She sniffed in answer and looked away.
Rory drew back beside her as their father moved ahead to lead the way. “Give him a chance to let go of his anger. I’d already given him a blow, sending Fiona on as I did to Perth. He’s given her a place there, but gave me an earful when I left her.” Rory didn’t seem to be disturbed by his father’s certain tirade, in fact seemed far too cheerful in her mind.
Mary glared at her brother. She’d heard all about Fiona already, how the two of them had met and Fiona had saved Rory’s leg. “How did ye make him do it?”
Rory looked at her innocently, obviously aware she meant Nicholas. He shifted the crutch tucked under a strap beneath his leg “Do what, lass?”
“What did ye hold over Nicholas’s head?”
Rory rubbed his jaw as he studied her. “Nicky has a mind of his own, lass. There was no forcing anything. I do hope ye gave him a might of trouble for his efforts. A man can’t appreciate his prize without a bit of a fight.” He looked back at Nicholas riding behind them. “Trust me lass, the option wasn’t as unfavorable as all that. Even in that dress.” He chuckled and urged his horse forward while Malcolm gripped her arm to keep her from dismounting and going after Rory.
“It was a compliment, sister,” Malcolm declared. “An off one perhaps, but Rory’s right, the man’s keen on ye.”
Mary looked back at Nicholas, her heart fluttering at the thought.
**
A tiny, dark-haired woman greeted them in Perth, standing in the doorway of the main house, hands pressed against her chest. Rory slid off his horse, and then tucking his crutch under his arm, limped across the drive to her side to kiss her soundly on the lips.
Nicholas shook his head with a wry sense of justice. The two seemed to fit together, opposites at first glance, yet seemed connected even so.
Maelcolm Beg, for all of his bluster, dismounted and then kissed the woman’s cheek, smiling as he went inside.
William and Malcolm looked at each other and then between them, nearly dragged a protesting Mary inside as well, leaving the Mackays in the courtyard alone but for the guardsmen milling around.
Donald dismounted, allowing one of the grooms to take his horse. He looked around curiously. “A grant from the King, it’s said.”
Nicholas surveyed the small holding. “Aye, Robert the Bruce gave the land for services rendered handily by the young Malcolm at Bannockburn. Malcolm invented the caltrops.”
Donald lifted a brow. “Indeed, an impressive weapon so I am told. I didn’t want to get involved with the fight,” he sighed. “I never expected Robert to do so well.”
Bastian grunted sourly from beside Nicholas. “I wanted to join the Bruce but Da wouldn’t hear it. We heard ye’d come back, Johnnie Ross saw ye. Expected to find ye dead at Bannockburn, in fact.”
“You think the English better?” Nicholas chided.
Sebastian poked Nicholas in the ribs, earning a grunt. “Nay, but ye were outnumbered, man. If it weren’t for that ploy of the Drummonds, ye’d be dead.”
“But I’m not,” Nicholas declared as the young woman approached them.
“I was asked to take you inside, my lords,” she said quietly. She smiled at them hesitantly, eyeing Nicholas curiously. “Rory said you were wounded, is it the arm?”
Nicholas glanced briefly at the blood on his sleeve. “It is nothing.”
She pulled aside the fabric to peer at the wound. “I am Fiona. Your arm needs stitches, a few more than ye’d like.” She drew him forward purposely, leaving him no room to decline. He smiled, amused by her formidable expression, the fingers that brooked no argument to her intended care. He could only imagine her with Rory and almost laughed at the thought.
Inside she pushed him onto a seat by the fire, ordering the servants as if she’d lived there all her life. The Mackays were quickly entrenched in the hall with ale and food. Donald watched Fiona stitch Nicholas’s arm while Sebastian moved off to a corner with some of the other clansmen. Nicholas gritted his teeth as she worked the needle, it was only another pain to join those he already had.
Maelcolm Beg sat on another bench smoking a pipe.
Mary sat at his feet, plucking at the remains of her dress, her gaze lifting furtively at times to watch Fiona with a frown. Nicholas watched her expression as Fiona continued. Perhaps it meant something for Mary to dislike Fiona’s attentions.
