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

by Julie Johnstone

  Marion’s throat ached with unshed tears of happiness as he finished the ballad. When he was done, he smiled shyly at her and pressed his lips to hers.

  “I did not know you could sing.”

  “Oh, aye, but dunnae tell anyone. Lairds do nae sing,” he said most seriously. “My father always told me so.”

  Marion frowned. “What else do lairds not do?”

  Iain rubbed his knuckles over his chin as he looked thoughtful. “Lairds dunnae cry, and lairds always put the clan first, above all else.”

  “Was your father a hard man?” she asked, thinking of her own.

  Iain nodded. “He was hard, but he was good and honorable, and showed us he cared for us.”

  She quirked an eyebrow. “But never told you so?”

  “Nay. Lairds dunnae talk of emotions, either.”

  She snorted at that, but the conversation went far in explaining why Iain had not spoken to her of how he felt sooner. If the rules about lairds were firmly established early in life, and he’d lived them for so long, it was no wonder it had been so hard for him. “I’m glad you are a different sort of laird from your father.”

  “Different but the same,” he replied. “Speaking of how I feel is difficult, but I’ll do it for ye. But only ye.”

  She grinned. “Will you continue to sing for me?”

  He chuckled. “Aye. But only for ye.”

  Before she could respond a knock came at the door. “It’s Lachlan. May I enter?”

  “Aye,” Iain called.

  Lachlan strolled into the room with a casual grace that made Marion see why Bridgette was infatuated with the man. Though Marion did not find him as handsome as Iain, he was certainly an attractive man with his thick russet hair and his bright-green eyes, which always looked as if he had a secret.

  He paused at the foot of the bed and shook his head. “I never thought I’d see the time come that ye would spend all day abed.”

  Iain laughed. “Now ye have. Have ye come simply to annoy me or do ye want something?”

  “Well, neo-bhriste laird,” Lachlan drawled with a mischievous smile and a mocking tone. “Ye’ll nae hold that title much longer if ye dunnae train. Or have ye forgotten ye’re wanted dead by the English, and yer wife—” he winked at Marion “—is simply wanted.”

  “I’ve nae forgotten,” Iain replied with a scowl. “We’ll train tomorrow.”

  Lachlan nodded and turned to go, but when he reached the door, he faced them. “Marion, thank ye.”

  “What for?” she asked in confusion.

  Lachlan grinned. “For nae fleeing from Iain after ye first met him. Ye’ve made him happy.”

  “It dunnae show, does it?” Iain asked with an indignation that made Marion laugh.

  “Nay.” Lachlan rolled his eyes and left.

  As Iain wrapped Marion in his arms, she looked up at him. “What does neo-bhriste laird mean?”

  She stared at him until he finally answered. “Unbroken laird. The men call me that because I’ve never been defeated in battle.”

  He sounded as if he didn’t like it, which confused her. “You don’t care for it?”

  “Nay. I think it’s bad fortune to give yerself such a title, as though I’m asking for God to strike me down for being too proud.”

  Marion nodded. “If I had a coin, I’d give it to you for an indulgence.”

  Iain roared with laughter until he complained that his stomach hurt.

  Later that night, after a quiet game of chess, Marion studied the candlelit bedchamber and a thought came to her. “Dance with me, Iain,” she said, wanting to forget her heartache from the loss of their babe in his arms.

  “I dunnae ken how.”

  “You don’t know how to dance?” she repeated, stunned.

  He smirked at her. “Dancing is nae on the list of things to teach a young Scottish lad who is to be laird.”

  She nodded, understanding, but… “Surely you danced with Catriona?”

  “Nay,” he responded, his usual haunted look no longer in his eyes, to her relief. “Catriona did nae care to dance.”

  “I’ll teach you!” Marion exclaimed.

  He looked as if he’d rather eat dirt, which made her burst into laughter. “Please,” she begged. “It will be lovely and will make me so happy.”

  “It will make ye happy?”

  She nodded, eager to start.

  “If ye feel tired, ye must tell me,” he ordered.

