Gilbert smiled and held out his hand. “Come,” he said gently. “The priest awaits. It is time for us to be married.”
“Never!” she shouted. And for the first time since the night of her capture, Aileen lost control.
***
In the morning after he returned to Ellandonan with Lady Margaret, Niall strode into the laird’s private chambers. The summons was no surprise, but he didn’t know exactly what to expect. He did know one thing—no matter what the laird’s reaction to the demise of his men and the rescue of his daughter, Niall was determined to convey his intentions regarding Aileen.
The laird faced away from him, staring out the arrow-slit window at a cloudless blue sky. Once past the threshold, Niall stopped, clasping his hands behind his back. “You called for me, milord?”
Mackenzie turned from the window, strode toward Niall, clutched his shoulders, and pulled him into a firm embrace. Niall’s jaw dropped open at the sight of silvery tears streaking the laird’s face.
“Thank you for saving her,” Mackenzie murmured. “Margaret is the daughter of my heart.”
Awkwardly, Niall patted the other man’s shoulder. The display of fatherly affection constricted his heart. “How is the lass?”
The three-day journey back to Ellandonan had been difficult. Nightmares had plagued her. Niall had employed a woman to chaperone her, but Margaret would have nothing to do with her. She panicked every time Niall left her sight. She only allowed him to leave her when her old nursemaid had come to comfort her after they’d arrived at Ellandonan last night, and even then, she had been reluctant to let him go.
The laird pulled back but kept his hands on Niall’s shoulders. “She’s well. Recovering from the ordeal.” His lips twisted. “If the Earl of Dolphinton still wants her, he’ll have to come fetch her himself. And he’ll have to bring an army of Lowlanders with him for my daughter’s protection.”
Niall breathed a sigh of relief. “She is a good lass, milord—she’ll make the earl a fine wife.”
“I shudder to think of what might’ve happened if you hadna come…”
“I only did what any honorable man would’ve done,” Niall said. Though he wasn’t a man of honor, not for the betrayal of his oath he was prepared to commit.
He looked into the laird’s eyes. They were light blue, like his daughter’s, and at the moment, as earnest as he’d ever seen them.
“Milord, before we continue, I have something I must tell you—”
The laird raised his hand to stop him from saying more. “Anything,” he said. “You may have whatever holding, whatever amount of money you desire. As long as you don’t bankrupt me. Think on it carefully, Niall, for this is the only time I will make this offer.”
Niall’s fists clenched and unclenched at his sides in a single, convulsive movement.
“Aileen Munro.”
The laird didn’t appear surprised. He released Niall’s shoulders and returned to the window, where he looked out at the clear morning sky, crossing his arms over his chest.
“This has naught to do with Dornoch or her lands, does it?”
“Not at all.”
“If she had not a shilling to her name?”
“Then I’d still want her.”
“You love my sister.”
“I do, milord.”
“You’d care for her, no matter what?”
“I would. I know you have betrothed her to another, but—”
The laird held up his hand to stop him. “Nay, I haven’t. I destroyed the betrothal documents. I dinna trust Gilbert Dunbar. I sense…a shadow of evil within him.”
Niall released a long breath of relief. Thank God. Thank God Mackenzie hadn’t married her to such a man—again—and thank God that she was free.
“Will your decision jeopardize your contract with the Earl of Dolphinton?”
“I doubt it. Dunbar was instrumental in the beginning, but Dolphinton and I have an understanding. I think he trusts Dunbar about as much as I do.” His lips twisted. “No farther than I can throw him.”
Niall moved closer to the laird. “I’d never let Aileen come to harm. I will protect her. Always.”
The laird sighed. “I believe you.”
Niall tensed. The resignation in the Mackenzie’s tone was impossible to miss.
“I would summon the priest right now…if I could,” Mackenzie continued. “But she’s gone.”
“Gone? Where?” Niall didn’t understand. Why would she have returned to Dornoch?
“Gilbert Dunbar.” The laird’s features hardened. “He took her from Ellandonan beneath my very nose.”