Fiona leaned forward to bite the string free and patted his arm. “Keep it dry for now, lad. I’ll bring ye something to ward off any infection inside.”
Rory gestured to his knee and she sat down, curling against his chest.
Donald gripped Nicholas’s shoulder. He spoke however, to the Drummond chieftain. “The lass needs a bit more than a torn dress to be wed to a Mackay,” he said. “Give them a day to recover, and for us to discuss the final agreements to be had between us.”
Maelcolm Beg studied Donald intently and then finally agreed. “Aye, that’ll do.”
Nicholas watched Mary leave the hall with Fiona.
“Tis not all bad, Nicky,” Rory said in a low voice. “Ye will thank me in the end.”
Nicholas smiled faintly. He would do whatever was necessary. Saving Mary from her father’s intended wedding was not such a bad idea; it amused him to defy Maelcolm Beg’s intentions, just as he had defied his father’s. What he hadn’t expected was to feel happy about it.
***
Sebastian Mackay waited in the shadows for his brother. Nicholas strode down the steps from the Drummond manor, his head down, his thoughts clearly on what would transpire tomorrow. Bastian was not surprised that his brother had gotten himself embroiled in this insane affair of kidnapping and forced marriage. It fit the man Sebastian knew, a man always involved in things he shouldn’t. Or perhaps, Sebastian decided, this was the first time Nicholas had gotten things right.
Rory and the Drummonds were a loyal lot to both their sister and clan. They would be a welcome ally in the days to come.
Nicholas headed for a small shed where the Drummonds had set up a bath and Sebastian followed silently, bare feet padding on the ground.
“You’ve lost your touch, Bastian,” Nicholas complained without looking over his shoulder.
Sebastian merely grunted in amusement.
Nicholas pulled off his tunic and dropped it on the ground. He kicked off his boots and then peeled off the rest of his clothes. Climbing into the bath, he slid gingerly into the hot water.
Bastian sat on a wooden cask nearby, noting Nicholas’s new wounds with concern. He picked up one of Nicholas’s boots to inspect it. “Ye’ve been through hell, Nicky.”
Nicholas grunted in agreement, sliding beneath the water before reappearing, blinking. “And more to come, perhaps,” he said wryly.
“Ah, not with that lass.” Sebastian argued, grinning. He picked up a brush and began to scrub the leather in his hands. “Mary is a fine lady. She’ll be a bird in hand before ye know it.”
Nicholas splashed water over his face and then shoved his hands into his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. A few strands dropped stubbornly back over his brow when he leaned back against the back of the tub. “I left to avoid this kind of situation,” he complained dryly. “Amusing is it not that I am back where I left off at seventeen?”
Bastian smiled faintly, looking up from the boot. “She reminds me of that Macleod wench we met at Samhain before ye left.”
Nicholas looked at Bastian curiously. “That was a bloody long time ago.”
Sebastian shrugged. He’d never been able to forget her. “Aye, ’twas just a memory.”
Nicholas sat up to lean forward, his gaze intent on Sebastian. “She’s a Macleod, Bastian.”
Sebastian met his brother’s gaze and smiled mischievously. “Aye, so she was.”
Nicholas frowned, his green eyes piercing. “You know any interest in that wench will put you in harm’s way, Sebastian Mackay.”
Basti
an grinned and picked up Nicholas’s other boot. “Aye, and ye will be right beside me if I need ye.”
***
Nicholas woke to find Fiona hovering just over his chest, her fingers gripped tightly around his wrist to stay the dagger in his hand. He blinked to clear his gaze and then shoved her from him, sitting up. He glared at her as he tucked the dagger into his boot. “I could have stabbed you, lass.”
Fiona laughed softly and settled back onto her heels. “I’m not so easy to kill, Highlander.”
Nicholas ran a hand through his hair with a scowl, unsettled that she had been able to come upon him unaware. “Still, you should be more careful.”
“I am not a fool,” Fiona replied. “I knew you would not harm me, a warrior as fine as you are would be controlled no matter how awake.”
