To Wed A Wicked Highlander bboth-3

by Victoria Roberts

  He studied her thoughtfully for a moment, and then his eyes sent her a private message. He traced his finger across her lip and then his hand slid down. There was no time for words. All of the pent-up energy he had been feeling for days rose in one heated moment. He needed a welcome distraction and she was more than willing. Before sanity crept back in, he tossed her skirts and lifted her to the wall. If Doireann was shocked by his urgency, she did not say so.

  Right now, Alex was not the laird of Glengarry. He was only a man with a single purpose. He looked her over seductively and tugged down her dress over her shoulder. When he exposed her breast, he lowered his head and his lips touched her nipple. She let out mewling sounds, and one of his hands slid down her taut stomach to the swell of her hips, between her legs.

  Leave it to the skillful Doireann—she was ready for him.

  He lifted his kilt and his body imprisoned hers. She was so wet and welcomed him into her body. With thrust after blessed thrust, he yielded to the burning sweetness. She pulled him closer, riding him harder, deeper, burying her hands in his thick hair.

  Her soft curves molded into the contours of his lean body. She was panting, her chest heaving. He took her like an animal, and the degree to which she responded stunned him. She rose to meet him in a moment of uncontrolled passion.

  When she moaned aloud, she roused him to the peak of desire. She gasped in sweet agony, and with one last heavy thrust, he spilled his seed.

  “Alex, ye are going to kill me,” she said, panting.

  He grunted in response. That may not have been one of his most prolonged performances, but it had sated his needs nonetheless. He gently lowered her to the ground and supported her until her legs stopped wobbling. She brushed down her skirts and adjusted her bodice, casting him a wry smile.

  “Are ye dead?” he asked, the huskiness lingering in his tone.

  She stepped around him, and her eyes grew openly amused. “I donna think so. I suppose there is naught much else to say except I will sorely miss that and ye, Laird Alexander MacDonell of Glengarry.”

  A sad smile played on his lips. The carefree moment ended as he suddenly felt burdened by a heavy weight on his shoulders. “Be well, Doireann.”

  She walked to the door and turned around. “Ye and John be sure to stay out of trouble…and harm’s way, Alex.”

  He nodded as she took her leave and then he smirked, realizing the irony. Doireann had walked out of his life and closed the door just like the last chapter of a book. Just as well. All that mattered now was the future. He was laird. He had responsibility, and Alex was bound and determined to make his father proud.

  Two

  Kintail, Scotland

  Lady Sybella MacKenzie huffed. “I donna know why ’tis so important I learn to do this. Why is it expected that women must learn to sew and stitch? ’Tis truly ridiculous and has nay value whatsoever. I feel as though I’m losing my mind.”

  “Nay wonder, Sybella. Ye arenae concentrating. Look at your stitching. What a mess.” A smile played on her cousin-by-marriage’s lips as Mary tucked her nut-brown hair behind her ear. She was petite and fragile, everything Angus would favor in a woman. “When ye wed, do ye want your husband to have tattered clothing? He would look like a fool.”

  Sybella giggled. “It doesnae matter if his clothes are tattered. Men always look like fools.”

  “Angus takes pride in his appearance,” Mary added.

  “And my cousin takes ye for granted. Why do ye want to sit here bored to tears when we could be out in the open air?”

  Mary promptly ignored her, resuming her latest project, while Sybella glanced around the ladies’ solar. She shook her head at the womanly touches. Dainty pictures of the fairer sex wearing delicate gowns hung on the walls. There were flowers and all of the feminine furnishings someone would expect to be placed in a room where the ladies were presumed to congregate.

  How very original. Who made those rules? She would love to hang the bow that had landed her four rabbits in one single hunt. She wondered what the ladies would say about that. The women of propriety would surely shudder, including Mary. At least the bow might turn conversation to something other than the usual acceptable, boring subjects.

  Sybella sprang to her feet, dropping the embroidery to the floor. “’Tis a beautiful day and ye are clearly wasting it. I dare ye to stop what ye are doing and come out and enjoy the sun.” When Mary hesitated, Sybella knew she was going to relent.

