When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1)

by Julie Johnstone

  She looked away from Rory Mac with a sigh. Every time she was jarred, her bottom and back cried out. Iain MacLeod was the devil himself. She started to turn around on the horse to tell him so, but his big hand came to her shoulder and stayed her movement. “Dunnae move. Ye risk losing yer balance and falling off.”

  Angry, she blew at a strand of hair dangling in her face. The man may never intend to give his heart to her, but he could at least give her his respect. All he’d done since they’d escaped her father’s castle was order her about. “I’m not one of your men you can constantly command.”

  “True enough,” he agreed. His tone was so soft and pleasant that a bit of her anger slipped away. “Ye’re my wife.” The implication that she was also to be ordered about was clear in his now-flat tone.

  Her anger spiked to near eruption. “I’m not your wife fully yet,” she snapped.

  “By the time the sun sets again ye will be,” he replied. His easy banter irritated her even more. It was as if her anger amused him. She ground her teeth against saying another word to the man until he treated her with respect.

  As the horse galloped forward, the clopping of his hooves drummed in her ears and her mind returned to Iain telling her that he’d buried his love, and his heart, with his late wife. Even if Marion had wanted to be hurt that he’d so bluntly told her that he’d never love her, she could not be, not really. They barely knew each other. What she did know of him, besides the fact that he was brave—fiercely so—and honorable, was that he was in grave pain from his loss. He’d not said it in words, yet when he’d spoken of his late wife his tone had been raw, as if simply thinking of her pained him. She’d felt it like an enormous wave washing over her.

  She clenched her hands and pressed her lips together at the memory. She was married to a man in love with a ghost. In spite of his declaration that he’d never love again, she could not help but wonder if it was truly so. She didn’t even know if she would ever want this man’s love, but she wanted the possibility of it. Not a lifetime of being forsaken.

  When the sun started to rise, she was sure they would pull over to hide and rest, and relief poured through her. Her body ached all over, her head pounded, and her stomach growled. The desire to beg him to stop strummed through her, but she held off until she thought she might fall off the horse. That’s when she realized her idea not to talk to him until he showed her respect was foolish. She had to talk to him, but she vowed she would make him see she deserved respect and not to be ordered about.

  Her mouth was so dry that she had to swallow several times before speaking. “Will we stop now that the sun is up?”

  “Nay.”

  Marion didn’t consider herself a weak, helpless woman, but she was on the verge of collapsing or crying. She couldn’t decide which would be worse. Crying, she concluded, would be worse, shameful even. One could help weeping, but collapsing really was quite involuntary. “I’m going to slide off the horse from exhaustion,” she protested.

  “Ye will nae. I command ye to stay upright.”

  Her face burned with anger. He’d done it again! She curled her hands into fists with the desire to hit him. “You cannot simply demand a person not collapse,” she grumbled.

  “I can.”

  “You cannot! You rude beast,” she snapped. She was normally so sweet tempered, but he really was bringing out the worst in her.

  “Who’s rude?” he replied with a chuckle.

  That did it! It was simply the last thing she could handle. “Did you command your first wife around so? Did you demand she ride a horse until she was so exhausted she could hardly keep her eyes open?”

  “Nay,” he said quietly. “She was a gentle creature. Ye are different.”

  “Is that praise or condemnation?” she asked, utterly perplexed and angry with herself for bringing up the subject of his deceased wife when she knew it pained him.

  “Praise, Sassenach,” he replied, his tone soothing.

  All the anger rushed out of her with the air she blew from her lungs. An absurd sense of happiness filled her, and she decided to somehow keep herself on the horse, upright and silent, to prove to him she was worthy of his admiration. Admiration was a stepping-stone to respect, and from there, who knew what the future could hold for them.

  Hours later, as night was falling, they crossed into MacLean territory and Iain finally relaxed. He was good friends with the MacLean laird, Alex, and their clans were at peace. Iain slowed his horse to a walk as they climbed a steep path, and he inhaled deeply and appreciatively of the fresh air. He silently signaled to Rory Mac and Angus to stop. Angus glowered in return. Iain didn’t know if it was because the older MacLeod had been squashed on his horse with Neil for most the day or if it was because the man had been listening to Iain’s exchange with Marion.

  It wasn’t long before he found out, though. After he carefully gathered a snoring Marion into his arms and dismounted Olaf, he caught Rory Mac’s eye and then inclined his head toward Angus and Neil, the latter of whom was awake but had a stark-white face and sweat-dampened brow.

  “Gather wood and ready a place to rest. I’ll be back to help in a bit,” Iain said as he gazed off toward the river in the distance and the thick trees where Marion could have some privacy.

  Rory Mac nodded, but Angus dismounted faster than Iain would have thought the man capable of moving. The surly old Scot stalked toward Iain, and agitation rippled through him. He was too damn tired to exchange words, but it appeared unavoidable.

  “Ye dunnae deserve her,” the Scot accused.

  Iain refused to take offense. Angus clearly thought of Marion as his own kin.

  “Maybe I dunnae,” Iain said, “but she’s mine now.”

  Angus shook his head. “Ye’re a young fool if ye think that. She may be yers by marriage, but ye’ll never possess her body and soul until ye open yer heart te her.”

