“Well, then, I suppose it’s my duty to please you,” she said huskily. “I’ve held fast to something, as well, Iain.”
“Have ye now?” he managed to choke out, though his heart pounded so viciously that talking seemed almost impossible.
She nodded as she slid her hand between their pressed bodies and found his hard staff. He groaned as she squeezed him. “I made a vow to myself to see if I could make you a simple fool.” She stared boldly at him.
“Well, I’d nae be one to cause ye to break a vow ye’ve made yerself,” he said, deftly unlacing her gown and tugging at her bodice until her breasts spilled out.
She gasped as he took her in his mouth and tortured her until she screamed her pleasure so loudly that he covered her mouth in a kiss so the MacLeans wouldn’t come to investigate. But not long after, when she took the length of him in her mouth and stroked him until he was sure he’d never have a rational thought again, it was his guttural cry that filled the woods without a care for anything beyond making the wildly tempting woman in his arms as happy and sated as she was making him.
When they were spent and they lay wrapped in his plaid, he caught sight of the dagger in its sheath, which lay beside her gown. “Where did ye get the dagger?”
“Bridgette loaned it to me so I could defend myself. As you know, I lost my other one. And I need it for my safety,” she said with obvious defiance. But what did she think she was rebelling against?
He cupped her cheek. “Do ye think I’ll take it from ye?”
Her gaze shifted about before settling on him once more. “You took mine from me before and told Rory Mac to not return it.”
He scowled. “Only until ye did nae want to use it on me.”
“Well, since it was never returned to me, how was I to know if you would truly allow me to have my own weapons? Angus had the dagger I lost in the water made for me.”
He frowned. “Why did Angus have a dagger made for ye?”
“Because he’s the one who taught me to use a dagger. My father would not have done such a thing with me. He would not have done anything with me, really. Besides scold me and punish me.” The last words had been whispered and she glanced down.
His chest tightened, and he hooked a finger under her chin and brought her sad gaze to his once more. “What did Angus teach ye of the dagger?”
“He taught me to aim straight and throw true. I could show you,” she said shyly, “if you’d like.”
“I’d like it verra much,” he assured her as he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “And we can go hunting together when we’re back at Dunvegan.”
“You’d take me hunting with you?” Her eyes widened with surprise.
“Aye, it would be pleasing to take ye. Though, I’ve never hunted with a woman.”
“Never? Not even—”
“Nay,” he interrupted, realizing it was time to return to the castle. “Nae even Catriona. Let’s dress. We can talk as we walk back to the hold.”
They dressed quickly, and as Iain took Marion’s hand in his when they started walking, she peered at him. “I like that there is something we will do together that you’ve never done with anyone. It seems as though it’s just ours.”
He thought about it and couldn’t see how it could be a betrayal of his vow not to forget Catriona. He smiled at Marion. “I like it, too,” he replied with a squeeze of her hand. “And when we get to Dunvegan, I’ll have a dagger and a bow and arrows made for ye.”
She sucked in a delighted breath. “I always dreamed that my father would one day come upon me and see how talented I was with a dagger and the bow, and then perchance he would be filled with such pride that he’d not even be angry that Angus had taught me. And then,” she gushed, her words quick as she was caught up in her memories, “he would finally find me worthy of loving.”
Her admission of her dreams was like a dagger plunging into his gut. He stopped walking and looked at her. “Ye are worthy of loving.” He knew damn well his words would sound false to her, given what he’d told her before, given his own struggles. “It is nae ye but yer father who is nae worthy.”
He gave her a long kiss, trying to imprint that knowledge in her head. “Nae ye,” he said once more and started them walking again.
For a long moment, she said nothing, and then, very quietly, she said, “Then it seems being worthy of love does not assure anyone wants to give it to you.”
He could not respond because she was right, yet every part of him rebelled against agreeing.
