The Highlander Takes a Bride

by Lynsay Sands

  Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Greer glanced toward the stairs to see a woman descending. Short in stature, and curvy all over under the dark green gown she wore, she seemed almost to float down the stairs rather than actually tread on them. His gaze slid over the cascade of wild, dark curls around her heart-shaped face, and then found bow lips and bright green eyes and he felt his breath leave him.

  The woman very much resembled the phantom lover he'd imagined in his youth as he'd lain abed at night, fiddling with himself under the furs. It brought memories to his mind of imagining her riding astride him, her head thrown back in ecstasy, long hair tumbling over her shoulders and half covering her bobbing breasts as he'd thrust up into her once, twice and then a final third time before his excitement had outstripped him. At that age, even his imagined lovemaking had been swiftly over. Fortunately, he'd improved much since then. At least Greer liked to think so. However, watching his dream woman reach the bottom of the stairs and start across the hall toward them, he wondered if he would do much better with her in the flesh than he had with her in his boyhood dreams.

  "Here is Lady Saidh now."

  Greer's eyes narrowed at his aunt's announcement. So this was the woman who was kin to Fenella and who Montrose Danvries had used as an excuse to stop on his journey home. And he was to decide whether she should be allowed to stay, or go.

  "She stays," he growled and stood abruptly to leave the table.

  "Greer? Where are ye going?" his lady aunt asked with surprise. She also sounded a little wounded that he would abandon her, but Greer didn't slow. He couldn't slow. He was now sporting a log under his plaid bigger than the one Milly had raised in the woods. If just looking at the woman caused that, he shuddered to think what her actually speaking might do to him. He needed to get away . . . and take care of the beast poking at his plaid. Maybe Milly could help with that. He could take her from behind, close his eyes and pretend it was Lady Saidh Buchanan he was thrusting into.

  Just the thought made his cock harden further, pulling the skin painfully tight and squeezing his balls uncomfortably. Hell, he thought as he rushed out of the keep. Mayhap he should have said nay to the woman staying. She was a lady after all, not someone he could use for his pleasure and send on her way like the camp followers and Millys of the world.

  Speaking of Milly, he thought wryly as she suddenly appeared before him, hands on hips, breasts thrust forward and a leering smile on her face.

  "Me laird," she breathed, moving close and searching the front of his plaid until she latched onto his erection. Her eyes widened incredulously. "Oooooh, someone is in need o' me care."

  She rose up on tiptoe to kiss him, but Greer found himself pulling back. She must have eaten onions since he'd seen her last for her breath was most unpleasant. And her face was dirty, he noted. She had dark smudges on her chin, her cheek and her forehead. Her hair was none too clean either, not flowing soft around her cheeks like Lady Saidh's, but hanging limp to her shoulders. The only good thing was that the combination was having a calming effect on his body. Rather than a log fit for the fire, he now had half that and still shrinking.

  "What's the matter?" Milly asked with a frown.

  "Nothing," he assured her, gently disengaging her hand from his body. "There is something I need to do is all. We'll talk later, lass."

  Greer patted her shoulder and then headed to the stables to retrieve his horse. A nice dip in the loch sounded just the thing to finish cooling his blood. It would also have the added benefit of cleaning him up in case he was as filthy as Milly. After years of marching dusty trails, sleeping in muddy clearings, and tossing up the skirts of equally filthy lightskirts and camp followers as a warrior for hire, Greer was used to being dirty. But things had changed. He no longer needed to wield his sword to earn a meal and a place to sleep. He was a laird now with a castle, a bed and a bath. Perhaps he should start using that bath, sleeping in his bed, and acting like the laird he now was. Perhaps then he could woo and win a lady wife as sweet and delicate as Lady Saidh.

