Her Reluctant Highlander Husband (Clan MacKinlay)

by Hanson, Allison B.

  Bryce didn’t touch her; he simply sat there, silently listening.

  She’d reached the hard part of the story. She looked him in the eyes and went on. “Later that same day my father—the McCurdy laird—scolded me. He took away my doll, and I was very upset with him.” As an adult she saw that punishment as nothing compared with what came later. “I opened my mouth and words flew out. Angry words.”

  She twisted her fingers together, remembering the rage she’d felt.

  “Go on,” Bryce urged quietly.

  “I told him he wasn’t my father,” she blurted out. “I told him my real father was a brave captain and that my mother loved him and didn’t love the laird. I kept talking, spewing fantastical stories, as children often do. I told him my mother and I were going to move to London to be with my real father, and that he would buy me new dolls and never scold me.”

  Bryce gazed at her with an expression torn between sympathy and horror.

  She took in a deep breath, preparing herself for the final part of the awful tale.

  “The laird was enraged. He hauled me up by the arm and dragged me to my room, tossing me roughly to the floor and locking me inside. I hammered my fists on the door, demanding to be let out. I only stopped when I heard my mother’s screams.”

  Bryce reached for her, but she shook her head as tears pooled in her eyes and leaked out.

  “Her cries went on for hours. It grew dark, and eventually they fell silent. The next morning, a maid came in to bring me food. I asked about my mother, and she told me she’d had an accident and had died.”

  “It was no accident,” Bryce said, his voice rough with emotion.

  “Nay. The laird had killed her because of my words. That’s when I vowed never to speak again. I wouldn’t risk saying something that could cause anyone pain or death ever again.”

  Bryce brushed a finger across her cheek, wiping away the tears. “You were just a child. You didn’t know what you were saying. Or how he would respond. It wasn’t your fault.”

  She appreciated his words, but she knew the truth of it. She’d spilled a secret that wasn’t hers to tell. She’d released a truth that never should have been told.

  Her aunt had been wrong. The truth of who her father was had mattered.

  It had mattered a great deal.

  …

  Bryce watched his wife as she wept bitterly over her part in her mother’s death. He knew well the weight of guilt, how exhausting it was to carry day after day. He also knew that the words of friends and family did nothing to ease it. He’d been told many times it wasn’t his fault that Maggie and Isabel had died. He was away doing his duty. They would have died even if he’d been there. And he might have died as well.

  It didn’t matter. It made no difference if the words they spoke made sense. In his heart, he was to blame. He might have been able to do something if he’d been there. Even if only to make sure they hadn’t died alone and frightened.

  He didn’t even know which of them had passed first. Had wee Isabel been abandoned and afraid, alone with her mother’s lifeless body? How many days had it taken?

  He shook the thoughts away, knowing he’d never have answers, no matter how many sleepless nights he pondered their demise. He would always wonder if they’d hated him and blamed him in their final moments.

  He held Dorie close and let her cry. It was the only thing he could think to do.

  He found it strange that some words held so much power—like the ones she’d spoken in anger to the man she’d thought was her father—while other words were meaningless. Like offering absolution to someone who vowed never to forgive him- or herself.

  “I understand,” he said, knowing it was naught but more meaningless noise escaping his lips. He couldn’t understand her pain any more than she could understand his.

  But perhaps that was what understanding was truly about. Knowing you couldn’t possibly know the other person’s sorrows, and yet feeling for them deeply.

  “It is over and done,” he said. “There’s nothing you can do for your mother now by looking back and blaming yourself for her death. Would your mother have wanted you to carry this grief and guilt for years, or would she have demanded you let it go and be happy?” he asked.

  A question he dared not think about too closely.

  He wouldn’t ponder how much Maggie would have hated the way he still mourned for her. She would have snapped at him in irritation and told him to stop moping about.

