Highland Obligation (Highland Pride)

by Lori Ann Bailey

  “Are ye all right?”

  “I will be.” She breathed in as his woodsy scent invaded her.

  His fingers traced the sensitive skin around the injury, and strange tingles pulsed out from the connection. Her chest tightened because, heaven help her, she wanted to kiss him. She attempted to retreat, and although his grip was gentle it was firm. Instead of pulling free, she managed to draw his solid body into hers.

  Glancing up into his eyes, she wasn’t sure if they had darkened or if it was just the room, but he didn’t release her. She swallowed. His free hand coiled around her waist, gently cradling her to him. A foreign feeling erupted somewhere inside her and instead of pushing him away, she held still to examine it.

  The hand holding her injured arm slid up past her shoulder, over her neck, and fingers delved into her hair as her body decided not to obey her command to retreat. His hand threaded its way into her scalp then removed the few pins she’d been able to secure there.

  She found her feet moving backward as he guided her into the closed door. Tugging gently at her loosened strands of hair, he tilted her face up toward his. The next thing she knew, his lips were crashing down on hers and sweeping her into something new, something she had never wanted before that made her insides ignite with unexplored desires.

  Oh, hell, she liked it.

  …

  Grant wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he couldn’t stop. Her skin was surprisingly soft beneath his rough hands. And the way she trembled at his touch when her gaze focused on him had every muscle in his body tightening. She looked so bonny in the candlelight. Her lips parted in what appeared to be an invitation. Isobel’s attention pulled him in, making him want to see if she put as much effort into the mating between a man and a woman as she did into fighting.

  He would need an heir one day; why should he deny himself her body because he didn’t approve of her past actions? She was his wife, after all. His. And judging by the way she gasped into his mouth as his tongue delved in between her parted lips, she was completely his. Despite all the time she’d spent pretending to be a man and with men, she’d never kissed one. How was that even possible?

  His wife had secrets, and he suddenly found himself wanting to know more. How was it no man had ever touched her? How would it feel to claim her body as his own, and why had he let his anger stop him last night?

  Tentatively, her tongue reached out, dancing with his, sending him into a spiraling mix of confusion and need mingled with frustration at himself that despite who she was, he wanted her. A violent explosion of emotions found him backing her into the hard surface of the door and covering her body with his. She gasped into his mouth and he slowed as he was reminded of her innocence, something easily overlooked by her experience on the battlefield. The contradiction perplexed him, drawing him in; he eased, letting the hand around her waist drop to gently caress her ass and pull her taut with the throbbing pain between his legs.

  Letting his mouth stray from hers, he moved to her neck and nibbled on the soft flesh as a whiff of her exotic scent cascaded through his senses and spurred him on. As he sucked on the sensitive skin, she moaned and arched into him. Her hands clasped on to his hips as if he were driving her down a perilous road with nothing but him to hold on to. He was rewarded with a soft, pleading whimper. She might fight like a man, but she was all woman underneath.

  A sudden push at her back jarred them. He let his mouth drop from her neck. Another push. Stepping aside, he hid her behind his back as the door swung in to reveal one of the kitchen servants.

  “Excuse us,” he said as the newcomer reddened. “We were locked in trying to find something for the cat.” Why was he trying to explain? He could take his wife anywhere he wanted, but she deserved better than him thrusting into her in the larder in the middle of the day.

  Tiny claws scratched at his legs as the forgotten kitten made its presence known. “Ah, there’s the wee thing.” After picking up the kitten, he held it out for the servant to see, as if he should offer an explanation for assaulting his wife in a most inappropriate place.

  The man just smiled. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I forgot something.” The door almost closed behind him, but Grant reached out and caught it.

  “Here.” His voice was harsh as he rounded on Isobel and gave her the cat. How had he forgotten himself yet again around her? Just as he had the day Tomas had died.