  Sybella headed toward the door and turned her head over her shoulder. “Grab your cloak and I will meet ye in the bailey.”

  “Ye know? One of these days ye’re going to meet your match. I wish to be there when ye do.”

  “There has ne’er been such a man.” Even as she spoke the words, Sybella couldn’t help remembering a stolen kiss in a sun-kissed glade and the sound of a waterfall rushing in the distance. She quickly shook her head to clear the thought. She wouldn’t give the beastly MacDonell man the satisfaction.

  Sybella ambled through the bailey to wait for Mary.

  “Cousin.”

  Sybella turned to face Mary’s husband, Angus. “Your father wants to speak with ye in his study.”

  “Now?” she asked, disappointed.

  Angus ran his hand through his brown locks. “Aye.”

  “All right. Will you tell Mary for me?”

  Sybella hoped whatever her father wanted wouldn’t take long. It was too beautiful to remain inside one minute longer than necessary.

  As she approached the study, she could hear raised voices coming from inside. The argument sounded heated, but she couldn’t quite make out the words.

  The voices silenced.

  “Enter, Sybella,” called her father from the other side of the door.

  How he could have heard her was beyond her comprehension. She pushed open the door to see her father seated behind his large wooden desk with Colin nearby. A shiver went up her back at the dour look on her brother’s face. This did not bode well.

  “Come in, Daughter. I wish to speak with ye.” Her father gestured for her to sit.

  There was no denying a command from her father. He was a man used to having his orders obeyed—instantly. His graying hair, broad shoulders, and sharp features gave him an innate air of authority.

  She glanced at Colin, who cast her a bleak, tight-lipped smile. His eyes were dark and unfathomable. What was this about? If her father was going to chastise her about catching more rabbits than Colin and, therefore, making her brother look like a daft fool…It wasn’t the first time and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Straightening her spine, she waited for her father’s censure. What would it take to prove to him that she could be just as reliable as her brother? When would he understand that her talents were wasted on sewing and other women’s work?

  Her father leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach. “I donna expect ye to understand the ways of politics, Sybella, but ye know enough to realize marriages are often arranged to better our clan.”

  She heard herself swallow, not sure she liked where this conversation was headed.

  “Since your dear mother has passed and ye nay longer care for her, nae to mention with our conquest of Lewis, the MacLeod clan—”

  She stirred uneasily in the chair. “Surely ye arenae going to offer my hand to the MacLeod, Father,” Sybella blurted out, unable to disguise a trace of panic in her voice.

  Her father sat forward and rubbed his thumb over her fingers. “Daughter, what kind of father would I be if I offered your hand to that savage?” he asked in an offended tone.

  She didn’t see the muscle ticking angrily in Colin’s jaw.

  “I wouldnae think of it,” said her father. “Howbeit there is another clan with which we wish to keep the peace.”

  Perhaps it was her own uneasiness, but her misgivings increased by the moment. She regarded her father with searching gravity, and something in the back of her mind cautioned her not to ask. She had an underlying
feeling in the pit of her stomach that his next words would forever seal her fate.

  “The MacDonell of Glengarry has recently passed, and we need to make an alliance. I am offering your hand to his son, the new laird of Glengarry. And I am fairly certain he will accept my offer.”

  Her mouth dropped. “Ye cannae offer my hand to him!” Fury almost choked her. “He is naught but an arrogant, brooding, conniving excuse for a man, and he is our enemy! All of the treasures in the world wouldnae make me wed—”

  Her father’s voice hardened. “This isnae open for debate. My decision is final, and there is nay more to discuss. Ye will do as ye’re told. Besides, ye have ne’er even met the man.”

  Sybella growled in frustration, but she couldn’t very well admit to her father what had occurred those years ago. The MacDonell rogue still made her blood boil when she thought about him. Not that she did—well, maybe sometimes but not a whole lot.

  She fingered a blond curl behind her ear. “Our clans have been warring for years. Why would the MacDonell even want a MacKenzie for a wife? Or is it that nay one will take his bloody arse?” she asked.