  “When I was a child locked in my room, I wished my real father would come to take me away,” she said in a shaky voice. “But I secretly feared it as well. Because when he found out what I’d done, he’d surely punish me even worse than Dougal McCurdy.”

  “I was a father, and I can tell ye there is nothing I wouldn’t have forgiven my Isabel for. It’s just the way of fathers.”

  “Is it the way of husbands and wives to forgive each other?” she asked softly.

  At first he thought she wanted him to forgive her for something, but then he realized she was speaking of Maggie and how his first wife would have forgiven him for leaving her to face death alone.

  “Aye. Sometimes,” he said with a sigh. “But not always.”

  Some things were unforgivable.

  …

  As she had the day before and the day before that, Dorie sneaked out through the bailey gate while Bryce worked with his men in the bailey.

  He’d asked her to stay inside the castle walls, but her dog was too large now to be content with that small area. He loved to run in the fields and hunt along the edge of the forest.

  And she liked to visit Cam and Mari at their new house. It was still being constructed, but one wing was complete and they were able to live there. It made Dorie feel better to help Mari with curtains for her home after her friend had been so kind to take time to help with Dorie’s gowns.

  It was no coincidence that Dorie timed her walks for when the women convened in the kitchen. Their lurid discussions had given her thoughts that frustrated her. They spoke of things she wished to do and feel with Bryce. But unfortunately, after their one splendid night of making love, he remained distant. Despite lying next to her each night, he hadn’t touched her again.

  She thought he felt the same tension and longing she felt, but they didn’t talk of it. In fact, he hardly talked to her at all. He’d claimed what had happened to her mother was not her fault, but did he secretly despise her for causing it nonetheless?

  Or mayhap he simply felt guilty over what they’d done. He still loved his first wife, and he probably thought making love with Dorie was wrong. But she had never felt so right in all her days.

  The tension between them continued to grow night after night until Dorie thought she might explode.

  Her only solace was being able to press up against him once he fell asleep. She enjoyed touching him until he pulled away in the mornings to go train with his men.

  Slipping out through the gate today, she let out a breath and raised her face to the morning sun as Rascal tore off to expend his energy. She wished she could do the same—run across the meadow and plunge into the cool stream. Maybe it would help.

  She had almost worked up to giving it a try when she heard a whoosh and was knocked to the ground. She found herself staring up at the sun again, only this time her view was obscured by a grouping of feathers at the end of an arrow that was sticking out of her chest. She choked in terror as fire burned through her body and darkness descended.

  She woke in flashes, unable to move but able to hear.

  A shadow fell over her as she gasped in shallow breaths. “She’s done for,” a familiar voice said. Wallace. “Finish her off.”

  “I thought it was supposed to look like an accident,” Desmond complained.

  “We haven’t had luck with that. We’ll just tell my father they killed her
. We’ll not need to worry any longer about this truce.”

  “Maybe if you’d just told the laird what you’d arranged, he would have gone along with it.”

  “Then I would have had to give him the money the MacKinlay paid me.”

  “You could have left that part out.”

  “It would have come up eventually, you lout. Now cut her throat, and let’s go.”

  Oh, God.

  She tensed, expecting more pain and a terrible death. Instead, the sound of growling filled her ears, turning into a buzzing sound.

  Pain, intense and overwhelming, brought her abruptly back to harsh reality. She wasn’t dead, but from the sound of her own screaming it was clear that she wished for it intensely.

  “Be careful with her,” a woman’s anxious voice said in a cultured accent. Mari. “We need to get her back to the house. Send for Abagail and Kenna. I’ll need their help to remove the arrow. Be still, Dorie. You’re safe now.”

  “Angus, bring the dog and send for Bryce,” Cam ordered.

  Dorie whimpered and reached out, hitting a wall of muscled chest. “Shhh. Be still, lass,” she was told again before the voices around her faded.