  The sun had reemerged and shone into the space where they were standing. He realized he’d left a mark on her neck. He’d never done that to a woman before, but he’d never had a woman so wantonly give in to his attentions. Her lips were swollen and a deeper shade of red, and her hair was mussed as if they’d spent hours alone together, not the few moments it had taken him to come completely unhinged. And, oblivious to their surroundings.

  Angered at himself that he’d lost control and nearly taken her with the food storages, he passed her the kitten. “Feed it.”

  He lost his senses when he was near Isobel and that led to trouble. He walked a short distance away to wait for her as he thought about his dead friend and stifled the desire to truly make Isobel his wife.

  …

  Hours later, he found himself sitting at the table for the evening meal when the object of his affliction walked in with his mother. She wore the same dress, but she’d brushed her hair and left it to fall loose around her shoulders and cascade to her waist, where it slid back and forth over her curves. He’d spent the afternoon trying to forget how those curves felt, but it had been no use.

  As she sat a few spaces down from him, his eyes strayed toward her. She was fidgeting with her hair, pulling it to the front and covering her neck. He grinned. She was trying to conceal the mark he’d left on her. He found himself wanting to see it, wanting to show that he had claimed her like no man ever had.

  His father drew his attention back with, “Are ye and yer wife getting along?”

  “As well as we can.”

  “She was with yer mother late this afternoon. I believe they toured the castle when ye returned from the village. Where were ye?”

  “In the lists.” He probably should have been the one to show Isobel her new home, but he’d needed exertions to ease his mind after he’d lost himself in her embrace. After their kiss, he promptly deposited her in the great room with his mother and hurried back outside.

  “Ah, so it’s going that well, huh.” Laughter escaped his father’s lips. He leaned in, winking. “Ye should spend that energy bedding yer wife. Ye have to continue on our legacy.”

  Angered by his father’s meddling, his voice rose, but he didn’t care. “Ye ken she is responsible for Tomas’s death?”

  The laird’s eyes darkened.

  “Do ye think Lyall would want her in our bed? She’d probably demand justice.” He regretted the words as soon as they’d left his lips, because they weren’t true. Lyall would have liked Isobel and she would be happy he had found a wife who matched his spirit.

  His father shook his head as if warning him something was wrong, but it was too late. The hall had gone quiet and every eye was on Grant, or actually, directly behind him. Turning, he saw Isobel, face pale and eyes the size of saucers, staring down at her plate as if she were a deer about to be slaughtered.

  Her humiliation seemed to change to anger as she took in all the unfamiliar faces, their sympathy aimed at her. He sank down into his chair, ashamed he’d embarrassed Isobel in front of half the clan. He typically kept his temper in check, because as heir to the chief, he would one day need the respect of the clan.

  But everything about this lass drove him to madness. It was his only excuse. Straightening her shoulders, she turned her back to him and his mother glared over Isobel’s shoulder, promising a solid set down when she was able to get him cornered.

  Chapter Five

  After slamming the door, Isobel stomped into the chamber she now shared with Grant. Had the arse intentionally accused her of murder in front of his whole clan? Why had h
e not talked to her about it? And why did he think her capable of murdering an innocent man?

  Contemplating escape again, she strode over to the window and looked out over the choppy waters being beaten by high winds and a storm that had moved in this afternoon. After their kiss.

  She’d never allowed a man to touch her before. Despite how pleasurable it had been, she now regretted not pushing Grant away. Och, but the gentle way he’d held her had sent tingles through her arm and apparently shut down her good sense.

  Her husband didn’t want her here and she didn’t want to be here. If she could convince her family that he’d rejected her, maybe they would let her come home.

  Hell, maybe he’d toss her out anyway. She didn’t think her husband capable of murder. Still, she’d been able to sneak a dirk tonight and would hide it under the bedside table.

  The kitten pounced from under the bed, attacking the hem of her skirts. Argh, after trying unsuccessfully all afternoon to find a home for it, she’d left it in the kitchens. How had it found its way up here?