  Iain clenched his teeth. “I dunnae want a lesson from ye on these matters. Ye forget I’m yer laird.”

  “I dunnae forget at all,” the man whispered fiercely. “I ken ye’re the laird and that ye are due my respect because of it, and I ken I risk chastisement talking to ye so.”

  “I chastise no man for his opinion, Angus. But dunnae lecture me. Now if ye’ll excuse me.” Iain didn’t wait for an answer. He turned away, taking care not to let Marion’s head flop back. He leaned her cheek against his chest and walked over to the stream in the distance. He didn’t look back to see if Rory Mac and Angus were seeing to the horses and gathering wood.

  They knew what to do, and in truth, he could not look away from Marion’s face. Her beauty took his breath. Awake, she was a fiery fairy. A force, to be sure. One minute angry and the next smiling. Defiant. Belligerent. Brave. And possessing a kind heart. He lowered them both carefully to the grass, setting her in his lap as he leaned against the tree. She stirred a bit but didn’t wake. Her hand came to rest by her cheek, over his heart.

  As the cold from the ground seeped into his skin, he worried she might get a chill. As carefully as he could manage, he moved her forward with one hand, and with the other, he took off his plaid, now dry from the day’s ride, and laid it over her. Then he tucked it around her legs and under her chin until only her lovely pale face showed. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his head to hers and listened to her deep, measured breaths.

  Her breaths held the ease of good health. Relief made him sag a bit. He was a fool. He’d told himself he’d not care for her at all, but the moment he’d said his vows in the chapel and she’d said hers, he’d felt an undeniable connection to her, as if an invisible rope bound them to each other.

  He stared down at her dark lashes, which fanned her pale cheeks, and he traced a finger over the slope of one delicate cheekbone. She shivered in her sleep but did not awaken. He’d not wanted another wife but now he had one. The only way to move forward was with care. He’d seen the distressed look in her eyes when he’d told her that he’d never love her. She was his wife n
ow and he didn’t want to hurt her, yet he was afraid he would. His past had left scars on him.

  Tiredness made his thoughts unclear, and he closed his eyes to rest.

  Dreams haunted his sleep as always, but this time, Marion joined Catriona in his dreams. He was in a thick forest, searching for someone who was calling to him in desperation, as he often did. The woman turned out to be Marion instead of Catriona, though, and he awoke with a jolt.

  When he opened his eyes, Marion’s face was inches from his and she was studying him. He shifted his weight, and she wiggled her bottom. His reaction to his wife was instant and painful. He wanted her so.

  Her eyes grew wide, and she scrambled off his lap and to her knees beside him. She looked beguiling as she pulled his plaid around her and her wild hair tumbled around her face.

  A sharp yearning to feel her beneath him grew stronger. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he needed to be slow and gentle. She would likely be afraid at first, never having been with a man, and he would likely be a bit crazed, as it had been a very long time since he’d touched a woman. The year before Catriona had died, their joining had stopped when she’d become so weak. The idea of taking another woman had repelled him—until Marion.

  He cleared his throat, realizing she was still staring at him. “Why are ye studying me?”

  She pressed her small hands to her knees. “I am trying to understand you.”

  “And have ye succeeded?”

  She shook her head. “No. You confuse me. You’ve ordered me about since I met you, and not once did you consider my needs on the road, but when you did stop, you apparently held me in your arms so I could sleep and wrapped me in your plaid to keep me warm. So I know you are capable of being mindful of me.”

  He frowned. “How did I nae consider yer needs?”

  “You refused to stop even when I told you how tired I was.”

  “That was for yer safety, Marion. Had I stopped before we reached MacLean land, it would have been verra dangerous. We had to travel quickly so Froste and yer father would nae have time to overtake us before I arrived in allied clan territory.”

  She nodded. “I suppose, but now that we are married, and they do not know if you’ve”—she cast her gaze down—“you’ve joined with me. I’m not so certain they’ll follow, especially Froste. I’m sure my father will strive to keep the man as an ally. He’ll likely offer him money, which he was no doubt trying to avoid by using me and the land I’d bring, for his aid instead.”

  Iain gaped at her. His wife thought her only appeal was the land that had been attached to her. It made him angry that her father had obviously never praised her one bit. “Marion,” he started, intent on correcting how she perceived herself, “even if there were no land attached to ye, I imagine Froste would still come for ye.”

  Her brow wrinkled. “Because he does not like losing, I suppose.”

  “Well, aye,” Iain agreed. “But also because ye’re beautiful and bold, and ye’re the sort of woman that, well—” He stopped. He could not tell her she was the sort of woman to stir desire with a mere look. And the sort of desire a man could not easily forget. With her moonbeam hair hanging in heavy waves down her back and her large grassy eyes sparkling with laughter—and alternately burning with her ire—she was a woman no man would want to lose, especially a man like Froste who, as she’d said, did not like to lose.

  Iain shrugged lamely. “He’ll come after ye, I swear it, but I dunnae think he’s foolish enough to come before he is certain he can retrieve ye without difficulty. But ye dunnae need to fear. I’ll defend ye, as is my duty.”

