When a Warrior Woos a Lass

by Julie Johnstone

  “Nay,” he said flatly. “Dunnae fash yerself about me. Let us focus on getting ye strong in spirit.” With those words, he disappeared through the plaids.

  For a long while, she sat watching the sun chase away the darkness as it rose in the sky. Anger burned in her throat. At first, she could not understand why she was so vexed, but then the answer struck her: Alex did not consider her strong enough to hear his secrets, or mayhap he did not trust her enough. She could hold back from him in return, but now that she had finally allowed someone in, she honestly did not want to keep everything trapped inside her any longer. She wanted to trust in him and heal. She was weary of being scared and angry. She needed him to see her as stronger than he did, as able to bear the weight of whatever secrets he hid, because she needed him to do the same for her.

  She gasped. She had a purpose! She scrambled to her feet, giddy with the excitement of it. How long had it been since she last felt she had purpose? So long she could not even recall it. She shook out her skirts and set her hair to rights as best she could before making her way to the others. It was time to start her new life. That was what was before her, she hoped—a new chance.

  Worry niggled about joining with Alex and how she would react—or if she could even bring herself to that point. She also felt the deep burn of shame when she thought of her scars and what he might think. But she wanted desperately to try. How difficult could it possibly be to grow as bold as she once had been and prove to Alex she was not going to break?

  Seven

  “Have ye ever climbed a mast to tie a rope afore?” Munroe MacLean, Alex’s first guard, asked Lena. He was looking up at the flapping rope but now turned his distinctly suspicious gaze to her.

  That wary nature must have been a required trait of all Alex’s men because every time she had offered to help anyone today, they had asked her the same question and given her the same look. Each time they had declined and had told her in a polite but slightly patronizing tone to simply sit and enjoy the sun, or mayhap aid Marsaili in preparing the food. And each time one of Alex’s men had denied her plea to help, she had found Alex’s gaze steady on her, no matter where he was on the ship. Even as the man worked, it seemed he watched her and had instructed his men not to allow her to do anything. It was both sweet and infuriating at once. How was she supposed to prove anything to herself or Alex when sitting on her bottom or cleaning fish?

  She tapped her foot, aware she only had a few precious moments to convince Munroe to allow her to help him. Alex was standing at the fore of the ship, looking overboard and below to the water. He was shouting instructions to one of his men who had gone into the water to fix a plank that had loosened. He’d likely finish the task at any moment, and then Munroe would undoubtedly seek out Alex for his approval, which the man would deny.

  “I have,” she said. When Munroe kept giving her that same suspicious look, she plunked her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I have climbed the mast several times on one of my brother’s birlinns.” Never mind that the ship had been docked every time she had climbed the mast, and Cameron had been behind her lest she slipped. Regardless, he had taught her to secure ropes, and she could do it on a moving ship or a stationary one. “I tell ye, I can do this.”

  “I dunnae ken why I am even listening to ye and considering such a preposterous idea.”

  “Ye’re listening to me,” she rushed out as Munroe flicked his gaze toward Alex, undoubtedly to call him over, “because the four men ye have sent up the mast to tie the loose rope have failed.” She smiled at the men, who were all lined up against the side of the ship. Munroe had given each of them large, heavy pieces of wood to hold after they had failed at the task, and he had told them that if any of them dropped his piece of wood before Munroe got the rope secure, he’d cut off one of the failed man’s fingers as punishment.

  She didn’t think he was serious, as she had seen him turn his head to smirk after delivering that dire news, but she didn’t truly know the man. She’d seen men lose limbs over less. Findlay had once cut out a boy’s tongue because the child did not answer a question quickly enough. She shivered at the memory.

  Munroe glanced at Alex again, so Lena did, as well. The sight that greeted her made her gasp. Alex had stripped off his plaid, and he stood in nothing but his braies. Everywhere her eyes landed, hard muscle defined his body. His bronze skin seemed to ripple as he raised his arms behind him, pulled his hair back from his face, and then dove over the edge of the birlinn. Her heart leaped at the rugged beauty of his body and the graceful way he commanded it.