  "Bloody hell!" Saidh muttered, yanking the brush viciously through her hair. She was not a morning person, and the love-hate relationship with her hair was due probably partially to her lack of patience when she woke. Actually, she supposed, her relationship with her hair was mostly hate with little room for love. In truth, she'd be happy to cut it all off if it wouldn't shock and horrify everyone from her brothers to the priest. Although, she supposed her brothers might not care. Most of them would have shaved their heads ages ago if Aulay wouldn't have a fit about it, and for the same reason. They had all inherited their mother's completely unmanageable hair--a thick, nasty, curly mess that seemed to knot the moment she finished unknotting it with the brush she was using.

  Sighing with vexation, she gave up and tossed her brush across the room. It hit the wall and fell to the floor with a clatter that she ignored as she quickly began to lace her gown. She really should have a maid to tend to all of this, and in the not too distant past she'd had one, but shortly after leaving Sinclair last year, her maid, who had also been her nursemaid before that, had taken ill and died. Aulay had not bothered to replace her, and Saidh had not asked him to. Partly because she had known and loved the woman for so long that she was irreplaceable, and partly because she was relieved not to have a maid harassing her at every turn, chasing her with a hairbrush, and grousing at her to wash her face, take a bath, and "Dear God, at least try to be a lady."

  Saidh was not a good lady. She was not the most horrible one either. She could talk like one and walk like one when the need arose, but the truth was, she'd rather not. She'd grown up with seven brothers who had treated her like just another boy, and after having enjoyed that freedom for most of her life, she tended to resent losing it to ladylike ways when in public. That was why she didn't mind bypassing all the feasts and celebrations they were invited to. In fact, Fenella's first wedding was the last such public occasion she'd attended, and she'd gotten herself in trouble with the drinking game she and her brothers had held. Her mother had lectured her about behavior befitting a lady all the way home to Buchanan.

  Saidh sighed as she finished with her lacings. That had been the last lecture her mother had given her before she'd died. She'd insisted she shouldn't join in drinking games, shouldn't share ribald jokes with her brothers, and shouldn't be wearing that "bloody" sword her brother Aulay had paid the blacksmith to make for her.

  That thought drew her gaze to the chest at the foot of the bed where the specially made sword rested nestled in amongst her clothes. Saidh had not worn it since her mother's death, but wondered if she might not now. She wanted to go for a ride down to the loch, and it did seem that if she were going alone she should take the sword with her for protection. Especially with Montrose Danvries still here. If the man caught her alone she would not put it past him to try to punish her for kneeing him so efficiently in the ballocks. By her guess, the fact that she was Murine's friend would matter little to him. The man was a pig and Saidh felt nothing but regret that the girl was now going to have to live with the bastard in England. She also didn't understand how the late Laird Carmichael could neglect to make provisions for her in his will. No dower, nothing. He'd left the land and title to some cousin, and left her to the mercies of her half brother.

  Shocking, really, Saidh decided grimly, especially since Murine had worshipped the man. She'd loved her father dearly, and mourned his passing with every bit of flesh in her body. Murine did not even resent him for not taking care of her in his will, saying only that he probably had thought she would be married and well cared for by the time he died.

  Shaking her head, Saidh walked to the chest, opened it and pulled out the sword and the leather sheath and belt the blacksmith had also made for her. She would do her best to hide it in the folds of her skirt until she was out of sight of the castle.

  The great hall was full of sleeping men when Saidh made her way below. Most of them were Danvries soldiers, she not
ed as she crept through their midst, headed for the keep doors. The sun was just beginning to peek up over the horizon when she stepped outside. Saidh was up early. She hadn't slept well last night. Actually most of yesterday after arriving here had not gone well. Laird MacDonnell had got up and marched out before she'd even reached the trestle tables, and while Murine had talked to her in the subdued tones she'd been using since learning of her father's death, Lady MacDonnell had been noticeably silent, and Montrose had alternated between smug and leering smiles. As for Fenella, after begging Saidh to stay, the woman had not even made an appearance.

  Saidh had been relieved when the meal was over and she could escape above stairs to check on her cousin. That was when she'd learned that Fenella and Lady MacDonnell had had words shortly before Saidh and the Danvries party had arrived. Apparently, insults had been exchanged and then Lady MacDonnell had outright accused Fenella of being to blame for her son's death. Fenella now refused to come below and intended to remain in her room for the indefinite future.

