hair. And for once, she wanted to see its vibrancy. If nothing else than to distract from his eyes that never left hers. For they warmed her more than the candles surrounding them and the firepit she felt certain she dangled over.

  But
she had done it. Married Laird Colquhoun, pledged her body and life with him, and she’d done it for herself. There was a part of her that longed to belong. That didn’t want to feel the grief and separation of her mother’s death any more.

  As much as she tried to argue with herself, she couldn’t help the feeling that with this marriage, she wouldn’t be held apart. Bram played with her siblings and they appeared to like him in return. Maybe in this, too, her clan could also heal and become whole again. Because for better or worse, they were all she had, and in this marriage, she was giving all of herself.

  When they reached the narrow corridor, Bram gestured for her to precede him. It wasn’t much, but enough to bring her attention fully to the man she pledged her body to.

  Her body was very conscious of the man she followed. Of the feel of his hand across the small of her back, the slight brush of his arm against the side of her body. Of the warmth of his nearness, at the smell of soap and...him.

  Her awareness increased when he spoke. It was his voice. Nothing more than a few words indicating courtesy, but he was close and she felt the low timbre like a caress.

  She married him for political alliances and to heal her clan. But with the awareness of him, the certain breathless hitch from the heat of his hand on the small of her back and lower, she knew she agreed to marry him for this feeling she had when she was around him as well. Only him. And it was that, that made her agree to his proposal.

  Otherwise, how could she do it? If this marriage was a sacrifice, she wanted something for herself as well. She wanted to belong, wanted protection for her family and clan. And she wanted that kiss he promised.

  When she fully walked into the room, she turned as Bram closed the door with an audible click of the latch.

  The room had no fireplace. So the room held a chill, but a newly placed drape of leather was over the closed shuttered window, the holes in the roof had been patched. Furs were thrown onto the floor and at the foot of the turned-down bed, made more comfortable with the sheen of fine linen and a newly stuffed mattress. Near the two padded chairs gleamed a small table laden with a large platter supporting a pitcher, cups, and small rolls and butter for their taking.

  While they pledged themselves to one another, someone came into her bedroom and supplied it with luxuries, with comfort as was befitting a laird.

  Already there were changes. Small, but they were a beginning.

  Now the largest changes would only come by...bonding with this man. At that, heat flared just under her skin.

  The room was well-lit exactly as Bram requested and he could see Lioslath’s wariness and unease. Her emotions were sweet despite their agreement. She was as nervous as if this marriage was real.

  In a sense, he supposed their temporary marriage, with its boundaries that must not be crossed, was real enough. At least outside their bedroom it was necessary to pretend it was real.

  Inside their bedroom, they knew what was at stake. Unlike most newly married husbands, he didn’t expect to share a marriage bed.

  However, alone the way they were, it was difficult to remember any of their terms.

  She was even dressed as if this marriage was real. More stunning and beautiful than he’d ever seen her. Where they found the dark green gown he didn’t know. But it fit her. Skimming her curves in the maddening way that mesmerised him as he watched her walk. The dark colour accentuated the paleness of her skin and the blackness of her hair. Dark, so her eyes rivalled the brightest of days.

  Candlelight flickered until she looked like a night with stars and the first bright sun after winter. She stunned him with her beauty and grace. She stunned him when she placed her hand in his as they became married. He swore he trembled. Trembled! And felt her own hands mimic his. After that, he hadn’t been able to touch her any more. Couldn’t look at her without starting to believe this marriage was real as well.

  It had been a negotiation. Nothing more. Certainly, at her agreement, he felt a sense of victory. He’d felt this way in the past when discussions were heated, when opposing forces made any bartering for power or goods difficult. But something flawed his satisfaction: he didn’t understand her agreement. ‘I didn’t think you’d agree to this.’

  Despite his reasons, she had at first denied him. She had every right to deny him. A temporary marriage was a paltry offering for the wrongs he committed here.

  Lioslath’s expression was all too fleeting for him to understand. ‘You did not act as if I had a choice.’

  Walking to the pitcher on the table, he answered, ‘You had a choice.’

  ‘The arrow again? That was merely me demonstrating your needing to disappear. It was not an invitation to a marriage announcement.’

  At the time he announced it, he hoped shock and anger would keep her quiet. And they had. He’d never forget the look on her face. The bewilderment and something too painful as she scanned her clansmen before she stormed away, her footsteps not as steady as he’d seen them before.