  “I vow it, but I truly do feel quite well.”

  He helped her up, and they moved to the middle of the bedchamber where she taught him the steps of a country-dance. The fire crackled and roared in the grate, giving the room a toasty warmth. By the time she arranged them in their positions and showed him some steps involved, they were both perspiring.

  After they attempted to do the dance a few times, Iain pulled her into his arms. “I think we’d nae be boiling if we took off our clothes.”

  His blue eyes caught her green ones, and the desire smoldering in his depths sent a shiver of awareness through her of the powerful man that was her husband. He’d not tried to touch her in a physical way once since she’d lost the babe, and she’d been grateful, as her body had been sore and her heart raw. Her heart still ached, but suddenly, with his warm hands pressed against her back and his hard body molded to her, she longed for him to touch her as he had before. She wanted him to fill the emptiness inside of her with his love, with his body.

  “I’ve a confession,” he said, his voice husky.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “I only agreed to dance with ye so I could hold ye close like this. I’ve nay desire to learn to dance, but I’ve a deep ache to hold ye again.”

  “I’ve the same ache,” she admitted.

  His eyes widened a fraction. “Ye do?”

  She nodded shyly. “I do, but I’m afraid.”

  His gaze caressed her as his hand came to her face and did the same. “What are ye afraid of? That it will hurt?”

  She shook her head. Fiona had told her in a matter-of-fact way that because Marion had been so early in the pregnancy, there was no damage of that area, so she could resume her marital relations with Iain whenever she felt ready. “I’m afraid of becoming with child again and losing it.”

  Iain nodded. “I’m afraid of that, too.”

  Her mouth parted in shock. “You are?”

  “Aye, a ghràidh.” He brought both hands to her face, cupping it, and then brushed a gentle kiss to her lips. “But when we are as one, everything in my world is right and perfect. Ye have given me a gift I did nae even ken I was awaiting.”

  He could not have said anything more perfect. She cupped his face as he did hers. “I love you.”

  “And I, ye.”

  She rose to her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. When she drew back, his hands slipped around her waist and she found herself lifted off her feet and to his chest.

  “Is yer kiss an invitation, a ghràidh?”

  She shook her head, and though neither his body nor his eyes showed disappointment, his jaw tensed. She barely controlled her giggle. “It was nae a simple invitation, laird,” she purred in her best Scottish accent. “It was a plea for ye to take me and make me yers once again.”

  “Ye are mine always,” he growled, sweeping her legs up over his arms. “But I’ll be happy to answer yer plea one touch at a time.”

  He strode with her to the bed, set her on her feet, and commanded her to stand still.

  She nodded and his hands were suddenly on her, roaming over her body and igniting it in flames. He grasped the edge of her léine and pulled it up over her thighs, hips, and breasts, capturing her wrists with his hand as he drew the garment over her head. He tossed it to the floor and released her hands down by her sides. She stood there utterly naked, his gaze burning and devouring her body. He made her feel beautiful, wanted, and wanton, and as she raised her hands to his chest, pressed her palms there, and felt the thundering of his h
eart beneath her fingertips, she knew the thrill of the power her touch had over him.

  Shaking with desire, she raised up his plaid, and as the material slid over his powerful torso, she marveled at the effect simply glimpsing the perfection of his body had on her. Her heart raced and her stomach fluttered while her core tightened in expectation of what was to come. His gaze held hers prisoner as she moved the plaid to his broad shoulders. She could raise it no more.

  “Unclothe,” she commanded.

  He shot her a wicked grin. “As ye wish, a ghràidh.”

  Every time he called her his love, she felt as if her heart would burst with joy. As he lifted his arms to rid himself of his plaid, she could not restrain herself any longer. She pressed kisses across the hot planes of stomach muscle, and he jerked, groaned, and grasped her by the arms in response.

  Before she knew what was happening, she was on their bed with Iain hovering over her. He devoured her mouth in a kiss of possession, then slid his tongue down a path from her ribs to her stomach and lower to the juncture between her thighs. He brought her to quick surrender, her cries of pleasure echoing in her own ears.

