by Mary Wine
She honestly wasn’t sure if she was telling him or herself.
His lips curled up as he flashed his teeth at her. “Why no’? Ye’re me wife.”
“And ye know why.” She blinked at him, trying to recover her poise. Katherine. Yes. That was the reason for everything. “Katherine is the reason I am here. After we are away, we’ll get an annulment…”
She had to avert her gaze to get her mind focused on the plan.
“After ye’ve convinced everyone that I had ye?” Marcus shook his head. “Ye came here to prevent a grave injustice, Helen. I’ll no’ be gaining me freedom by disgracing ye.”
“Concern for my good name?” she inquired in surprise. “It is far too late for that. As ye said when ye lined yer men up before me,” she said, “I’ve been away from home too long for anyone to consider me virtue still intact. At least this way, there is some purpose to everything that has befallen me.”
And that meant she needed to take the last bit of action needed. Helen stiffened her spine and walked back toward him. She sat down and forced her stiff hands to pull up her skirts until only a bit of her chemise guarded her sex. She couldn’t dwell on how exposed she felt. There was a rustle from the chain as Marcus moved. At least the sound of metal grating over stone renewed her sense of purpose.
But it still took a great deal of nerve to sit steady as he settled beside her.
He was everything men were expected to be. Marcus didn’t shrink from his duty, and he was loyal to the core. Indeed, he was the sort of man she might have been very happy to have courting her. Of course, those girlhood dreams had long since vanished into the past.
“Use that dagger to open the wound a bit, so the blood flows.”
Helen pulled the dagger again, only hesitating because sinking it into him wasn’t holding the satisfaction she had sometimes dreamed it might. Instead, she bit her lower lip as she used the blade to reopen the wound on the back of his head.
He didn’t make a sound until he’d rolled over and settled his head directly in the notch of her thighs. She was breathless, a crazy twist of excitement going through her.
“I should likely thank ye for no’ cutting deeper.”
She was suddenly tongue-tied. He was just as big and overwhelming as ever, yet his head was resting against her thighs, and she would be a liar if she didn’t admit there was something she liked about having him so close. Maybe if they had met at a spring festival, she might have embraced the things he stirred in her. It would be an outright lie to say she did not want to know him better. And if she was not mistaken, he was teasing her. Beneath the gruff exterior, there were remnants of the boy he’d once been.
“I never wanted yer blood.”
He choked on a chuckle. “So hitting me with that pitcher was.…just a.…what, lass?”
The memory made her smile. “A reminder. Of manners. Ye were acting like a whoremaster, lining yer men up like that and setting them on me.”
“Ah.” He made a low sound in the back of his throat. “Maybe I deserved it, at that.”
“Ye disagree with me.” She shrugged. “Men and women often do.”
He nodded, the motion sending a soft sensation through her belly. She looked away, feeling like something very private had just been exposed to him.
“Ye’ve been serving in the kitchens.”
It wasn’t really a question, but it did give her something to sink her attention into that didn’t allow her to feel uncertain. When it came to her circumstances at MacPherson Castle, she was very, very sure how she felt.
“Servants are paid.” Helen leaned back against the stone wall and felt its rough edges against her scalp. “I assure ye, I was not.”
His expression tightened, surprising her so that she returned her gaze to his.
“Ye should no’ have hid from me. I would have righted yer circumstances if I’d known ye were being treated unfairly.”
“I did nae hide.” She pushed at him. “Get up.”
Marcus didn’t move for a moment, giving her a steady look that dared her to force him. Helen felt her eyes narrow. “Well then, ye want to play the part of me devoted suitor, completely at me beck and call…”
He made a rather male sound before he was twisting and sat up next to her. Which gave her the chance to laugh at his expense. “Ye have more than yer share of pride, and that’s a fact.”
“As do ye, Helen.”
She shifted and stood, moving away from him. She’d only taken a quick glance at the blood staining her chemise. It would serve its purpose. That should have been what her thoughts settled on, but all she ended up doing was dwelling upon what he’d said and the way her sex felt so very sensitive. As though she was eager for him to touch her.
“I never saw ye in the hall. Little wonder ye did nae find the MacPhersons’ castle to be a fine place. Ye did nae give it a chance. Me father makes sure there is fine music and good drink in the evenings. He is nae an overly stern laird. Ye should nae have stayed away, nursing yer pride.” His tone was kinder than she’d heard from him before. It declared a level of sincerity that sent a little twist of excitement through her.
Yet it also needled her temper.
“Nursing me pride?” She turned on him. “I was working because I was nae a MacPherson, so was nae due any free time to indulge in comforts. I toiled more hours than there was sunlight, and if I made the mistake of resting me head on the table and was discovered, I got a taste of the rod being laid across me back. The blasted thing leaves welts. Ye brought me there, it was no’ me place to go whining to ye.”
She’d seen his disapproval before. Been the recipient time and again, but now she witnessed it crossing his face on her behalf. It unsettled her, leaving little seeds of doubt about just how guilty he was.
“Duana is more of a bitch than I seem to have noticed.”