  “Stop it.” She brought the wee thing up to her cheek. “Ye belong here nae more than I do. At least ye can get away.” She opened the door, then tried to set it outside, but it clung to her gown as if sensing the loneliness of the dark, quiet hall. “Och, I guess ye can stay tonight, but tomorrow ye must go. I am not capable of taking care of ye.”

  So he had been married before and considered this his first wife’s bed. Why would a woman she’d never met think her such a horrid person? Her gaze shifted to the other furniture in the room. None of this belonged to her, and her husband didn’t want her here.

  Rummaging through a cabinet, she found blankets and laid a couple down on the hard wooden floor in the opposite corner of the room then inspected her work. It would do—it wouldn’t be much different from the ground on her nights with the Resistance.

  She moved over to the trunks she hadn’t bothered to unpack and riffled through for a clean shift. She smiled at the small box packed inside, and opening it, found several vials that had been secured within the velvet lining. At least her family had sent her something from home.

  She opened one and pulled it up to her nose to inhale the jasmine oil. It had been her childhood maid’s favorite and always reminded her of happy times. A finger to the top of the container, she tilted it then caught a drop and placed one behind each ear. When she’d told Grant she wouldn’t miss anything from home, she’d forgotten about this scent.

  The ritual calmed her and gave renewed purpose to her thoughts. She had a duty to protect those she cared for, and she would find a way to do it again.

  She replaced the stopper then stood, undressed, and put on the shift. When she sank onto the pallet on the floor, the kitten jumped from the bed. It curled up next to her as she closed her eyes and wondered how to ask her husband if he would let her have a separate room, or better yet, let her leave.

  …

  “Ye will take her with ye,” The MacDonald laird instructed after dinner when they’d reached his study.

  Grant groaned as his father glared at him from behind the big oak desk. He’d hoped to sneak outside for a bit of fresh air before going up to face his wife, but his father insisted on speaking with him in private.

  “Why can she no’ stay here? I dinnae want her with me.” His father had to know she would not be the best companion on a journey trying to secure peace in the Highlands.

  “’Tis the point. Ye embarrassed yer new bride in front of the whole clan. If it gets back to the MacLeans that ye’ve left her before a week is out and arenae treating her well…” His father left the rest unsaid. “Besides, ’twas an awful thing to do to someone who is an outsider and hasnae had a chance to prove herself.”

  “She’s a bloodthirsty savage. I saw her run after a man who had just sliced into her arm.”

  “Have ye even given her a chance to explain what happened?”

  “Nae, I saw it with my own eyes.” Grant fisted his hands.

  “She deserves the opportunity to explain, and she deserves a husband who will give her that chance. She’s only been here a day and ye’ve already shunned her in front of everyone. If ye are going to lead the clan one day, ye will need heirs and ye will need to put on a unified front.”

  “I dinnae think we want her to prove what she is capable of.” That earned a snort from his father.

  “If ye are set on trying to broker peace, ye will take her. It will give ye two the opportunity to ken each other and prove to the clan ye can work together when necessary.”

  For the first time ever, Grant dreaded the obligation to his clan, but his father was correct. He did need to find common ground with Isobel. He wanted to see past her rugged exterior, and perhaps the forced closeness on this trip would be better than avoiding her. He’d already discovered she had a nurturing side with the cat, even though she attempted to hide it.

  “Besides, the other Highland lairds are all sending representatives, and it is important to show them that we have made this treaty with the MacLeans,” his father continued.

  He had to admit dressing Isobel like a lady and putting her in the role of a dutiful wife would alleviate any suspicion thrown her way. He’d caught her trailing her finger reverently across the silk of her gown yesterday. Perhaps the garments would grow on her. He would just have to keep weapons out of her hands.

  “Ye should be ready to leave by the end of the week. And ye’ll travel faster if ye take a smaller party. Be vigilant, though. Argyll’s men are everywhere.”