  The talk of duties brought to mind one that would be pleasurable. He needed to truly make her his. Just thinking of bedding her made his blood heat.

  He reached out and ran a finger across her ankle, which was peeking out from beneath his plaid. “Marion,” he said, his throat husky with need.

  Her eyes went wide, and she stood abruptly. “I’d like to wash before supper,” she said. Her voice wobbled, and she pulled the plaid even tighter around her body.

  He’d scared her, or rather, she was scared of the joining. As much as he ached to take her now, he would force himself to give her as much time as he could to reconcile what was to happen. Unfortunately, there was not much time. The marriage had to be consummated.

  He stood slowly and looked at her. She was nibbling her lip, clearly ill at ease. He inhaled a deep breath of the chilly night air, hoping it would cool his lust. “Let me search the river first and make sure it’s safe.”

  “Are you worried?” she asked, her voice pitching a bit higher.

  “Nay,” he assured her. “Just careful. I’m always careful.”

  After they walked down to the stream, he quickly verified that the area was not dangerous. “Do ye want me to stay near?” he asked. “Will ye be afraid if I go ready a place for us to bed down?”

  Her eyes widened more than they had earlier. God’s truth, she looked more afraid of the idea of lying down beside him than she had at the idea that someone might want to steal her away.

  “I don’t frighten easily,” she replied boldly, though her voice shook. “Go on back to the men.”

  “Dunnae wade too deep,” he said, surveying the river one last time. It was fairly low right now, but that didn’t mean she could not get injured. “In the dark ye could lose yer footing. If ye need me, simply call for me.”

  “I’ll not need you,” she replied with a sure tone.

  He bit back a grin, wondering what his wife would think if she knew her walking about in his plaid greatly undermined her effort to appear brave and unaffected.

  The minute Iain walked out of sight, Marion sagged. There were so many emotions swirling in her that her head ached. She’d felt disappointed and worried earlier with Iain’s blunt words about love, but then he’d praised her fortitude and she’d felt a small sliver of hope, which had blossomed when he’d told her he thought her beautiful and bold, and well—

  She laughed aloud. It didn’t even matter that he’d never finished the sentence. That he thought her bold thrilled her. Beauty was fleeting, but she supposed she wasn’t unhappy that he found her pleasing, except she was nervous about consummating their marriage. She had always thought when it was time, she would know the man and love him. Could she love this man someday? Perhaps. He certainly was the sort of honorable, brave man she’d envisioned marrying, except for the part about not ever loving her. What if she fell in love with him and he never returned her love? The thought made her slump to the ground with a groan.

  Sitting on the cold, thick grass, she kicked off her shoes. When her feet made contact with the wet ground, she shivered. She had not realized how cold it was, likely because Iain had held her. She blushed at the memory of how sinfully good it had felt to be wrapped in his arms. She wiggled her toes and sighed as she wearily got to her feet to unlace her gown.

  A short time later, she was muttering to herself and saying every unladylike curse she’d ever heard Angus and the guards mutter when they’d not known she was listening. Her maid had helped her lace this gown, and she could not get it undone by herself, no matter how she contorted her body. Her head began to pound harder as she stared longingly at the river, which held the promise of removing the grime from her father’s moat from her skin.

  She peered over her shoulder and saw Iain, Angus, and Rory Mac in the distance. The three of them stood around a small fire. If she called out to Iain, she knew he’d come directly. She bit her lip, remembering the desire in his eyes and his thick voice. He may not ever love her, but he wanted her. And she wanted a bit more time before the joining.

  Besides, how was she supposed to earn his respect if she could not remove her own gown?

  Marion squeezed her eyes shut. Calling him over to help was not an option. A woman who needed aid disrobing was not a woman a fierce laird like Iain would ever come to rely upon. Her gut clenched with a sudden realization: she wanted him to rely on her and need
her because, even if he never loved her, a man who relied upon and needed a woman would never discard her. Not like her father, who had been so callous and eager to give her to another.

  Resolved, she struggled for several more minutes until frustrated tears stung her eyes and she collapsed onto the cold grass, drawing her legs up to her chest and pressing her head against her knees to allow herself a good pitiful cry. Just as she was getting started, a hand clamped roughly over her mouth. She was pulled off the ground as another hand slid around her waist and then her back was pressed against the length of a man’s armored body.

  The man who held her breathed heavily, his stench of sweat and horse making her wrinkle her nose. Fear tingled across her skin leaving gooseflesh. Was there any way to free herself?

  Before she could answer her own question, another man appeared from the darkness and stepped in front of her. “Hello, Lady Marion,” the man whispered. “Froste sent us to fetch you.”

  She could barely make out the knight’s features in the dark, but she got a glimpse of the burn scars that ravaged his face, and her blood ran cold. Malcolm Basset was Froste’s most trusted, most vicious knight, and his loyalty had been sealed when Froste had rescued him from the man’s own father, who had set Malcolm on fire.

  Malcolm pulled his lips back in a snarl as he slid his calloused hand around her neck. “Froste says we must bring you back alive, but he told me how you fled him, Marion. I’d like to kill you, but he’d not like it.”