  Still, she ached for him, and she held her arms out to him when she saw him hesitate above her, unfulfilled in his own need, yet willing to wait for her. His concern and selflessness touched her greatly.

  “Come to me,” she whispered huskily.

  “Are ye sure? I did nae think we’d go so far tonight. Just test the waters, aye?”

  “The waters have been tested,” she growled. “They are warm and ready.”

  Oh God. Marion was so beautiful. She smelled of heather and freesia, and the warmth he knew awaited him inside her beckoned to him. His good intentions to bring his wife to pleasure tonight and not take his, to ease her back into their joining, disappeared in a passion so strong it made him shudder.

  He grasped her hips and put his shaft at her hot, moist entrance. “I can go slow and gentle,” he panted, offering her one last moment to reconsider or command him how to proceed.

  “Don’t even think of it,” she said, her gaze heated as it met his.

  His thoughts all fled but one—possession. And with that single driving need, he plunged into her. She immediately clenched around him, fitting him like a silken glove. Need sent him out of his mind, and his body took over. He lifted her buttocks farther, thrusting deeper, harder, faster, his body pulsing and tensing so very close to release.

  She arched her back, and he knew she was close, as well. His fingers found one of her breasts and circled her hard bud gently as he stroked in and out of her until his entire body tensed, she screamed out her pleasure, and his own release came. The force of it shocked him, and he stilled, his breaths coming in short pants, his heart beating fast, and his seed flowing into Marion, leaving them both spent.

  They collapsed as one onto the bed and lay still, their heavy breathing filling the silence. When his heart slowed, he rolled to his side and traced a finger over her flat stomach. She turned her head toward him, her green eyes wistful. He understood and pressed a kiss to her stomach.

  “We will make another bairn.”

  “And if we can’t?” she whispered.

  “Then we will be a family, the two of us. And it will be more than enough.”

  She nodded and clasped his hand with her tiny one. If he could keep pain from ever touching her heart again, he’d give his life to do so.

  Iain would have liked to keep Marion in their bedchamber until things were settled with Froste just to keep her safe, but at the beginning of the third week of her recovery, Marion demanded to rejoin castle life. He was about to deny her request when a pounding came at their bedchamber door. Marion burst past Iain, raced to the door, and threw it open.

  A frantic-looking Bridgette stood in the doorway with Graham directly behind her. “I’m sorry to disturb ye, but Alanna’s been in labor for a day, and there’s something wrong. Ye can deliver a bairn, can’t ye?”

  Marion nodded and was out the door and down the stairs before Iain could protest. Left with little choice, he made haste to keep close to her, pushing Graham to move out of his way.

  “How come every time I look ye’re trailing Bridgette?” Iain demanded when the women turned the corner ahead of them, going out of sight for a moment.

  Graham flushed. “I love her.”

  “Ye’re too young to ken what it means to love a woman.”

  “I’m nae too young,” Graham growled. “I’m as old as ye were when ye married Catriona.”

  The comment hit Iain like an arrow. He stumbled to a halt. Catriona. He’d not thought of her in weeks. Not once. Yet somehow he knew that if she could speak with him, she’d tell him it was as it should be. It was time for him to truly rejoin life. The guilt he felt over breaking his promise to Catriona lifted like a mist. She would always have a place in his heart, but now Marion did, too.

  They ran the entire way to Rory Mac’s home. Marion and Bridgette made haste to Alanna’s bedside, where Rory Mac paced. Iain entreated his friend to let the women work and wait with him outside, but he refused to leave the room. Iain nodded and stood just outside the cracked door, through which he could see Marion and was ready to intervene should she request his help.

  Rory Mac barked orders at Alanna to simply push the baby out, and Alanna, in turn, screamed at him to get out of the room. Bridgette started fussing at them to stop but it did no good.

  Iain’s eyes widened as Marion picked up a plate and threw it to the floor.