  Saidh had thought rather irritably that her cousin could have told her that before she'd agreed to stay. Why was she staying if Fenella was going to remain locked up in her room? Before she could work up a good head of steam over that, though, Fenella had started to sob on her shoulder again about the loss of her dear Allen and how God was punishing her for the sin of murdering her first husband.

  While she had a very sympathetic soul, Saidh was not given to the vapors and weeping all over everyone. She was more the stiff-upper-lip-and-get-on-with-it type, so had no idea how to handle Fenella. Aside from which, the woman had only been married to Allen for a matter of weeks. Surely that was not long enough to have grown so attached that his death should cause this much distress? Saidh suspected that rather than weeping out of any real caring for Allen, Fenella was reacting more to how this would affect her life. Burying four husbands would make any man think twice--or ten times--about risking marriage to her. She may never be married again. Which meant she would be here at MacDonnell, dependent on the MacDonnell family for the rest of her days, unless she went home, which she had morosely told Saidh last night was impossible. Her father had told her on leaving with Allen that she was not welcome back should he die, so she'd best see he lived a long while.

  Saidh wasn't sure if her uncle had meant what he said, or if he'd begun to suspect something was amiss with her husbands' deaths, but Fenella was sure he meant it. And since Allen's mother detested her and suspected her of having something to do with her son's death, and since the new laird appeared to be--and according to Fenella was--absent most of the time, staying here would surely not be a pleasant life for her.

  Knowing that, Saidh hadn't a clue what to say to soothe the girl and had been relieved when she'd finally been allowed to remove herself from her cousin and find her own bed in the chamber Lady MacDonnell had given her for her stay. She hadn't known whether to be grateful to the woman for giving her the large, luxuriously furnished room she had slept in last night, or whether she should be offended on Fenella's behalf that her room was not nearly as pleasant. So Saidh had tossed and turned most of the night, her cousin's words playing through her head.

  While the castle was asleep, the stable master was up and preparing Danvries's horses for the day's journey. Saidh shooed him back to his work when he moved toward her to see what she needed. She then saddled her own mare and led her out of the stables before mounting.

  A quick word with one of the men at the gate pointed her in the right direction, and Saidh soon found her way to the loch where Allen had drowned. Finding a clearing, she reined in and simply sat staring out over the water, soaking in the beauty of the spot. She could certainly understand why Allen had liked to swim here on most mornings. It was serene and beautiful.

  It was also the perfect place for a lover's tryst, Saidh thought idly as she watched the rising sun begin to dapple the water with light. She'd barely had the thought when a dark circle appeared on the surface of the loch. It then rose slowly, revealing the furry black head and shoulders of some unholy beast she'd never heard existed in Scotland. Heart stuttering in her chest and eyes wide, Saidh reached for her sword.

  Chapter 3

  Saidh released a little sigh, and allowed her sword to slip back into its sheath as the beast continued toward shore and the water dropped, revealing the most beautiful chest she'd ever seen.

  Not fur but hair, she realized as the man lifted his hands out of the water to push the hair back off his face. Finding that less than satisfactory in freeing him from the clingy wet strands, he dipped his head back and let the water do the work for him so that when he straightened again, his hair was slicked back and running down his back rather than over his face and shoulders.

  Laird MacDonnell. Saidh recognized him at once now that his face was no longer cloaked in wet hair. She eyed him as he continued forward, the water dropping inch by delicious inch to reveal more of his chest, then his stomach and then--

  "Are ye just going to sit there gawking at me?"

  Saidh blinked at that question, and forced her eyes back up to his face. The man had stopped walking and now eyed her with amusement, his hands disappearing into the water to prop on his hips below the surface. Shifting a bit in the saddle, she gave what she hoped was an indifferent shrug. "I've seven brothers. It's nothing I ha'e no' seen before."