“He…?”
“He kidnapped her.”
Every inch of Niall’s body went still. “When?” he bit out.
“Five days ago.”
“Where did he take her?”
“My best guess is that he’d take her to his closest holding, Castle Aird, just south of Beauly.”
Primal fury threatened to cloud his reason. Niall clenched his fists, fighting the sweeping, overpowering rage. She would not spend Christmas in fear. She’d spend Christmas with him. There was no other option.
“I’ll find her.”
The corner of John’s mouth quirked upward. “Aye, Niall. I imagine you will.”
Niall sprinted into action. Within the hour, he was headed away from Ellandonan, a small army of men at his back.
Only then did he realize it had been too easy. Men had awaited him in the bailey, armored and ready. His horse had stood at the gate, already saddled and chomping at the bit.
It dawned on Niall that if he hadn’t arrived to take charge, the laird would have led the army to rescue Aileen himself.
Grimly, Niall spurred his mount, heading southeast—the direction he’d arrived from only yesterday. This time, though, he had an army of men with him.
He wouldn’t fail her this time.
***
It all happened in a blur. Keeping her wrists bound, three men held a struggling Aileen upright as the priest—a round man with bulging eyes—stuttered through the vows. Though the man seemed to have some sympathy for her plight, given the dirk pointed at his throat, he had no choice but to bless the union.
By sundown, Aileen was legally married to Gilbert Dunbar.
Gilbert himself had been the only calm person present, a beatific smile spread over his features as he promised to love and cherish her until death did they part.
She refused to acknowledge the priest or speak the vows. Instead she spat at the men who held her and only laughed bitterly when one of them threatened her with disembowelment. Gilbert wouldn’t have her disemboweled. He wanted her to live and to suffer.
When the priest pronounced them man and wife, a deadly calm settled over her.
She was married again, to another boor—this one far worse than the last.
With one last pitying look at her, the priest departed, leaving Aileen with Gilbert and his men, more exhausted, drained, and alone than she’d ever felt in her life. The scratches on her arms and chest burned, and her limbs ached. A line of blood trickled down the back of her arm.
Gilbert finally came within touching distance of her. He grabbed her chin between hard fingers and forced her to look into his dark eyes. “You know what comes next, wife.”
As much as her pride demanded that she spit in his face, she let her defeat show in her slumped shoulders and downcast eyes.
“Aye.”
His voice was rough—with anger or passion, Aileen couldn’t tell. “Munro was too weak to tame you. MacRae is an imbecile. But I am neither weak nor stupid.”
She didn’t answer this time.
He moved close—too close. She smelled his minty breath as it washed over her face, and her stomach heaved.
“I can hardly wait,” he whispered.
Aileen swallowed down her nausea. Tears were easy enough to conjure, and she let them flow freely. Very well, let him think her a weak, defeated female.
“There is naught I can do to stop you.” She looked back up into his cold, cruel eyes. “Husband.”
Gilbert Dunbar smiled.
Chapter Fourteen
Fury at his wife’s stubborn behavior had nearly overcome Gilbert during the marriage ceremony. It was almost impossible to allow his men to subdue Aileen when all he wanted was to pummel her into submission. But Rufus’s hand on his arm reminded him to be calm, and he’d somehow maintained a peaceful façade and forged his way through it.
Ultimately, it didn’t matter. All that truly mattered was that she was finally his. All his. Every part of her. It would be Christmas in a week, and Hogmanay a week after that. A new year, a new life…with Aileen submitting to him. So many reasons to rejoice.
The best part was that Gilbert had literally watched the fight drain out of Aileen as the priest blessed their union. They were finally married under God. She knew as well as he did that nothing could tear that asunder—not even the laird. Nothing but death could separate them now.
They dined beside each other, and for the first time since her capture, he agreed to loosen the bonds confining her wrists. Seemingly grateful for this new freedom, Aileen appeared to relish the meal. She didn’t meet his eyes or speak, but she sat beside him docilely, oozing what he would like to imagine as a state of wary contentment. And as the hours passed and wine lightened the mood of the dining hall, her mood seemed to lighten as well.