After a lovely feast that night, they arose early the next morning to depart for Dunvegan. They had a road journey, as well as a sea journey, ahead of them, yet Marion was already anxious about going to Iain’s home, given what Bridgette had told her of Catriona’s sisters. But Marion also had a sense of newfound hope. At dinner the night before, Bridgette had asked her brother if she could go to Dunvegan with Marion to help her adjust to life in the Isle of Skye, and he’d thought it an excellent idea. Marion had been surprised by his easy agreement, until Iain told her later that night about how Alex had spoken to him the day they’d arrived, requesting that he take Bridgette for a time to allow a cooling period for the Campbell she’d snubbed.
Marion was thrilled that Bridgette was coming but not so thrilled that Alex had appointed Archibald to accompany Bridgette to Dunvegan. He was to keep her out of trouble. Astonishingly, Archibald didn’t oppose the duty. The man had actually seemed unconcerned, though he may have hidden his annoyance well, since he did leave dinner early.
As they were packing the horses to depart, Marion realized Archibald had not come down from his bedchamber, so when he rode into the courtyard from the direction of the woods, she was stunned to see him.
“Where have ye been?” Alex demanded.
Archibald scowled. “Can a man nae even say farewell to a lass without being challenged?”
Alex blinked in clear surprise. “I did nae ken ye had a lass. Who is it?”
“Ye dunnae ken her,” Archibald said, rather evasively.
Alex waved a dismissive hand at Archibald. “Fine. Keep yer secrets. Ye may take them with ye.”
“I will,” Archibald grumbled.
Iain and Rory Mac exchanged a wary look. They didn’t seem to want Archibald to come any more than Marion did, and suddenly she felt bad for the Scot. He seemed to be an outlander in his own home, just as she’d been.
With that in mind, she walked toward his horse and looked up at him. “Archibald, I’m glad you are coming with us.” She searched her mind for a nice compliment to give him. “You increase our group’s strength and defenses, and that is always a good thing.”
Archibald gave her a surprised look, but then he offered a small smile. “Thank ye, Marion.”
Iain came up behind her and set his hand on her shoulder. “She’s right. Ye do aid us, and we welcome that. My wife is wise.”
Marion turned and beamed at him. He’d complimented her in front of everyone. Things were going so well between them now that Marion’s hope swelled a little further.
It only took a few more minutes for everyone to say their farewells, and then they were bound for her new home, where she would hopefully feel as if she belonged.
As the rough sea made the birlinn dip continuously, Marion’s weary body felt as if she had abused it with a month of travel, though in reality, the trip from the MacLean hold to the farthest reaches of Scotland had been two and a half weeks. But the breakneck pace at which Iain had ordered the crew to row, in spite of the turbulent waters, had left her battered, bruised, and seasick. She’d tried to appear brave so that Iain would not know just how uncomfortable she was as she sat huddled in his plaid, but the God’s truth was that she was afraid she’d never be warm again. Yet, she had to stay in the fresh air, rather than seek shelter, or she would most assuredly become sick again. Even now, her stomach roiled.
The Isle of Skye and Dunvegan Castle could not come into view soon enough for her. The chi
ll from bathing in the icy rivers and sleeping outside in the winter-kissed highland air, followed by the chill from the constant breeze blowing off the water and being sprayed when the boat dipped had settled a cold deep into Marion’s body.
She seemed to be the only one bothered by the weather or freezing water, however. Iain had slept with his chest bare every night of their journey, and she was certain the only reason she’d not perished from the freezing temperatures was because she fairly burrowed into him until he wrapped his arms tight around her. His body gave off heat like a fire, and she did her best to drink that heat up.
Yet, it wasn’t just Iain who had appeared unaffected by the weather; it seemed all Scots were oblivious to it, from Angus, Neil, and Rory Mac to Archibald and Bridgette. Bridgette had even hummed when they’d bathed in the frosty river, and at this moment, she stood at the front of the birlinn without a cloak, her red hair whipping in the wind. Marion’s teeth chattered so strongly that even if she’d wanted to join in on the humming, her frozen lips would likely fail her.