  This time she wasn’t able to bring them back into focus.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bryce pushed the horses to go faster and only slowed when Kenna and Abagail nearly flew out of the wagon. It wouldn’t do Dorie any good if he arrived at Cam’s house alone. He was not a healer. He needed the women with him if there was to be any chance of saving his wife.

  Angus said she’d been shot with an arrow. In the chest. Such a wound sounded fatal. Even now he could be too late.

  “I don’t know why she left the castle. I told her to stay inside,” he complained, allowing his anger to fend off the worry and pain.

  “Did you tell her why you wished her to stay put?” Kenna asked.

  “Nay. I’m her husband. I don’t need to explain myself to my wife.”

  Kenna harrumphed. “Strange, I haven’t seen you act like a husband to the lass.”

  “I’ve taken her to my bed.” He didn’t know why he’d blurted that out. It was a slippery defense to be sure.

  “Oh! Well, then. In that case, I’m surprised she wasn’t following at your heels begging for more of your attentions.” Kenna rolled her eyes as she clenched her fingers around the seat.

  Ignoring her taunts, he gritted his teeth. “She’s supposed to obey me.”

  Kenna laughed. “Men think wives must obey them, but if you truly want us to listen, you need to tell us why you insist on this or that. Ordering us about with no good reason won’t do it.”

  “That doesn’t help me now.” He assisted the two women down when they arrived in front of Cam and Mari’s half-finished manor house. “Please hurry.”

  Before his request was out, Mari appeared at the door, covered in blood.

  “Dear God,” Bryce choked out.

  Abagail, Kenna, and Mari had already surrounded his wife when Bryce woodenly strode into the room. He couldn’t see Dorie past the flurry of females tending her, but he saw a pale hand hanging over the edge of the table, blood dripping from her fingertips.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  He was going to lose her, and he’d not had the chance to make things right. He knew how fickle life could be. He knew nothing was promised, yet he’d treated her as if she hadn’t mattered.

  “Drink this,” Cam said. Bryce hadn’t noticed the man standing next to him but reached for the offered cup. Cam’s hands and clothes were also stained with blood.

  Bryce wasn’t able to drink. He knew he’d not be able to swallow past the lump in his throat.

  “The arrow is stuck in her breastbone. It didn’t go into her heart. She’s not choking up blood, though her breathing is raspy. If they can get the bleeding stopped and remove the arrow, she’ll have a chance.”

  A chance.

  It wasn’t enough, but it was all he had to hold on to. He would grasp any hope with both hands.

  The sound of a low growl had him turning to look behind him. Rascal was laid out on the floor. Angus the stable hand was cleaning a wound while a young boy held the dog’s thrashing head.

  “Hold him tight. I don’t want him to bite me,” Angus ordered.

  “The beast saved her life,” Cam explained. “Tore the throat out of one of the attackers. The older cousin, from the looks of him. From the trail leading away, the other one was sent off unhappy. Rascal made it here to me and led us to Dorie before he finally collapsed.”

  Anger and gratitude welled up in Bryce in equal measure. “Will he live?” He would treat the beast like a king from now on for saving her life.

  “Most likely. He’d be better if he didn’t keep trying to get up to go to her.”

  Bryce went over to the dog and knelt down. “Shhh. Settle yourself. There’s a good lad.” He scratched the dog behind the ear, and the mutt relaxed a bit. “Thank you for looking after her. I’ve got it now. You rest.” With a pat, he stood to go see his wife. He would hold her good hand and stand next to her through whatever came next.

  He wouldn’t stand off to the side like a coward.

  …

  Dorie noticed the chill first. She wanted to get another blanket or light a fire, but she was too exhausted to move. The only warmth resided in one of her hands.

  She focused on that heat, hoping it would spread to the rest of her body. She felt a pulse against her palm that didn’t match her own. Her own heartbeat pounded loudly in her temples. She tried to slow it to match the one in her hand.