  The shouting abruptly stopped, and everyone looked at her. She marched up to Rory Mac and poked him in the chest. “If you don’t want your wife to die while trying to birth your baby, I think you should leave.”

  Rory Mac gaped at Marion. “Alanna could die?”

  Marion nodded. “Look at her. She’s been in labor far too long. Fatigue is setting in, and soon she will be too tired to help the baby come out at all. Your yelling at her is not making it any easier. You must leave and let us help her.”

  Rory Mac looked as if he was about to argue, but he finally nodded and came out the door. Once it was shut, Iain threw an arm around his friend. “Come. We’ll practice combat.” It was the perfect task to draw his friend’s attention away from what was happening inside, and thankfully, Iain was never without his dagger.

  They practiced with their daggers and then took turns shooting Rory Mac’s bow while Alanna’s yells occasionally punctuated the relative silence.

  “I’m going back in,” Rory Mac finally demanded after several hours had passed. “Alanna needs me.”

  “Aye, she needs ye to stay out here and be strong. Ye will be in the way in there, and ye ken as well as I do that she’d nae want ye to see her giving birth.”

  Rory Mac nodded. “Ye’re right, but I feel as if I’ll die if I lose her or the bairn.”

  Iain nodded. “I ken how ye feel, but ye will nae lose them.” As the words left Iain’s mouth, the sound of a door creaking open caused Iain to turn.

  Bridgette strolled out, a large smile on her face, sweat covering her brow, and a baby bundled in her arms. She walked up to Rory Mac and looked up at him as she pulled the plaid the baby was wrapped in down just a bit. “Meet your son,” she whispered as she handed the boy over to him. “He was pointing the wrong way to come out, which was why it took so long, but Marion knew how to turn him.”

  “Thank God for Marion,” Rory Mac exclaimed.

  Iain nodded, feeling exactly the same way.

  By the time Marion and Iain reached the great hall for supper that night, the news of her saving Alanna and her baby had reached every corner of the castle, in large part due to Rory Mac telling the tale to everyone he saw as he went out to spread word of his son.

  Just as they sat down at the dais to eat, Robbie, one of the clan’s fiercest warriors, rushed into the hall and directly to the dais. His wife also had been in labor for far too long, and he begged Marion to attend the birth. Marion quickly agreed, and off they set o
nce again.

  When they returned to their bedchamber later that night, after Marion had successfully helped deliver another bairn into the world, Iain held her in his arms as they lay in bed.

  “What if,” she said in a small voice, “I cannot have another child? Seeing the new bairns today made me see that even though I fear losing a babe, I’m more afraid I’ll never have one. And then we won’t have a family, and you’ll be disappointed, and—”

  He kissed her to silence her. When he pulled away, he looked into her eyes. “We are already a family, a ghràidh. Dunnae fash yerself. We will simply enjoy the process of trying to make a bairn, and if it happens, so be it. If nae, we have each other.”

  Before more could be said on the subject, a knock came at the door. “Iain,” Lachlan called. “A note just arrived for ye from King Edward.”

  Iain took in his wife’s wide eyes. “Dunnae worry,” he whispered and kissed her forehead before he went to the door and opened it. He took the scroll from Lachlan, broke the seal, and read.

  “What does it say?” Lachlan asked.

  Iain suddenly felt Marion pressed at his back. He turned and drew her to his side and then spoke. “King Edward wishes for me to return to England presently to set the official terms of David’s release.”

  “Why do ye look troubled?” Lachlan asked. “It’s a good thing, aye?”

  Iain gripped Marion tighter before he answered. “Aye, the release, when it actually happens, will be good. But he also says he’s received word that de Lacy and Froste are gathering troops against him, and he feels more certain than ever that he’ll need me, er, us”—he locked gazes with Lachlan—“to fight with him.”

  Marion stiffened in his arms. “So you are going to war?”

  “Nae yet,” he soothed. “King Edward is cunning, however. He has now promised, in writing, to set the terms to make me believe he will keep his vow. Thus, when called for help, I will aid him.”