She seemed to have accepted her fate.
Tossing back his cup of whisky, Gilbert slid a long glance at her. Tonight would end it all. The years of painful longing. Of torture. She was finally his. He wanted to sing it, shout it to the rafters.
He couldn’t wait to fuck her, to complete the bond he had forged by marrying her. The bond he’d always intended to forge. His prick had been rigid with anticipation almost constantly since he’d called for the priest this morning. Now it was past midnight, and he was ready for her.
It was time.
Rising abruptly, he announced that he and his wife would now retire. Amidst cheers and catcalls, he nodded at one of his guards to follow them from the hall. Walking into his chamber, he turned in time to watch his man push her over the threshold and follow her inside, gripping her arm roughly.
She stood before him, as meek as a kitten. For once, she did not sneer with superiority nor strain and fight against the man who held her. Finally, Gilbert had the chance to look her over from head to toe. Could it be true? Had she actually resigned herself to her fate? Gilbert couldn’t help but be a little surprised—he hadn’t expected to conquer her so completely so soon.
Yet perhaps he should have expected it. She understood her duty. After all, she had been a loyal, docile wife to Munro, a brute of a man, for ten solid years.
She still wore the tattered shift and plaid she’d been wearing the night he’d abducted her from Ellandonan. Not appropriate attire for the lady of Castle Aird, certainly. A pang of something—certainly not guilt—flashed through him. He had striven to look his best today, and she looked like a serving wench. Perhaps he should have allowed her to bathe and dress in something more appropriate for their special day.
He snorted aloud, thinking of the raging madwoman his guards had carried downstairs. It would have been impossible to try to bathe her or to wrangle her into anything else. In any case, it was for the best. The woman didn’t deserve fresh clothing until she’d proven herself.
Beyond the wrinkled, soiled clothing and tangled hair, Aileen was still a beauty. Her wild curls framed her pale, oval-shaped face perfectly. Her eyes were wide-set—such a rare, clear color—and surrounded by long, dark lashes. Dirt smudged her brow, somehow accentuating the beauty of her eyes. Her clothing couldn’t hide her feminine curves and rounded breasts—a little small for his tastes, but he’d touched them before, years ago at Dornoch, and had discovered them to be just the right size to twist in his palm.
His cock twitched in eager anticipation. God, he’d waited so long for this one.
He licked his lips and glanced meaningfully at the bed. “Here we are, Lady Dunbar.”
She winced at the title but met his gaze, brave creature that she was. He’d always known she was no coward.
“Aye.” Her voice was just above a whisper.
“I’ll make you forget. I will wipe you clean of thoughts of any other man.” He sneered, thinking of that uppity prig Niall MacRae. Curious about the man Aileen thought so honorable, he’d watched him from a distance at Ellandonan. The man was so upright, he must keep a stick jammed up his tight arse.
Reaching up, he stroked a finger down her soft cheek. “The honorable Niall MacRae wouldn’t want to sully his flesh by touching yours any more than absolutely necessary to spurt his load into you. He’d probably fuck you through a hole in the bed linens. But I won’t take you through the bedsheet, wife. I’ll be seeing, touching, and owning every part of you.”
She lowered her head to stare mutely at the floor.
The docile little wife. Gilbert liked this new side of her.
He took a step toward her. “Oh no. You can look forward to all sorts of fleshly pleasures when I bed you.”
He flicked his gaze from her to the bed. Understanding the order, the guard moved forward and grabbed Aileen’s arm, prepared to forcibly toss her on the bed and tie her to it, if necessary.
“Nay!” she cried, staring directly at Gilbert, her eyes wide with terror. “Please, Gilbert, please!”
He held up his hand, and the guard froze. This was the first time she’d begged him for anything.