He shook his head ruefully and then stretched, noting the sun was already streaming through the high windows of the manor. “All the same, ‘tis not wise to wake a man so.” Nicholas grimaced as she poked at his arm and began to remove the bandages she had wrapped around it last night. The wound looked healthy; her stitches neat and precise. It would heal well, a mark of her skill. Feeling more awake, he touched her hand to still her fingers. “How is Mary?”
Fiona looked up from her inspection, a small smile curving her lips. “She is nervous as all brides are, Highlander. Yet she is also determined for some reason to save ye from the wrath of her kin.” Fiona’s gaze shifted past his shoulder. “Sometimes we get a burr we cannot ignore nor know why we must act upon it.”
Fiona shook her head and returned her gaze to his arm. She pressed a bit of salve over the wound from a bowl beside her. Seeming unwilling to say more, she grew silent while Nicholas studied her. She seemed far too innocent for the likes of Rory Drummond.
As if reading his mind, she paused, her fingers gripping his arm. “I can hear yer thoughts, Nicholas Mackay. You wonder how is it that I’ve come to be here, to be with the big Scot, eh?”
Nicholas nodded faintly. “Aye.”
“Perhaps it is simply fate,” Fiona murmured. She began to rewrap his arm efficiently. “As Mary does for you , I saw a man needing saving. I did what I could, with a bit of a struggle mind you, with them surgeons, bastards they are. Kill a man all for science they will.” She growled beneath her breath and then sighed. Her gaze locked with his as she continued. “My kin found me with Rory at the inn, wed us immediately upon finding me in his bed.” She didn’t blush but looked at Nicholas intently. “I’d do it again, ye ken? Some things are just meant to be, aye?”
Nicholas covered her hand with his. “I know you met him at Bannockburn, but not how.”
Fiona began to gathered her things. She stood up and then frowned down at him. “Oh the tale is a long one, lad. Just know we were meant to be together as are you with Mary. She’ll do well for you, but I see danger as yet in yer future.”
“Have you the sight?”
Fiona laughed softly. “Oh no, that is for charlatans, lad. I see it plain like a halo around yer head – and hers. Just be aware.” She walked away, her words setting his nerves on edge.
Chapter 9
The ceremony went quietly, a blur of memories Nicholas knew would sit in his mind to mark the day: Donald Mackay offering a small ring he pulled from his finger. “It was your mother’s,” his father had said. Nicholas had taken it reluctantly, aware that the token was a treasure. The sunlight sifting through the murky windows had settled directly on Mary while she stared at the ring, her gaze when it had lifted full of determination, without hesitation at all in marrying a man she hardly knew. And finally, the wondrous sight of the woman herself, laced tightly into a gown of sapphire blue, her hair a pale waterfall down her back covered only by a thin circlet of silver over her brow. His heart had stopped at that point, his tongue too thick to speak coherently; amazed that he could function at all, to say the words that would bind them while holding her tiny hand in his before the droll friar.
Then it was over.
The dinner feast afterwards became raucous, the men toasting the new couple repeatedly. Nicholas touched nothing, ate nothing, his stomach in knots. He felt like he had at sixteen when facing his first woman and unable to know how it might go.
Rory smiled knowingly, Fiona often on his lap, uncaring that all watched them snuggle and kiss.
Nicholas could only shake his head. He sat beside Mary, the bench uncomfortable, his chest tight with uncertainty. It was done. Mary was bound to him, to the Mackay. Time would only tell if the lass was sturdy enough to handle the brutality of the Highlands. Rory’s threat reminded him what he had yet to do, and looking at Mary, felt a sharp stab of desire.
They finally retired. Nicholas stood at the window of their room with Mary behind him. He leaned out hoping the night air would chill the desire heating his blood. He could hear her moving about, pacing the room like a caged cat. Clothing rustled behind him and Nicholas swallowed, waiting for some word, some gesture or noise even, that told him how she felt. Imagining her without the dress, in nothing at all made him groan. Would she deny him? Was she so innocent that she might now be cowering in the bed, afraid to make a sound at all? He turned his head to look over his shoulder and then nearly laughed at the sight.
Mary lay on the bed in her shift, spread eagle, arms and legs stretched out in offering.
His nervous tension evaporated, replaced with a heady dose of lust. “What the bloody hell are you doing?” Nicholas inquired dryly.