  Her father rose and sat down on the edge of the desk. He gazed down at her and smiled, speaking in a tone filled with awe and respect. “Daughter, I am verra proud of ye. There has been enough heartache all around us with the passing of your poor mother. We need to attempt to make peace with the MacDonell. Think about making your mother proud, Sybella. I need ye to gain your husband’s trust and be a dutiful wife. For now, that is all I ask of ye.”

  “I donna understand, Father. The MacDonell has been our enemy for years. Why now?”

  “Now is the perfect time.” He tapped his finger on the desk. “But there is another matter which ye need to know.” When she looked puzzled, he continued. “Ye arenae to speak of this to anyone. Do ye understand?” She nodded as he continued. “For a verra long time our clan has been blessed with good fortune because we have been gifted with a seer. There are less than a handful of men who know of this, and I want to keep it that way.”

  “A seer?” She sat back, momentarily rebuffed.

  Colin’s voice was calming. “I have seen it with my own eyes, Ella. Our conquest of Lewis was the last he foretold.”

  “Who is this seer and why have I ne’er heard of him if he is a MacKenzie?” she asked doubtfully.

  “For your own safety, ’tis better ye donna know. Dòmhnall MacDonell was quiet and circumspect in burning our church to ash when his real purpose was to steal our clan’s seeing stone. And there is another purpose for your vows…I need ye to find the stone and return it to your clan where it belongs.”

  Sybella pulled back. “I donna understand. Are ye and Colin in your cups?”

  Her father’s eyes darkened. “Still your tongue and listen. Once ye find the stone, I will take care of the MacDonell. I would ne’er make my daughter suffer under the same roof as a bloody MacDonell,” he spat.

  Colin shifted uneasily next to her.

  “But what if the man will nae agree to such a union?”

  Her father chuckled. “Leave the politics to me, Daughter. Ye just find me that stone.”

  She sat back and rubbed her hand over her brow. She needed time to absorb this. How could she marry the man who had haunted her dreams for years and then be expected to betray him?

  Three

  For several weeks, Sybella had occupied herself with meaningless tasks. But no matter what she tried, her mind kept returning to its tortured thinking. What would the future hold when she became the wife of her father’s enemy? To her regret, she could no longer hold off the inevitable. By this time tomorrow, she would know.

  As she, her father, Colin, and members of their clan rode toward Glengarry, the clomping hoofbeats that surrounded her drowned out her silent screams of desperation. She wasn’t daft enough to believe her father would never arrange a marriage for her, but she found it hard to accept that the MacDonell would be her husband. Day after day, night after night, the same pompous man by her side. Her only hope was to find the stone quickly and bring this nightmare to an end.

  “How are ye holding up, Ella?” asked her brother, riding up beside her.

  Her eyes widened and she finally gave in to the tension that had been building all day. “How in the hell do ye think I am holding up, Colin?”

  He lowered his voice. “I know ye arenae pleased with wedding the MacDonell, but ye do realize it could’ve been much worse.”

  “And who could possibly be worse than the MacDonell?” she asked, raising her brow.

  “The MacLeod of Lewis.”

  She smiled smoothly, betraying nothing of her annoyance. “Father would have ne’er arranged for me to wed the MacLeod. Besides, ye were there when he said as much.”

  Colin’s mouth pulled into a sour grin. “I only want for ye to be safe, Sister. Give yourself some time to settle in with the MacDonell. Donna be reckless and start your search for the stone if your husband has yet to trust ye.” He paused. “And if ye ever want for anything, ye need only call upon me and I will be at your side.” She raised her eyes to find him watching her. “I mean every word.”

  As if her dormant wits had renewed themselves, she straightened herself with dignity. “I am a MacKenzie. I will do what is required of me. Donna worry. I will make ye and Father proud.”

  “I am always proud of ye. Ne’er forget that.” Colin gave her a brief nod and then trotted up next to her father.