Helen scoffed at the Head of House’s name. “She is hardly alone. What did ye expect when ye dropped me off the back of yer horse and swore ye’d burn me father’s house to the ground if I strayed?”
“I certainly had nae thought she was working ye like a slave,” he answered. “Ye have never had any difficulty speaking yer mind to me, Helen. Admit ye were holding on to yer pride.”
His point was valid. He was the War Chief, his day full of pressing matters that affected many, and she was but one person.
“If I was, ye can nae fault me, seeing as it was the only thing I had left to call me own,” she shot back. “Ye stole me in me house shoes. It was a mighty cold winter, I can tell ye.”
And she didn’t like thinking about it. Helen pulled her knees up and leaned against the stone wall, closing her eyes in some vain hope that sleep might arrive and still her thoughts. Was she expecting him to have a personal interest in her? Yes. She had to admit it was so. Still, she couldn’t seem to reconcile herself to cooling her temper, in spite of knowing she was not making much sense.
Well, at least that brought her back to a place she knew very well. When it came to Marcus, she had more impulses than sense. Better to bite her lip and keep the shame of it to herself.
* * *
Marcus caught sight of one of her boots. They were fine ones that reached halfway up her calves to keep her warm when the snow drifted. They were also new, which meant Ailis had made sure Helen was provided for.
He should have seen to her.
But what did he know of the things a captive needed? Perhaps if she’d been a man… Well, he’d not have taken her if she were male. It was a harsh truth that he’d shouldered, because taking her had been the only solution to protect her from her kin.
“Your brothers are too inexperienced to know that the Gordons are trying to use them.”
Helen resisted the urge to open her eyes and look at him. Marcus admitted to enjoying the way she tried to ignore him—and failed. He liked knowing he held her
interest, could rouse her passion.
His eyes narrowed because he’d caught a whiff of her scent while he lay with his head in her lap. His cock was hard beneath his kilt.
And she was wet.
They were always nipping at each other, and he realized it was because there was a pull between them. Something they hadn’t planned to discover in the other person, or could decide to cultivate. More than one arranged match had discovered that sad truth.
It made him want to dig into her anger, pull it apart so that they might find a resolution that would grant them the peace to allow other feelings to flourish. A woman had the right to be angry about being stolen. He would not begrudge her that.
“I needed to make certain ye would stay in the castle, Helen. A lone woman trying to cross the Highlands…it is no’ safe,” he offered softly. “I did nae want to bind ye, or lock ye in a cellar, or set someone on ye. So I made sure ye had nowhere to go.” He grunted. “At least until Debra Grant arrived.”
She let out a little huff. “I am no’ senseless enough not to hear the truth in yer words.” She didn’t look at him, her admission coming out in a whisper that tugged on something inside him. Damned if he didn’t want to fold her into his arms and soothe away what troubled her.
He was a War Chief, not a bloody poet.
Better to stick to what he knew.
“The Gordons were making trouble for all the estates along the borders, in the hope they might make the tenants doubt the MacPhersons.”
She turned to look at him at last. “Fine, ye stole me for all the best reasons, and no, I would no’ have preferred bloodshed or being chained.”
His gaze went to the collar he was locked in. For a moment, he felt they had more in common than he’d ever imagined a woman and a man might. He’d been raised to think women settled into their circumstances. Now, he realized they were forced to that end and it grated on them as much as he hated the chains binding him at the moment. Morton had fine reasoning for his forced match as well.
“I was sick with the thought of what Morton wanted me to do with Katherine. Christ, Helen, she’s but a child. I would have scared her to death. Ye have me gratitude.”
Helen failed to control a smile that lifted the corners of her mouth. It lasted only a moment before she rolled her lips in to control her response.
He liked the fact that she struggled to do so.
“Ye are nae so fearsome.”
“And yet, ye never came to me.” He cut back to the matter that was his purpose. “Ye should have.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“And ye label me stubborn, woman,” he groused.
“Rightly so, when ye resist the solution Brenda and I bring ye.” Helen had moved so she was facing him, leaning toward him to keep her voice low. “Do ye have any idea how hard it was to find two women willing to distract the guards so we might get that priest in here? We are newly arrived and have no coin between us.”
“I wondered how ye managed that bit.” Marcus dropped his voice, wanting to draw her closer. She was straining to hear him. “And there is another reason why the pair of ye should no’ have left MacPherson land.”
She offered him a smug look. “And just where would ye be if I was no’ here?”
Marcus drew in a deep breath. “I told ye I’m grateful to ye.”
It was clearly what she’d wanted him to say, but the smugness dissipated from her face as she absorbed his words.
“Did that no’ please ye as much as ye thought it should have?”
She offered him an honest look. “Nay. ’Tis the truth I am more angry on yer behalf. Ye are an honorable man, and this…is injustice.”
“Yet in the name of peace.”
They stared at one another for a long moment, caught in the grip of truth and its harsh edges.
“I should have made sure ye were treated better,” he said as he started to chuckle. “Truth is, I’ve never encountered a woman who would no’ complain. It never crossed me mind that ye’d bear up, just to prove to me that ye might.”