“Come now, Aileen. You have been attempting to prolong the inevitable since we left Ellandonan. But your struggle is over. It is finished. We are husband and wife.”
“’Tis not that, husband,” she whispered, pleading, pleading with those violet eyes.
His heart surged. He did love it when she called him husband.
“You have two choices, my dear,” he said. “You may lie on the bed of your own accord, or my man can hold you down. Either way, you know what is to happen next.”
He watched her throat convulse as she swallowed. Someday—not tonight, for he intended to find his release inside her tonight—he would watch her throat move as she swallowed his seed.
She tossed a terrified glance at the guard. “Please make him go.”
“Why?”
“You’re right—there’s no point in struggling anymore,” she said meekly. “As the priest decreed, we’re married. You’re my husband. I must endure whatever you choose to make me suffer, so there’s no point in fighting. I belong to you now. I’m yours.”
Mine. A surge of triumph welled through him. She was a waif, tiny and helpless. If, later on, she changed her mind about this newfound complacency, he could easily subdue her. Gilbert crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh, really? And you’d prefer me to take you in private?”
“I’ll be…naked, Gilbert. ’Twould be…’twould be immodest.”
Gilbert hesitated. The woman had a point. He’d often seen his men looking at her with lust in their eyes. Damn them. An image of his mother crossed his mind. His beautiful mother, so much like Aileen.
Gilbert had never known the identity of his father for certain.
He’d skewer anyone who touched her.
And yet one of his men was touching her now.
“Release her!” he bellowed.
Instantly, the guard dropped her and backed away.
He waved a hand at the man. Yes, she was right. It would be better if the guard wasn’t present, if the bastard didn’t get any ideas about sinking his cock into Gilbert’s lovely wife. She was for him and for him alone, God damn it.
“Go,” he grunted. “Go back to the hall.”
Eyebrows raised in surprise, the man asked, “You don’t wish one of us to stand guard, milord?”
Gilbert scoffed. Was the bastard implying that he couldn’t handle Aileen on his own? “No. Go away.”
When the man disappeared down the hall,
Gilbert kicked the door shut. “Is that better, my dear?”
Aileen’s eyes watered. “Thank you. Walter, he…”
“He what?” Gilbert asked sharply.
“He was never so kind. Thank you, Gilbert. I never expected…”
That voice. Whenever he’d visited Dornoch, her voice had made him shake with longing. But she’d looked at him with such coldness, such disdain.
He never understood it. All he’d ever wanted was her.
“Take off your clothes.”
“I’m afraid,” she whispered, taking a step backward. “Will you hurt me?”
“Of course not,” he heard himself saying soothingly.
What in hell had provoked him to sound like that? Of course he would hurt her. He wanted to hurt her. Didn’t he?
Gilbert shook his head to release the thick fog that seemed to have permeated it. Too much whisky, perhaps. “Strip,” he mumbled.
“Why do you want me, Gilbert?” Her voice seemed to come from far away, and suddenly images of his mother flooded his head again. He felt like a small lad, like he had just after he’d lost her. Tears pricked his eyes.
She shrugged off her plaid and laid it carefully over a nearby chair. Then she pulled her shift over her head. It slipped out of her fingers and onto the floor.
He hated Aileen Munro, damn her. She had plagued him since her infancy. When he was a lad, his mother had taken him to Dornoch to celebrate her birth. Dornoch was a beautiful castle, a dream world, a fantasy. Everyone there had been so cheerful, so kind to him. It was much different from Castle Aird, where he lived in fear of Colin Dunbar, who’d never really believed Gilbert was his son.
“I’ve always wanted you,” he muttered to Aileen. “Always wanted Dornoch.”
Life at Dornoch had been a dream. He and his mother had stayed for months. The little babe Aileen with her snow-white skin and raven-colored hair had entranced him. He’d wanted to touch her all the time, to hold her, to stroke her soft skin.
A Naughty Little Christmas (Cowboys, Cops, and Kilts: 8 Seasonally Seductive Romances from Bestselling Authors) Page 40