  One of the many things she would miss about home was her brother. Colin never wanted more from her than she was able to give and basically never expected her to be something she wasn’t. She would sorely miss times like these when he talked to her and spent time with her, when he’d taken her on jaunts in the woods. She’d treasure those memories forever. She wasn’t exactly thrilled to give up any of that. And now she found herself momentarily saddened. This was her family. She couldn’t help but wonder if she would be welcomed into another or kept isolated simply because her last name was MacKenzie. No matter, she would make the best of it. She always did.

  Something flashed at the corner of her eye.

  A handful of MacDonell guards thundered toward them, the MacDonell tartan whipping in the wind. For a moment, she breathed in shallow, quick gasps. The men looked formidable riding their gigantic steeds, their hands placed strategically on the hilts of their swords. Could it be any more apparent that the MacDonell men did not trust the MacKenzies?

  Colin moved protectively to her side. “’Tis only the MacDonell guard. We are now on the MacDonell’s lands. The men will escort us to Glengarry.”

  She nodded because words simply failed her.

  Sybella continued to study her surroundings—the lochs, trees, anything that would help her escape from her purpose. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t see the bonny sights anyway through her haze of swirling emotions. She suddenly felt ill-equipped to undertake such a task.

  As if Colin read her mind, lines of concentration deepened along his brow and under his eyes. He’d flanked her the entire way, and she had to admit, his mere presence made her feel secure. Perhaps he only did it to make certain she would not flee, but she was comforted nonetheless.

  Overlooking beautiful Loch Omhaich, Glengarry was an imposing gray stone structure boasting a gigantic L-shaped tower house with a round tower. The castle was somewhat elegant and formidable. Although the beastly MacDonell would need a place large enough to house his big-headedness, his home was not as Sybella had imagined it.

  As her father entered the bustling bailey, he was immediately greeted by a wall of MacDonell men. Their untrusting eyes continued to survey him as he dismounted.

  “Your new home is quite lovely,” said Mary, her eyes glowing with delight.

  Angus lowered his voice. “Here comes your betrothed. Let him assist ye from your mount.”

  And there he was.

  His kilt rode low on his lean hips, and Sybella would recognize that arrogant swagger anywhere. He had a
strong chiseled jaw, blue eyes, and light chestnut hair that was long enough to brush the outlines of his broad shoulders. The muscles under his white tunic quickened her pulse, and his stance emphasized the force of his thighs and the slimness of his hips. Praise the saints. He was definitely not the same boy she had met at the waterfall.

  When the MacDonell spotted her, his smile broadened and he walked to her side. He held up his hand to assist her. “Lady Sybella MacKenzie, welcome to Glengarry.” He had the nerve to wink at her when he caught her eye, and then his gaze roamed over her figure as if he undressed her with his eyes.

  Sybella couldn’t help herself. She refused to let the man get the best of her—again. She returned a frank and admiring look at him, studying his body unhurriedly, feature by feature. As if he enjoyed her subtle challenge, featherlike laugh lines crinkled around his eyes.

  “Sybella!” Mary’s tone was coolly disapproving.

  Ignoring the MacDonell’s hand, Sybella shifted her leg and slid from her mount. She would make it perfectly clear that she didn’t need the dastardly man or his help.

  A soft gasp escaped Mary, and Angus interjected. “Please excuse my cousin’s lack of—”

  The MacDonell chuckled in response. “There is nay need for apologies.” When an older woman with silvery hair walked up behind him and nudged his back, he turned and wrapped his arm around the woman. “Lady Sybella MacKenzie, pray allow me to introduce Lady Iseab—”

  The older woman reached out and fingered Sybella’s curls. “Praise the saints. Ye are a bonny lass. I always wished to have honey-colored tresses myself.” The woman brought her hand to her own hair. “Now I am only graced with death-gray. And please donna listen to my nephew. Ye may call me Aunt Iseabail.”

  It was hard to believe that the arrogant MacDonell could have an aunt who was kind and free spoken. Sybella sensed a kindred spirit, and there was something warm and enchanting about this woman. She smiled and gave the MacDonell’s aunt a small curtsy. “’Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Aunt Iseabail.” Leaning in close, Sybella added, “I think your silvery tresses are verra becoming on ye.”