She frowned as she tried to curl into a tighter ball under Iain’s plaid. The birlinn dipped sharply, reminding her it wasn’t just the way the cold had affected her that seemed to separate her from the others. They didn’t seem a bit queasy. None of them. She couldn’t understand it. No one had retched over the side of the birlinn except her, and when they’d been on horses before taking to the water, the others had not asked Iain to stop so they could relieve themselves. Again, only her.
When she finally requested he stop, she’d seen the amusement in all eyes but Iain’s. He’d looked exasperated. And when she’d heaved over the side of the boat, they’d all made comments that it was to be expected, as if her being half-English made her inherently weak. Even Bridgette and Angus, who should have been squarely on her side, made the comments. Only Iain had said nary a word. He’d watched her with wary eyes, though, as if he expected her to fall over and die at any moment.
The birlinn dipped yet again, and this time a spray of water came over the edge and drenched her. She had to clench her jaw until pain shot through it to stop the violent chattering of her teeth, which she was sure everyone could hear even above the hum of the rowing men. She was not weak; the Scots simply were not normal.
The birlinn entered the loch with the ship that was transporting the men’s horses directly behind it. Soon someone called out the sighting of land. Marion peered out from the plaid and then parted it, her eyes going wide at what she was sure must’ve been Dunvegan Castle.
“Iain,” she called loudly over the noise of the water, oars, and sudden chatter of everyone on board.
Iain glanced over his shoulder from where he stood a few feet away, frowned, and then made his way to her, concern etched on his face. “Are ye going to be sick again?”
“No,” she said, willing it to be so, even as her stomach roiled. “Are we home?”
“Aye, Marion,” he said, his voice catching. “We’re home.”
She parted the plaid more and an icy wind caressed her cheeks, but she left the garment open, entranced at the sight of Iain’s home. Dunvegan Castle sat like a crown high atop the steep rocky cliffs of the seashore. Its stone walls seemed to reach Heaven itself. It sat very near the edge of the bluff, and as she stared at the square keep and the turreted tower, she inhaled a sharp breath. The high land the castle stood on was completely surrounded by a curtain wall, and it appeared the only entrance was through the seagate.
“What is it?” Iain asked her, taking her hand in his.
Instinctively, she curled her fingers around her husband’s hand. “I thought my father’s castle was surely the most impenetrable, but Dunvegan would be impossible to breach. You’d see your enemies coming long before they reached you.”
He squeezed her hand. “It is as close to invincible as a home can be, but there is nae a place anywhere that is invincible.”
She looked at him. “How would anyone get inside?”
“By drawing us out,” he said simply.
As the birlinn glided closer to shore, Marion thought she heard pipers playing. “Is that—”
“Aye,” Iain interrupted. “They’re welcoming us home.”
“Us?”
“Me and Rory Mac,” he replied. “But when they learn of ye and our marriage, they will welcome ye, as well.”
She did not miss the steely determination beneath his words. “Iain,” she said hesitantly, trying to determine the best way to ask him to let her try on her own to befriend his people.
“Aye?”
“I am a bit concerned about your clan liking me.”
“Dunnae worry,” he replied. “I’ll command them to do so.”
She bit her lip. It was just as she thought. She loved that he wanted to keep her safe, but his actions would actually make the task harder for her. She was sure of it. “Iain, you cannot command them to like me. They will resent you—and me—if you try to make them accept me directly. I beg you to let me win their friendship on my own.”
She watched his eyes narrow. “There are some that may nae be nice to ye if I dunnae command it.”
“Are you referring to Catriona’s sisters?”
“Aye,” Iain replied. “Her mother has passed. How do ye ken of her sisters?”
“Bridgette told me, but I can defend myself,” Marion stated firmly, feeling more sure of herself than she ever had before. Being away from her father and with Iain, who truly offered her respect, had helped her to see that it was not her duty to constantly try to prove she was worthy of admiration, but for others to see her worth and recognize it. And if she’d not broken under years of her father’s harsh treatment, two women would not defeat her. She also had Bridgette as an ally.