She stared at the ceiling, her lip caught between her teeth. His body leaped at the sight, the urge to kiss her intense.
“I’m ready,” she finally said.
He snorted, catching the laughter that threatened to demean them both. “For what, lass?”
She didn’t look at him. “For ye know, what all married people do,” Mary said stiffly.
Nicholas grinned and crossed the room to scoop Mary off the bed and into his arms. He carried her near the fire and sat down, settling her in his lap. Her shift nearly sheer, he drew his eyes away from the delectable treasures waiting his touch and looked at her face instead. Mary’s eyes were closed, her body stiff against him, yet her hands had slid against his chest, fingers resting against his skin. Heat spread through him at her touch, stoking the already raging fire in his blood. He coughed and then rested his gaze instead on her face. “May I ask a personal question,” he inquired.
Mary glanced at him briefly before tacking her gaze to his chest. She folded her hands primly in her lap and then nodded. “Aye, ye have the right.”
He lifted one of her hands and kissed her fingers, while watching her expression. She swallowed at his touch, eyes growing wide as he pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. Dropping his gaze, Nicholas decided to be blunt. “Are ye innocent, lass?”
Looking up from beneath her lashes, he noted a worried frown creased Mary’s brow and then was gone. She inhaled deeply. “No.”
He tightened his grip on her waist when she shifted to rise. He pulled her closer in order to inhale the scent that surrounded her, the faint hint of lilac, of sunlight and home. He breathed a faintly relieved sigh. “Thank god.”
Mary flinched and leaned back to stare at him in surprise. “Ye are not angry, Nicholas?”
He pulled her back against him, his hand against her back to hold her close. Kissing her chin he chuckled. “Hell no, I hate dealing with virgins.”
She stiffened and lifted her chin out of his reach. “Have ye had that many then?”
Nicholas grinned at her discomfort. He brushed his fingers over the edge of her shift, marveling at the soft feel of her skin. She shivered at his touch. “Nay, Mary, there has been very few. I will not lie and tell you none; I have slept with more than I care to admit.”
She grunted, perhaps in disbelief. He lifted his fingers to caress the line of her jaw. “There were none so fine as you , lass.”
She fixed her gaze on his chest again and pressed her hands once m
ore to his skin inside his shirt. He shuddered at the touch, wanted nothing more than to rip the shift from her shoulders to view what was now his. Instead he pulled her closer to smell her hair again. Her skin was soft beneath his fingers, her lips open as he kissed her throat. It was a relief not to have to be the one to breach the woman’s virginity, yet the thought of another man in her arms made him nearly mad. He resisted the urge to demand names and pressed another kiss to her throat. She shuddered beneath his attention, holding her breath.
“Why are you so frightened if you know what is to happen,” he murmured. “Was it not enjoyable?” He looked up to gauge her reaction.
Mary blushed and twisted her fingers into his sleeve. “There was only one,” she admitted, avoiding his gaze. “I am sure ‘twas fine.”
He nearly growled as jealousy reared its ugly head, but coughed instead to relieve the fire in his chest. Clearly, the act had not been memorable. “You weren’t forced?” Nicholas asked in a low voice, needing clarification at the thought.
Mary looked at him in surprise. “Nay, Nicholas, it was my agreement that led to it. ?Ye can strike me if ye must.” She closed her eyes, her body suddenly tense as if waiting, perhaps, for a blow.
He gripped her chin to force her to open her eyes. “I’d never hurt you , Mary, not like that, nor do I have cause to do so.”
“Ye have the right,” Mary whispered. “Ye deserve a pure woman in yer bed, not one … tainted.”
He shook his head. Nay, after what he’d done in bringing her from Drymen, he deserved far less. “It matters little to me that you have had a lover before,” Nicholas declared firmly. He smiled and lifted her chin so he could see her expression. “I gather the event was not – pleasurable.”
Mary’s eyes widened and she looked away. “Of course it was.”
Nicholas smiled in amusement. He stood and carried her back to the bed. Bracing his hands beside her head, he leaned over her. “It should be a pleasurable affair for both man and wife, do you not agree?”
Fianna Leighton - Tales of Clan Mackay Page 7
