Knowing that, Dugan had almost walked away the morning of their wedding. He could have continued to be Cole’s commander with no one thinking less of him. Every soul present knew the struggle it was going to be overhauling a decrepit port and overseeing people who had deep-seated trust issues with those in authority. And because the port was physically wedged between three irreconcilable and powerful clans—the MacLeods, MacCoinniches, and McTiernays—whoever took over was going to be tested repeatedly and indirectly over the next several months, if not years.
Success would require a unique combination of perseverance and patience, something most Highland lairds lacked—him included. And yet, after leading men into war and then spending years as a commander of one of the more powerful clans in the region, Dugan believed he could help this small clan regain their pride. It would take time to build confidence in themselves as well as him, enlist their loyalty, and create unity under the name McTiernay, but he firmly believed it was possible.
His marriage to Adanel, however, was something altogether different. Dugan only hoped they could find a way to be compatible and forge a partnership founded on the mutual desire to see the clan prosper. But they would have to start talking to each other for any of that to happen.
Dugan could count the words they had exchanged since their wedding and the number was low. More than once he had questioned his decision to marry Adanel and take on the monumental task in front of him, but each time he did, he came back to the one thing that had made him agree in the first place. If he had not, Adanel would have married someone else to take on the roles of laird and husband.
That was something he could not handle. Knowing that she was someone else’s wife and what all that entailed would have eaten him alive. So, he had agreed to Conor’s proposal.
Dugan had no idea if it was even possible to reconcile what Adanel did with trusting her, but he did need to be free of her. He needed to replace memories of her and him at the loch with ones that he could easily put aside and forget. Aye, marrying her was a gamble, but after a year and a day, he should be finally able to walk away with no regrets. The port would be in good shape, the clan would have made the transition, and most importantly, whatever hold Adanel had over him would be gone. When their handfast was complete, she could marry someone else, have a family—perhaps with Loman—and it would not matter at all to him.
The year could not pass fast enough. For right now, the idea of Adanel in another man’s arms sent a frisson of jealousy through him. Suddenly the image of Loman with his hands around Adanel’s waist helping her off her horse sprang to mind, and Dugan plunged his head back into the river’s cold water, wishing he could just will his wayward feelings into submission.
Standing up, Dugan shook his head to remove the excess water and refocused his thoughts on the day in front of him. The sun had fully crested the horizon, and it was time they left. He made his way up on to the shore to get dressed, mentally listing all the things that he needed to do. He needed to speak to Garrett and Loman about his plan to enter Bàgh Fìon and assume control over the village and port with hopefully no lives lost. He needed to make sure Brùid understood his role as Adanel’s guard going forward, and sometime during the next few hours, he needed to talk with Adanel about addressing the clan as a unified couple.
The McTiernays were strong because of good leadership, strong morals, and unwavering loyalty, all of which sprung from the partnership between the laird and his lady. Dugan and Adanel may not share the deep love that existed between the McTiernay brothers and their wives, but he still valued her opinions, ideas, and ability to challenge him when needed. Those qualities may be the only things he trusted when it came to her, but Adanel had all three in abundance.
Dugan leaned down to pick up his léine and slid it on. He then grabbed his plaid, ignoring the coiled gold ties lying on top of it as they fell to the ground. Wrapping the cloth around his waist, he automatically sought out his belt. The belt, however, was nowhere to be seen. Frustrated, Dugan threw the tartan over his shoulder and began to look around, getting more and more livid with each passing second. He had not thought about it when he first came up to his things, but his clothes had not been as he had left them. His shirt and plaid had been neatly stacked in a pile with his shoes on top rather than haphazardly tossed over a rock.
Someone had been here. They had folded his clothes, cleaned the bottom of his shoes, and taken his belt. In its stead were some bits of gold string and lace. The joke was not funny. Even if he thought for a moment that the flimsy strings could secure his plaid, Dugan refused to try. He’d rather walk around with just a shirt barely covering his arse and privates—two things that someone was going to find missing once he found the culprit.
The moment Dugan asked himself who had a death wish and the balls to play such a prank, only one name sprang to mind.
“Nigel, thu Bastard. Na h-uilc ‘s na h-uirchill ort!”
* * *
Adanel was looking all around for the gold ties to her bliaut and was almost in a panic when she heard Dugan muttering curses, wishing an assortment of evils and diseases upon Nigel. She hoped Kara’s brother was far away. If he were wise, Nigel would not show himself until Dugan’s ire had calmed down significantly for she was somewhat inclined to join his tirade as she was only able to partially dress herself. Nigel deserved whatever punishment he received.
Adanel bent down, slipped on her shoes, and then scooped up the heavy leather belt and her bag that held her brush and soap.
Dipping into the cool waters this morning had felt like heaven after days of slow travel in the drizzling rain. As the only woman in a sea of men, it would have been impossible to find a spot yesterday afternoon to privately bathe unless she ventured far away from camp, something she was not inclined to do after hearing talk of wildcats in the area. After everyone had finished, Adanel had been even less inclined to bathe seeing the murky water and had opted to wait until this morning.