Iain studied her for a long moment and finally nodded. “I’ll let ye try,” he said.
She exhaled with relief.
“But,” he added, causing her to tense once more, “if anyone gives ye any trouble at all, ye will come to me, tell me, and let me attend to them. Ken?”
She understood, but she’d never utter a word if someone was unkind. She would simply get them to like her by meeting their dislike with care. She wanted Iain to see that she could manage without help. What she did not want, above all, was him thinking he needed to worry about her or protect her every moment. He’d never relax around her enough to let her close if he was anxious about her.
“Marion, did ye hear me?”
“I did. I understand,” she replied, without actually agreeing.
Iain squeezed her hand. “Verra well. Ready yerself.”
She laughed. “You act as if we’re about to be descended upon.”
He stood and brought her to her feet with him. “It will nae be long,” he said looking up toward the castle.
Marion followed his gaze through the growing darkness and up, very high, beyond the battlements. On the barmkin, blazing torches suddenly appeared, and the sound of the pipers floated down the seawall stairs in clear notes. By the time the birlinn reached the shore, was secured, and they left the ship, hundreds of torches made a long, curving line down the stairs.
The mist seemed to part as the first torches came near. Three tall men led the line, their heights and steps matching, making them seem almost as one person. Their plaids flapped with the force of their strides as they walked. The man in the center moved ahead of the others and reached Iain first.
“Brother,” his voice, though deep, was crisp and clear. “It’s good to have ye back. And Rory Mac, as well. And Neil,” the man said in surprise, then looked quizzical. “And is that Bridgette MacLean?”
Bridgette moved to Marion’s side, dropped into a curtsy, and gave the man a coquettish smile. “Yer eyes dunnae deceive ye, Lachlan MacLeod. ’Tis me.”
“It’s good to see ye, Bridgette,” he said politely and turned his attention to Archibald, who stood behind Marion. “And who are ye?”
Iain stepped forward and clasped Lachlan on the forearm. “Ye remember Archibald
, Alex’s cousin?”
“Aye. Welcome, Archibald.”
Archibald offered his greetings, and then Iain quickly presented Angus without much explanation, which Lachlan accepted without protest, but Marion could hear murmurs from the men behind him.
“It’s good to be back,” Iain exclaimed. “I missed home.”
A look of mischief swept across Lachlan’s ruggedly handsome face. “Did ye now? Are ye getting soft, then?”
Iain chuckled. “Nay, but the food in England is awful—”
“Worse than here?” Lachlan asked with a chuckle.
Iain scowled, but it gave way to a smile. “Aye, I ken it seems hard to believe.”
“And the women, were they too ugly for ye to bed?” asked the man on Lachlan’s right, the only one with light hair.
As Angus growled behind her, Marion stiffened at the comment and at the laughter that erupted from the group of men that she suspected were Iain’s brothers. These men—the blond-haired one, Lachlan, with his deep russet locks, and the dark-headed man—matched Iain in height and had eyes of the same shape.
“Cease talking, Cameron,” Iain snapped at his fair-haired brother, even as he reached out and clasped him affectionately by the forearm.
“Why? Is it nae the truth?” the Scot demanded, laughter in his voice. “Are yer bollocks now aching for a highland lass’s touch?”
“If they are,” the man with the shoulder-length brown hair said, as he stepped forward and gripped Iain by the arm Cameron had just released, “then I say finally.”
Iain’s three brothers nodded as one, and the dark-haired man grinned. “Fiona has done naught but annoy me constantly about when ye may be returning. She’s fairly itching to take her sister’s place as yer bride.”
“Then she will be disappointed to hear what I have to say, Graham,” Iain said, his voice cold.
“What?” Graham asked, clearly startled.
When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1) Page 20