  Fingers twitched against hers and visions of Bryce flitted through her groggy thoughts. Bryce kissing her, holding her. She held on to that thought tightly. It was a nice memory.

  Bryce scowling. That memory wasn’t so great, so she skipped to the next. Bryce sleeping next to her, lying on top of her. In her. She remembered the heat of his body pressed against hers and wished he’d offer his heat to her now.

  “Shhh,” Bryce murmured from somewhere close by. “Rest now.”

  But she couldn’t rest. Not without knowing if her dog was well. Not without warning Bryce that McCurdys had attacked her and might harm him. Not without telling him she was sorry for sneaking out of the castle.

  “Shhh,” he urged. “Everything is fine. Rascal is sleeping at the foot of your bed. He’s a bit ruffled but he’ll mend. We’re both keeping watch. You’re safe now. We won’t let the McCurdys get to you.”

  She thought maybe she had actually spoken her worries out loud, but she didn’t think so. And there was still one concern he hadn’t addressed.

  Trying her best, she squeezed his hand. Though it felt as if she’d hardly made an impression, she felt the warm wetness of a kiss against the back of her hand.

  “I’m sorry, I failed ye,” he said quietly. “I should have told you of the danger. I should have explained why I wanted you to stay within the castle walls instead of barking orders at you and expecting you to obey. I’ve given you no reason to do what I say. Please forgive me.”

  Since she couldn’t get her throat and lips to work, she relied on her only method of communication and squeezed his hand again.

  “They were able to get the arrow out without causing more damage, but you’ve lost a lot of blood. Abagail says it’s why you’re shivering. I was concerned of fever, but your skin is much too cool for a fever.”

  He said more, but now that she knew everything was well, she was able to focus on the sound of his voice rather than the words, and she slipped into a comfortable sleep.

  Bryce was here.

  Everything would be fine.

  …

  It was an excruciating three days before Dorie finally opened her eyes and looked at Bryce. Thank God, he thought. At last! He smiled at her. But it didn’t help.

  She gasped i
n fear and tried to back away, wincing when the action pulled at her wound.

  “It’s me. Bryce,” he assured her. “You’re safe, lass.”

  She blinked and he figured he understood her concern. No doubt he was a dismal sight. He’d rarely left her side since arriving at Cam’s house. He’d not taken time to bathe or shave. He’d only changed clothes because his cousins and their wives forced him to out of shame.

  They brought him food and ale.

  “It’s so nice to see your beautiful eyes open again,” he told her, and leaned over to kiss her forehead. When he pulled away she smiled up at him. “Can you swallow some broth? It will be nice to have your assistance rather than pouring it down your throat and making a mess of it.”

  She nodded, and he helped raise her head, bringing the cup to her lips. When she emptied the cup, he settled her back against the pillow, relief pouring through him. Dorie had been weak from losing so much blood, so he knew how much she needed rest and nourishment.

  He’d practically taken over Cam and Mari’s house, having had their bed brought down to the front room for Dorie. No one had fought him on any of his requests. They’d even allowed the dog in the bed. Bryce would never be able to thank them enough. Not Cam or Mari, nor Rascal.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He thought he might break into tears at the sound of her raspy voice. “Think nothing of it. Go back to sleep so you can heal. As soon as you’re able to be moved, I’ll take you home,” he promised, though he didn’t think she cared much at the moment. A bed was a bed.

  He kissed her hand as he’d done hundreds of times in the past days. It had been the only way to reach her. To let her know he was there with her. That he hadn’t left.

  “Rest now,” he said.

  She nodded and mumbled something. He only made out the word whiskers.

  “I’ll take care of it.” He laughed and caught himself. He rarely laughed.

  Occasionally one of the children would earn a chuckle from him, but laughing and smiling was not something he did freely. Except when his wife was close by, apparently.

  “How is she?” Lach asked him. Kenna had stopped by to check on Dorie earlier but had been called away when Mari complained of a backache.