She fluttered her eyelashes at the sarcastic twist of his compliment. “It made me strong.” She was toying with the hem of her skirt to avoid looking at him, but realized what she was doing and lifted her chin so their gazes met once more. “It was past time for me to grow up.”
Her anger was cooling, leaving her looking at him as though she had never really done so. The moment was so very odd. She had never thought to have a personal conversation with him. She’d simply never thought he might be interested.
“How old are ye?” he asked.
“Twenty-four.” She was nearly past the age of being considered for marriage.
“Duana will learn the error of her ways,” he said firmly.
“I do nae want yer protection,” she muttered. “Only for ye to lift yer threat against me father’s house.”
“I am yer husband now.”
She’d be wise to recall just how stubborn Marcus was when it came to doing what he thought best for her. “An annulment will be best for both of us. I certainly do nae need to trap ye into this union. Can ye just imagine the stories that will be told about how I took ye unawares?”
He chuckled, the sound menacing. “Careful, lass, the winter is long and I enjoy a good fight. Keep talking like that and I’ll think ye’re tempting me with the promise of entertainment while the snow flies.”
“Ye would,” she answered with a shake of her head. For a moment, they smiled at one another. Marcus was the one to return to a serious expression.
“Yer skirts are stained, lass.”
Helen shook her head. “Everyone knows court is riddled with gossip.” She shot him a look full of certainty. “Besides, ye were the one who told me my name was already beyond redemption. So it matters not.”
“And ye think I would be willing to let ye shoulder the burden by yerself?” Her eyes widened at the tone of his voice. “Ye can be sure of one thing, Helen. It will no’ happen while I have any choice in the matter.”
“Well, ye did nae have any choice,” Helen replied. “No’ any real ones, that is. So we shall simply make the best of it.”
“By getting an annulment?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered, trying to gauge his mood. The man wasn’t making any sense with his probing questions. “Yer father will no’ approve a match with me. Ye’re a son of the laird, so he must have a dozen offers.”
“I am bastard born.”
“That makes little difference,” she said. “Ye are also War Chief.”
He chuckled at her. “Ye misunderstood me statement, lass.” Marcus sent her a stern look. “I am born out of wedlock because me mother had an iron will and refused to wed unless me father converted.”
“That must have raised a scandal.”
“Aye,” he confirmed. “And I have that same will, Helen. Be very certain of that. It is time for both of us to wed.”
She felt something twist in her belly again. It was dangerously close to anticipation. Her mouth had gone dry as she battled the impulse to mince words with him. Half of winning a battle was picking the time to attack. While they were stuck in a cell was poor timing indeed to convince him of the logic in getting an annulment.
“Ye should think the matter through. An annulment would be best for yer father and brother.”
His eyes narrowed, confirming she’d hit his single weak spot.
“The earl will be furious,” Helen continued. “Better to send him word after ye are home that yer father made ye see reason. Ye have annulled the marriage, and ye are ever so repentant.”
“While I stay on MacPherson land where the man can nae try his luck at forcing me to his will?”
Helen shrugged. “He is the regent. Yer brother realized it was necessary to keep in Morton’s good graces.”
Marcu
s set his jaw in disapproval. She knew the look well, having been the recipient of it more times than she might count.
“Ye’ll see the wisdom of it,” Helen offered softly. “In the morning, when the earl comes and finds what we have done.”
And she would have her annulment. Helen was certain of that. Marcus was the War Chief of Clan MacPherson. He would do what was best for his clan, as he always had.
Satisfaction swept through her. There was a victory in knowing she’d been the one to save him, but it was overshadowed by how grateful she was to know that he would be free. Something inside her was strangling at the sight of him chained.
“And if I grant ye an annulment?” he asked her. “What will ye do? Go home and give yer kin the power to make a match for ye?”
“I have nae truly thought about it,” she answered truthfully. “There is Ailis. I enjoy being her companion.”
“As me wife, ye would have yer own waiting woman.”
Helen snorted and rolled her eyes. “Try telling such to Duana. I am tempted to agree to remain yer wife, just to see her face when ye tell her.”
He flashed her a cocky grin.
“Ye’d set yer entire castle on its ear, mark me words,” she told him. “Ye might enjoy it, but the regent will no’ be appeased, and yer clansmen will whisper about how ye should have recalled that as a son of the laird, ye needed to make a match that brought allegiances to the MacPherson. Better to have yer father send Morton a letter saying he has taken ye in hand, once ye are far enough away from this place. The fact that ye are bastard born offers yer father a way of smoothing matters over.”
It was the logical thing to do. So why did it feel wrong? Helen shied away from thinking about it too deeply. What mattered was freeing him and Katherine.
All right, and being the one to decide what was going to happen for a change. She was enjoying that part very much.
“That would be a good way to smooth over the earl’s temper, no doubt.” Marcus agreed.
And that was that. The sharp edge of reality with which she was well acquainted.
Helen leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. This time sleep was much more sympathetic toward her. It swept her up and buffeted her against the storm of reality, granting her peace, at least for a few hours, so she might rest and regain her strength.