  After a breath, she could hear him barking orders at the man in the water with him, and when he bellowed for Munroe, and the man gave her a stern look and said, “Dunnae move.” She nodded blithely, then rushed for the mast the minute Munroe was looking over the ship and speaking with Alex.

  It took a moment to gain her footing, and as she began to climb, she realized that doing so in skirts was much harder than in the braies her brother had told her to don when teaching her. The wind whipped her hair toward her face and into her eyes, and her damp palms made gripping the mast much more difficult. As she moved upward, she heard Broch suddenly yell her name. She glanced over her shoulder to see the MacLeod warrior standing below her, shock and anger apparent on his face.

  “What the devil are ye doing, lass?” Broch bellowed.

  “I’d say that’s obvious,” she retorted, not slowing her progress. If she could get just a little farther up, she was sure she could grab the rope. But the more she climbed, the stronger the wind seemed to become. Near the top, the wind blew so hard that she struggled to get her hair out of her eyes to see. Below her, Broch’s roars had grown louder, and Marsaili’s higher-pitched voice had joined him. The two of them made so much racket that Lena had little doubt Alex had to hear them. She had to make haste if she was to secure the rope before Alex was back on the ship. No one else had climbed up after her, but she knew instinctively that Alex would.

  The rope flapped near the tips of her fingers as she stretched for it. The moss fir that made up the rope scratched her fingers, causing her skin to sting as the rope scraped across it. She grabbed for it, exclamations rising up below her. When she chanced a look down, she winced. Alex’s men had stopped what they were doing to watch her. She could not fail and embarrass herself and Alex. The rope fluttered teasingly just out of reach, and the only prayer she saw for grasping it was to unwind her arm from the mast and lean toward the rope while gripping the mast with just her hand. She wrapped her right leg around the mast as best she could, and when the rope fluttered her way once more, she stretched for it and secured it. But then she realized with complete horror that she did not have the strength to pull herself back toward the mast. As the rope tugged back the other way, her hold on the mast slipped, her leg unwound, and she went flying through the air.

  She lost her hold on the rope and plummeted downward and sideways. Astonished faces blurred past as she was hurled over the edge of the birlinn and shot into the water. She hit hard, the water swallowing her in a cold embrace, encompassing her in darkness, and forcing the air from her lungs. For one moment, panic consumed her as she frantically twisted around, unsure which way was to the surface, and then hands gripped her arms so forcefully that she was immediately propelled back to a moment in time when Findlay had dragged her out of the water by her hair for daring to swim without his permission.

  She saw Findlay, heard him, felt the sting in her scalp of the tugging on her hair, and knew the terror in her chest at what was to come. She kicked out and met with flesh, but when she was not released, she pummeled a solid wall of muscle with her hands. The water made her movements too slow. She was doing no damage, and she knew she had to escape Findlay. She clawed her nails down the right side of his face, only to have her hand grabbed and both her arms trapped by her side. With no hope of escape remaining, terror swept through her like a tide. She opened her mouth to scream but instead gulped in huge amounts of water.
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  As they broke the surface, she coughed furiously, water blurring her vision. But the moment she could speak, she spouted the blackest curse she could think of. “Release me ye rat, devil clot-heid!”

  “Now, lass,” came a deep, calm voice, “that is nae a way to thank yer husband for saving yer life.”

  She blinked the last bit of water out of her eyes. Her vision cleared, and she found warm, brown eyes full of concern gazing at her. Relief and happiness flooded her that she’d imagined Findlay, followed swiftly by embarrassment.

  “Dunnae berate yerself for the fear,” Alex said, obviously recognizing hers. “’Twas natural.”

  She could feel her mouth part in shock at his caring words, even after what she’d just done. He brushed his hand across her forehead to push back her hair. It was only then that she realized he was keeping them above the water by himself. She’d been like a piece of heavy wood in his arms. She started to kick her legs, but he shook his head.