She and Dugan had barely spoken since they left, exchanging niceties and only when necessary. Loman, however, had been a godsend. Never would she have thought a McTiernay elite guard would be so kind after what her brother and father had done. But she thanked God Loman was willing to help and answer her questions because Dugan’s cold demeanor had made it clear that their new marital status had done nothing to lessen his anger toward her.
Adanel vacillated between feeling apologetic for her decision to keep her identity a secret and vexed that Dugan refused to even try and see her point of view. The man was impossible and her frustration with him grew with each mixed signal.
Dugan refused to look at her, yet demanded that she be within arm’s reach at night. He barely spoke to her, but if someone else chose to, he always found a way to join the conversation and quickly end it. Why he had agreed to marry her was a mystery.
After he said nothing in support of her actions nor countered some of the nastier accusations he knew were untrue during the laird’s harsh interrogation of her, Adanel had truly believed that Dugan felt nothing for her and never had. It had turned her own heart cold, and Adanel was not sure what it would take to rewarm it, despite Laurel’s emphatic promises that Dugan actually did love her.
“I can’t marry Dugan!” Adanel had protested when Laurel first mentioned the idea. “He hates me, and after what happened in the great hall I think I am feeling pretty similarly about him.”
Laurel had just waved her hand dismissively. “Anger is such a fleeting emotion. You should never make life decisions based on it.”
Adanel’s brows had shot up, and she quickly retorted, “I am not just angry, Lady McTiernay. That man watched and did nothing while I was practically accused of colluding with my father and brother on the attacks against your family. What I am feeling for Dugan goes far beyond anger.”
Laurel had simply shrugged as if Adanel had a point, but not a serious enough one that changed anything. “So you are angry. I am not saying you shouldn’t be nor would I tell D
ugan to just dismiss the resentment he holds for you. And while I agree he is acting like a toll-tòine, Dugan will eventually realize that he hurt you, too. If you are married when that happens, you can help heal each other and forge a new bond of understanding and trust.”
“There are a lot of things I feel for Dugan, and anger is only one of them. I’m sorry, Lady McTiernay, but I think I can ‘heal’ a lot quicker if I am not married to the source behind my pain!”
At that, every woman in Laurel’s dayroom had shaken their head. It was clear that they were all in agreement even if Laurel was the only one doing the talking. “You will definitely not heal faster, and it might not even be possible for you to heal completely, because we”—Laurel opened her arms and gestured to all those in the room—“believe you still love Dugan and that he still loves you.”
Adanel had thought Laurel mad for even a blind person could see the hostility between her and Dugan. It was practically tangible. However, the McTiernay wives had been relentless, and eventually they had made two convincing points. Despite her fervent wish for it not to be true, Adanel did love Dugan.
“He just needs time,” Laurel had promised. “Dugan’s past is riddled with betrayals, and while those stories are not mine to tell you, he will learn to trust you again.”
“But will I ever trust him?” Adanel pressed back. “After all that has happened, I don’t know if it is possible. He let me be verbally crucified in front of several lairds who now have an unfavorable impression of me that will be impossible to erase. But what I don’t think I can ever forget is that Dugan himself thought the worst of me. Things that if he truly loved me he would have never believed. At the very least, he should have given me the benefit of the doubt until he could have asked me about them directly. But Dugan never even tried! So now I must ask myself, do I want to marry a man who ‘loves’ me like that? The answer is I do not.”
That was when Laurel offered a second and more compelling reason to marry Dugan. “Ask yourself another question, Adanel. Do you think you will ever be able to love another man the way you loved Dugan?”
Adanel had pressed her lips together and after several seconds shook her head. She wished it were not true, but the Dugan she had met weekly the previous spring and summer had ruined her for all other men.
“Is not the possibility that I am right worth the risk?”
Adanel had refused to answer Laurel then, but later, when Conor asked her and Dugan if they would agree to marry, Adanel had nodded yes, believing it would not matter for she never dreamed Dugan would agree to bind himself to her.
But the damn man had gone and said yes. And after a week, he had not changed his mind. Now, the deed was done.
What Adanel needed now was time. Time to help her clan transition to a situation she honestly felt would improve their lives. Time for her to sort out all of her own feelings, and time to know if Laurel had been right. What Adanel did not want was to be permanently stuck with someone who felt nothing for her and was only using her as a means to becoming laird. So, she had quickly amended her agreement. Their marriage would be a handfast arrangement and last for no more than a year and a day.
Her suggestion had barely been uttered before Dugan had barked out his full support, stating that he thought the idea brilliant and that he, too, would only agree to such an arrangement. Adanel knew at that moment Laurel had been woefully wrong.
* * *
“An duine bu chòir a ghoil ann an cuan.”
Hearing Dugan’s livid vow, Adanel bit her bottom lip and hurried around the bush to where he stood examining the ground. She was not sure how Dugan was going to boil the ocean with Nigel in it, but his threats were getting more creative by the second and in her hands she held the means to calm Dugan’s growing ire.