  “Aye, I ken the dangers.” Grant swallowed.

  With a nod, he turned and strolled from the room, making his way to the kitchen instead of the chamber where his wife would be. There, in the empty room, he poured himself a glass of whisky and fought the emotions swirling inside.

  He tried to push away the memory of the kiss they had shared this afternoon. The contradiction that was Isobel. Was she an innocent like her kiss and body had proclaimed, or was she a killer like his eyes had seen?

  His groin tightened as he remembered the taste of her. But how could he be so disloyal to his first wife, sleeping with the woman who had been the cause of her brother’s death? Claiming his husbandly rights would betray the memory of his friend.

  But he also had a duty to his clan. He poured one more dram, downed it, and made his way up to the bed where his new wife would be.

  When he pushed open the door, he was surprised to see she had left a candle burning for him on the nightstand. In the light of it, he plodded over to the bed, but she wasn’t there. Panic hit him first, worry that something had happened to her. Then it struck him that she may have had the audacity to try to leave Skye. But before he rushed out to look for her, he saw a bundle in the far end of the room.

  He picked up the candle and walked over to make sure she was there. She looked peaceful, her hair spread behind her like wings that might carry her away. His gaze drifted down to the darkened circle on her neck, the one he’d put there.

  A shot of desire surged in him and he froze then shook his head at the little gray lump by Isobel’s belly. The wee kitten was curled up next to her, and the lass actually looked innocent and harmless.

  Dreading tomorrow and the rest of his nights spent tied to this woman, he ground his teeth. Damn, he might not like her, but she was his wife and he wouldn’t have her sleep on the floor like a dog. He strolled back to the bed and put down the candle then pulled back the covers enough so she would fit. Satisfied, he gathered her and the small creature up in his arms and carried them back to the bed.

  Undressing, he blew out the candle and crawled under the covers. The scent that was only Isobel reached his nose and made him want to pull her near so he could inhale her sweetness. But doing so would reawaken his desire to plunge into her, so he turned his back and tried to sleep.

  He tossed all night, one minute wanting Isobel, the next wanting to heave her into the sea. How was he to survive this marriage with his sanity intact?
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  Chapter Six

  Isobel felt a tiny jolt near her head and something nudging her cheek just before a wet, scratchy tongue scraped across her jaw. The wee creature apparently needed some kind of attention. Then she found her husband next to her asleep, more relaxed than she’d ever seen him.

  It was a shame he wore that scowl all the time. Well that wasn’t quite true; she’d spied him when he wasn’t watching her and he was quite bonny when not looking in her direction. Unfortunately, he wanted nothing to do with her. So how had she gotten into the bed the woman he’d once loved wouldn’t want her in?

  Inching backward, she slid from the mattress. The kitten pounced onto the floor, following her and squealing so loudly the wee beast would probably wake Grant before she could escape the room. The less time she spent in that man’s company the better. It was time to make a plan and where better to do that than the lists. Early morning sparring always brought clarity.

  Scooping up the little ball of fur so it would hush, she moved to the trunks she’d yet to unpack. She picked the lightest weight of the gowns she could find and quickly dressed then grabbed her slippers to put on in the hall.

  Once out the door, she set the creature down and walked toward the back steps. They were wide, with just enough room for people to pass each other comfortably. The gray stones were level. Whoever had designed the castle had taken great care not only to give it strong turrets to defend its inhabitants, but to allow agreeable living conditions. The little kitten bounded after her. In the kitchens, she passed a lass preparing something for the morning meal. “Good morning.”

  The young woman blinked, likely surprised to see someone else up so early. “Good morning,” she returned.

  “Can I trouble ye by leaving this”—she pointed to the cat—“with ye for a bit. I cannae seem to get rid of it.”

  The girl laughed. “Aye, but ye will have to come back for it. Cook doesnae like cats in the kitchen.”

  “Do ye ken anyone who would want it? I cannae care for a pet.”