  “I’ve got ye,” he said. “Will ye trust me?”

  She nodded, and he turned her around, slipping his hand around her waist. He secured his arm directly under her breasts so that they pressed against his forearm. “Lay yer head back against my chest,” he commanded.

  She did, turning her head slightly to do so, and it was then that she saw all the men and Marsaili lined up along the side of the birlinn gaping at her and Alex.

  “Is she unscathed, then?” a man with striking silver hair asked.

  “Aye,” Alex replied. “Get the men back to work. We’ll be aboard shortly. I’ll expect an explanation of how this came to be and who is accountable for it.”

  “Do ye need my aid, Lena?” Broch called down to her.

  “She dunnae need ye,” Alex responded before she could. “She has me,” he finished on a growl.

  Broch scowled at Alex but nodded. Lena bit her lip, knowing well it was her own fault that this had occurred. “I’m to blame,” she blurted, “so if yer mind’s turning to punish someone, punish me.”

  Even in the water as they were, with Alex’s legs kicking to propel them toward the birlinn, she felt the muscles of his chest tighten. “What sort of discipline do ye advise I give ye, Lena?”

  “I’m nae such a clot-heid as to help ye contrive ideas, Alex MacLean. If ye mean to punish me, then ye can certainly rely on yer own imagination!” she snapped, feeling suddenly churlish and wary. She honestly had not thought Alex the sort of man to punish a woman at all, she realized. She supposed she’d been counting on that, and now she felt dejected and disappointed. As they neared the birlinn, Alex pushed her toward the edge where a rope had been left to dangle over the side for them to climb back into the ship. With his body, he caged her between the birlinn and himself. Fear did not spike, though; something entirely different overcame her. Heat washed over her despite the cool water and a low burning blossomed in her belly. Water swished around them as he closed the small space that separated them. They were so close that each time he exhaled, his hot breath tickled her nose.

  His wet hair was slicked back from his forehead, drawing her gaze to his ruggedly handsome face. The shadow of beard on his face gave him an even fiercer aura than he already possessed, and with his skin bronzed by the sun and wind, he looked almost like a Viking of days gone by—untamable and unstoppable. Her heart beat a hard rhythm as the pull in her belly grew stronger. His sensual lips tugged almost imperceptibly upward, and she realized she had been staring—and he had been allowing it.

  “Do ye truly believe I’m the sort of man to punish a woman, Lena?”

  It was almost as if he had read her earlier thoughts! Swallowing hard, she shook her head. “Nay.” The word came out in such a throaty voice, she half wondered who spoke it. He was doing something to her. Something strange, yet wonderful.

  He nodded as a satisfied gleam entered his eyes. “Put yer hands around my neck, Wife.”

  “What for?” she blurted, thrilled and frightened in the same instant.

  He grinned then, and she could easily see the mischievous lad he had been. She herself recalled a few instances of his impishness, such as when he had put a bucket of frogs down Iain’s pants when they had been lads. On nights when she’d been too distraught to talk after she had returned to Dunvegan after being taken, Bridgette had sat with her, offering comfort with her presence while relaying many stories about Alex as a child. Lena had not really seen a glimpse of his playful nature since boyhood. He seemed mostly serious to her now and rather guarded, though she certainly could not begrudge him any wariness since she herself had a wall of it around her. According to Bridgette, he’d gone away to apprentice as a carefree young lad and had returned home a somewhat solemn young man. The solemnness was gone certainly, but she supposed as laird there was little room for being anything but serious and responsible. Her own brother was a good example of that. He was rather grave himself with the weight of the clan on his shoulders.

  “I’ll lift us both onto the birlinn,” he finally responded.

  She slid her hands over his slick, thickly corded shoulders, the feel of his body under her fingertips making her senses spin. He didn’t make a move to lift them out of the water. Instead, he was perfectly still, simply staring into her eyes.