The winding stream, which was just deep and wide enough to bathe in, had several spots where overgrown bushes of thistles were densely nestled in between several of the sharp twists and turns. When Dugan had risen just before dawn, he had bumped Adanel with his foot unawares. Awakened, Adanel had decided to follow him and demand that they talk. But when she had caught up with him, his belt and plaid were already on the ground, and he was in the process of yanking off his léine.
Adanel was emotionally hurt, cross with lack of sleep, and aching from days of slow travel. She was also a woman with two good eyes that could not help themselves as they feasted on his broad back, long legs, and the dimples in his rear cheeks. With each step Dugan took toward the shoreline, his muscles rippled, creating a fire in her blood that warmed her body in places she had thought would never be warm again. No man compared to Dugan. He still was and always would be the most gorgeous man she had ever seen.
Adanel had quietly moved out of sight deciding that Dugan had the right idea. She could always confront him later, and what she really wanted was to clean the grime and dirt that clung to her like a second skin.
Stepping back farther, she saw that on the other side of the bushes the stream had twisted back, providing her a perfect, private spot to bathe, with the bushes between her and Dugan as a barrier. Immediately, she went back to where she had slept, grabbed her small bag, and returned to strip down and enter the waters. As quietly as possible, she had scrubbed the filth out of her hair and off her skin, and when done, Adanel had felt like a new woman.
Still hearing Dugan splash about, she had slipped out and donned her chemise before running a brush through her hair. She had just finished and was pulling on her bliaut when she had heard Dugan’s first string of curses, which steadily grew in both volume and savagery.
“Is this what you are looking for?” Adanel asked, stepping around a bush so that he could see her.
Dugan’s eyes narrowed as he saw the wide leather belt swinging in her grasp. “Did you take it?” His tone was more surprised than bitter.
Adanel shook her head. “I heard you rise to bathe and thought I would do the same. I was just getting dressed when I heard you threatening Nigel.” She flapped the side sections of her bliaut. Without the gold ties to bind the gown to her frame, she felt like she was wearing a dark blue bag with a hole cut out of the top. “I have no need for this belt, but I could use the laces you are crushing in your grasp.”
Dugan looked at the string crumpled in his hand and grimaced. He walked over to where she stood, and they traded items. Swiftly, he pleated the plaid around his waist and belted the material in place. Meanwhile, Adanel laced up the sides of her gown as quickly as possible. Seeing her similar need to be fully dressed gave him an odd sense of comfort. He and Adanel may have at one time been at ease to be without clothes in front of the other, but right now his léine and plaid felt like necessary armor—and he needed all the protection he could get.
His fury at her betrayal had done nothing to lessen his desire for her. If anything, the woman was more gorgeous than ever. Adanel was his ideal woman—tall with a tiny waist, full breasts, and a wealth of red hair tumbling down her back that drew attention to her perfectly rounded bottom. But it was her expressive brown eyes he missed the most. He ached to see them sparkle mischievously or darken in the throes of passion.
Dugan wondered what Adanel would do if he were to pull her in his arms and kiss her, ignoring everything and everyone except the feel of her flesh against his. He honestly did not know how she would react, and while he longed to prove she still wanted him just as much as he did her, part of him feared that Adanel would shove him away. A greater part, however, feared that she would not.
“We should reach Bàgh Fìon a few hours before nightfall. Will you be glad to be home?”
Adanel paused tying the last knot on her gown. She had been contemplating how to begin, and if necessary, demand a conversation before he walked away. Then, without warning, Dugan had started one. It was a silly question, almost as inane as asking about the weather, but she felt only relief that he was at least attempting to talk with her. “I . . . um, I will be glad to see my friend Kara and her husband . . . but as for going
home, I am more than a bit nervous.”
“Your people won’t welcome your return?”
Adanel licked her lips and took a deep breath. “They hardly know me,” she answered honestly. “I was locked away this past year and before that I limited my interaction because it unwantedly drew my father’s attention to not just myself but them.”
“How do you think they will react upon seeing us?”
“As you can imagine—with awe and fear. The McTiernay army you are bringing is fearsome. Honestly, I feel nervous around them, and I’ve been traveling with them for the past few days. My father’s soldiers are nothing like what you are bringing to our small home.”
“In a way, I hope you are right. Fear does not bring about loyalty, but it can be a tool to keep peace and order, allowing the seeds of loyalty to be planted.”
“Loman is worried that you will meet nothing but hostility at every turn.” Dugan was about to say something caustic about not wanting to hear about the commander’s opinions when Adanel said with a little shake to her head, “Loman is wrong.”
Dugan smiled, loving the sound of those three words rolling off her lips. “And why is that?”
Adanel tilted her head and studied him for several seconds. Dugan knew she was trying to ascertain if he was seriously asking her opinion, but she must have finally decided that he was. “My clan is fractured and has been for a while. The scant few who enjoyed my father’s proclivities have sick minds. Their numbers are not many, but they will seek to destroy whatever you try to build, and nothing you do will dissuade them.”
Dugan’s smile grew larger. “We are in agreement. One of Garrett’s first duties is to identify those men, and they will be banished. If you see any, tell me or Garrett. I have no desire to win the loyalty of such people over. It would be a fruitless effort. They will have to seek their pleasures elsewhere.”
How to Marry a Highlander Page 20