  Which was true, she assured herself. Although, truth be told, she'd never been as interested in seeing what lay beneath the water when it had come to her brothers. And she'd never found herself as breathless as one of those simpering ladies she detested just at the sight of one of their chests.

  "I'm no' yer brother," the MacDonnell said dryly. "And a lady would turn her back."

  "I'm no' a lady," Saidh responded without thinking, and then clucked under her tongue as she heard her own words and quickly dismounted and turned her back to the lake. It nearly killed her to remain that way, though, as she heard the splashing of water and movement behind her. Saidh so wanted to turn and take a peek at the man in all his glory as he finished coming out of the lake.

  "Which is so unladylike," she lectured herself under her breath. Her mother would be most disappointed in her, she knew.

  "What is so unladylike?"

  Saidh stiffened at the amused question from very close behind her. She instinctively started to turn, but her mother's voice in her head made her stop. Sighing, Saidh shrugged in a way she hoped appeared nonchalant, and confessed, "I am. Or so me mother always told me." Wry amusement filling her voice now, she admitted, "I fear being raised with so many brothers made me less o' a lady than I should be. Me mother did her best to rein me in, but me father and brothers were o' little help in the endeavor and in the end . . ." She shrugged. "She was fighting a losing battle."

  "Ye seem ladylike enough to me."

  The voice had moved away again and she could hear the rustle of material. He had no doubt laid out his plaid on the ground and was now crouched beside it, pleating the cloth in preparation of donning it. At least that was her guess, and she imagined him in her mind's eye doing so, the rising sun glinting off his wide back. Shaking her head to remove the image, she cleared her throat and said, "I fear ye'll no' say that, once ye've heard me cursing like a warrior."

  "Cursing?" he asked, sounding startled at the very suggestion.

  Saidh grimaced, but nodded. "Aye. 'Tis a bad habit I learned from me brothers. And they ha'e taught me the most foul curses."

  A sudden chuckle nearly had her turning again, but again she caught herself. Lifting her chin defiantly, she added, "I also wear English braies under me gowns so that I can ride astride. I ken no ladies who do that."

  "English braies?" This time he sounded rather bemused.

  Saidh nodded and then caught a bit of her gown in hand to lift it to knee level and reveal the bottom of the braies she wore beneath.

  "Where the devil did ye come up with that idea?" he asked with what might have been shock.

  "It wa
s me mother's idea," Saidh admitted as she let the gown drop back into place. "First she tried to stop me from riding astride and running about, climbing trees and rocks with me brothers, but when that did no' work, she had the braies made for me."

  "Yer mother sounds a clever woman," he decided, still sounding amused.

  "Aye, she was," Saidh said sadly. "As a child, I always feared I was a great disappointment to her because o' me wild ways. But one day me da sat me down and told me that me ma had been just as wild when she was younger. That she'd worn braies under her own gowns, and had handled a sword like a warrior right up until I was born. He said I'd come by it naturally. When I asked why then she was so desperate to make a lady o' me, he said that 'twas because she feared there were few men like him who would be happy with such a woman to wife. That most lairds expected a lady, and so she'd curbed her own wildness to try to teach me to be the lady she knew everyone expected."

  Silence fell when she stopped talking, and Saidh had to wonder why she'd even said so much to this man. He was a stranger, yet she was confessing things she'd not even told Murine, Joan and Edith, who were dear friends of hers.

  "And the sword?"

  Saidh stiffened when those words were almost whispered by her ear. He was behind her now, the heat of his chest warming her back and his hand now resting at her waist, just above her sheathed sword.

  "I--" She paused and cleared her throat when that one word came out on a husky breath, and then tried again. "Me oldest brother, Aulay, had the blacksmith make it fer me birthday, years ago," she confessed and then grinned and added, "He said he got tired o' me brothers complaining that I'd taken their swords."

  That brought a chuckle from the man and his breath stirred the back of her hair. Disturbed by his closeness, she moved away and turned, giving him a wide berth and avoiding looking at him as she walked to the water's edge.