  “What are ye doing?” she asked, swallowing past the wild pulse at the base of her throat.

  “I’m committing yer face to my memory, Mo bhean mhaiseach.”

  Her pulse skittered at the way the words my beautiful wife rolled off his tongue. She almost believed it to be true with the way he stared at her as if she were the most precious of stones. Still gripping the rope, he used his other hand to make a circle around them in the water as he spoke. “In times when we are parted, I will but have to close my eyes, and I will ken every lovely little dusty spot on the bridge of yer slender nose. I’ll ken the crystal blue of yer eyes and the way yer thick lashes curl ever so slightly upward. I’ll nae ever forget, regardless of the distance, how yer lips invite me to kiss them with their plumpness.”

  His words, his nearness, and the way she felt so protected and worshipped by him kindled a fire within her. Her lips tingled with an ache to feel his upon hers, yet the fear held her back still. Once more, he circled his hand around her, and since she could not get words out to ask him to kiss her, she asked instead, “Why are ye making a circle around us?”

  “’Tis a caim,” he replied, his voice steady and deep.

  She could not recall having ever heard the word before. “A caim?” She quirked her eyebrows.

  “Aye, Wife.”

  “I like the way ye call me Wife,” she admitted.

  He grinned. “I like doing so,” he said, then stared deep into her eyes. “A caim is a sanctuary. I make this invisible circle around ye to remind ye always that ye are safe, even in the darkest of times. I will keep ye safe. I will care for ye.”

  Everything about him gave her comfort and courage. “Kiss me, Alex,” she whispered.

  Tenderness filled his features, along with something primal. The water swished as he brought his hand out of it and cupped the side of her cheek. Without words, he brushed his lips against hers—once, twice. Shivers coursed through her body as his lips captured hers again, slightly more searching this time. He traced his tongue along the edge of her lips, a low growl emanating from him, and that sound and his touch were so delicious, so blissfully gentle and reverent, that there was no fear, only a longing for more.

  She curled her fingers into his hair and tugged him as close as she could. Their bodies melded together in the water, his hardness like a shield against all harm. She parted her lips, and when she did, his tongue touched hers. He deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth and allowing her to do the same. It was divine ecstasy. His hand came around her waist, and he pulled her so tight against him that she could feel his staff press into her belly. A moment of fright tried to claim her, but he seemed to sense it and banished the moment with featherlight kisses to her lips, her neck, and her collarbone. Ever
y time his mouth pressed against her skin, she felt as if the two of them were metal and he was soldering them together with his kisses.

  Alex was true to his word in that he, in no way, punished her reckless decision to climb the mast. He did, however, keep her in his sights at all times after that. She didn’t know for certain whether it was being on the water or the fact that no matter where she was on the birlinn she could trust Alex had her in his view, but she felt a wondrous sense of freedom and safety on the water.

  As the first week drew into the second, she learned his men’s names and even began to feel more comfortable around all of them.

  The suppers under the stars every night were meager, but her heart felt full as she sat by her husband’s side. His hand would always brush hers several times before he would take her fingers and intertwine them with his, and it took her several days to realize that it was Alex’s way of ensuring he was not frightening her. His thoughtfulness began to melt the large block of fear that had lodged in her heart.

  At night, when she was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open, he would lead her to her pallet and lay down by her side, cradling her in his strong, protective embrace. She loved the moment right before she fell asleep, when he slowly stroked his fingers through her hair and his heart thudded against her ear, which was pressed against his chest. His warm breath would wash over her cheek with each of his exhalations as she became drowsier and drowsier. Not once in the days they were on the water did he demand anything from her the likes of what Findlay used to demand.

  Alex simply gave to her. He gave his attention, his protection, and his time—or some of it. She always fell asleep in his arms, but she never awoke in them. She assumed he was waking before her and not sleeping very much to keep a watchful eye on his men and the ship. But when she awoke in the middle of the night on the final night they were to be at sea and he was not beside her, she went in search of him.