  ‘You had a choice afterward. The conversation we had was in private.’ He knew at any time she could have refused. Instead, she had agreed and he didn’t know what to make of it.

  He poured the ale and took a sip, pleased it was the strong brew he supplied. He would be needing it tonight. Even though Lioslath’s back was to him, her lure was not hidden from him.

  And they were alone. The first of many nights until they could terminate this marriage. Pouring another cup for her, he approached her, but she did not turn around.

  To touch or speak? A test for him then. His hand around a cup, he trailed a finger along the curve of her arm. She didn’t startle, but he felt her shiver before she turned around.

  He handed her the cup. ‘Deep in your thoughts?’

  When she took it, he made sure he released the cup slowly so their fingers caressed. A momentary entwinement he was reluctant to release, but she did.

  Taking a swift step back, releasing their touch, but not the way it felt. As she took a drink, her eyes remained wide on him.

  It was a test and he knew she felt what was between them, too. Desires that could never be fully explored in a temporary marriage.

  That almost-kiss was like an eddy of anticipation within him. So why did he test whether he could touch her and hold himself back? Because now he knew she felt desire for him as well. It would only make this night torturous. Even so, if he could, he’d touch her again.

  Her eyes lowered as did her cup. ‘You worked hard today. Your hands...they’re cut,’ she said, her voice regaining its calm, though he knew his wouldn’t.

  His work in the fields and in the village had been swift and decisive. The idleness of those weeks gave him plenty of opportunity to plan. He enjoyed the hard work; he enjoyed even more her watching him. Too much. Complicated desire.

  He’d never seen a woman work as hard as Lioslath did. Crawling on her hands and knees in the fields as she gleaned along with the children for any usable grains from the blackened dirt. She worked until he saw sweat and dirt pour down her face as he knew it poured down from his. Her face fierce, her body determined, but he didn’t know what was in her eyes, because he didn’t notice she watched him as well.

  He flexed his fingers and felt the sting there. ‘It was worth it. I meant what I said. I mean to keep to our bargain.’

  ‘Our marriage,’ she said as if it was a question.

  He nodded and watched as she took another drink. She was nervous.

  Other than the anticipation humming through him, at the need he knew he could not release, he felt calm. In control again.

  This temporary marriage would keep him hidden from the English king’s messengers and he would amend his grievances with this clan. As long as he didn’t consummate this marriage, as long as Lioslath stayed a virgin, he could return to his keep by spring.

  In the me
antime, his clan was protected by Caird and he knew Malcolm would uphold his duties to the jewel.

  So it was the time spent with the woman here that would be his trial. She drew him to her. The weeks of watching her on the platform, the way the moon revealed her in her darkened bedroom. The way she moved. Her flashes of temper.

  Then there was the almost-kiss. The way her body felt against his, the widening of her comprehending eyes. A comprehension he couldn’t explore. He didn’t dare.

  He welcomed the company of women and had grown used to them. He could control his actions with them, giving and taking pleasure. Lioslath wasn’t like the others. Already he knew she was different.

  It was his need for her and his anger at her opposition to him. Extremes he’d never felt before. Over the past months, he battled with dangerous forces he didn’t understand. With politics that taught him how much he was a pawn in someone else’s game. With...grief in Irvette’s death. Through it all, he could find balance. He kept his sense of fairness, of diplomacy, and he found humour when the odds were against him.

  With Lioslath, there was no balance. With her, he only wanted more; he wanted it all. He wanted to kiss and hold her. He hoped he could control his desire for her, hoped she’d help him when he could not. For he feared he could not.

  Especially if she got that crease between her brows when she was troubled by something he said. That look made him want to laugh, to kiss her, to fall onto his knees in front of her and... He stopped his thoughts and wished instead for more ale.

  If only he could have claimed the kiss before they made their agreement on this temporary marriage. Maybe he would not be so plagued!

  * * *

  All too aware of Bram’s eyes searching hers, and still feeling Bram’s touch, Lioslath flexed her fingers around her cup. He gave such a simple caress against her hand. Yet she was acutely aware it was his hands, the long, tapered fingers, the calluses from his training and labour, touching her. There was nothing simple about the way they felt.

  She watched his interactions with the clans. The way his body toiled. But through all of it, she watched the way he used his hands. Capable, determined, with purpose. The hands she’d soon feel against her body.