My Highland Warrior (Warriors of the Highlands Book 1)

by Miriam Minger

  He had sent several of his men ahead to announce their imminent arrival, but still they waited in front of the convent gate, their horses snorting and impatiently pawing the ground.

  “Something must be amiss.”

  Gabriel threw a dark look at Finlay, who rode beside him.

  Aye, damn Seoras MacDougall and his accursed devil’s bargain, something was amiss.

  Starting with a marriage by proxy because his mad sister had been deemed incapable of answering for herself at the wedding. Gabriel chose for the moment not to dwell on the fierce thoughts plaguing him and focused instead on the gate to the Carmelite convent that remained shut.

  His gaze swept the surrounding countryside, but his instincts remained quiet.

  He sensed no danger. He saw no fire, smelled no smoke.

  He glanced at the aged nun who rode at his left, but Sister Therese appeared as somber-faced as when they had begun their journey two days ago. Her expression gave no indication that some trouble brewed. She caught his gaze, her watery blue eyes filled with a stoic resignation that he had first glimpsed in the tower chapel.

  “The gate, Sister Therese. Mayhap we have caught your house at prayer?”

  She didn’t answer him, her gaze flicking ahead to the walled convent.

  She began to whisper to herself instead, while Gabriel, to his growing irritation, caught the words, “Poor wee lass,” that he’d heard more than once from the woman. Her sudden plaintive sigh proved louder, and she jutted her chin.

  “The gate opens, Laird.”

  Gabriel gave her a brusque nod and prodded his massive, silvery gray steed into a canter, his men following suit.

  Grim purpose filled him, mixed with impatience to see his entourage soon on their way home to Argyllshire. The gate was thrown wide by the time he reached the entrance, a sole figure dressed in solemn nun’s garb standing there surrounded by the men he had sent ahead.

  “W-welcome, Laird MacLachlan,” came her distracted greeting. The older woman, whom Gabriel judged to hold a distinguished place at the convent for the gold chain and cross she wore around her neck, met his eyes only briefly before glancing behind her at the courtyard.

  Gabriel saw her stiffen at the same moment he heard frenzied cries, which made him grasp the hilt of his sword. He spared no glance at Sister Therese reining in her mare beside him or his men reaching for their weapons at the raucous commotion.

  Instead, Gabriel stared in disbelief as a petite young woman dashed from a walkway without a stitch of clothing, her tangled golden hair flying behind her. A flock of disheveled nuns spilled into the courtyard in close pursuit.

  “Forgive me, Laird MacLachlan, if you would allow me tae explain,” began the ashen-faced nun. She looked from him to the naked beauty who made two wide circles around the courtyard and then jumped with a noisy splash into the fountain.

  “Och, God help you, cousin, might that be…?” began Finlay, the bearded warrior staring as wide-eyed as the rest of Gabriel’s men.

  “Your bride, Laird,” finished Sister Therese with a deep sigh. “Magdalene.”

  Chapter 2

  “Mad Maggie, you mean,” Gabriel muttered, voicing the name he had overheard Seoras’s pompous, overfed courtiers calling the young woman he had agreed to take as his wife.

  Under duress. Extreme duress.

  With no other alternative, he had swallowed his pride and gone a month past to ask Seoras for coin so Gabriel might repair the crumbling castle he’d inherited from his slain brother, Malcolm.

  So he might buy seed to plant and cattle to fatten for market, to ensure that the people who depended upon him had clothing on their backs and food in their bellies.

  So he might provide decently for the young children of Malcolm and his deceased wife, Anna; Keira, six, and Rhona, four, whom Gabriel was now rearing as his own.

  He’d had no fear that Seoras would deny his request. He had fought alongside him for years, protecting MacDougall lands and interests as well as those of the fearsome John “Red” Comyn, their overlord, while never once had Malcolm revealed to Gabriel the gravity of their family’s financial woes. His older brother’s death last autumn had brought the sad truth to light that the coffers were nearly empty and the two-hundred-year-old fortress falling into ruins.

  Yet what he hadn’t expected was that Seoras would grant him the gold, but only in the form of a dowry.

  Gabriel’s hands tightened on the reins as he watched the shrieking, disheveled nuns encircle the fountain while his bride dodged any attempt to catch her. Even the woman who had greeted him had hastened over to help, but to no avail.

  Damn it all, he’d wanted no lunatic for a wife—or any wife for that matter, even if she had her wits about her!

  It was common knowledge that a family curse had caused the tragic deaths of MacLachlan wives since his grandmother’s untimely demise. Gabriel wasn’t superstitious, but the curse remained unbroken with Anna’s death just after Rhona turned two. He didn’t want Magdalene’s death upon his conscience, madwoman or no, but Seoras had scoffed at Gabriel’s argument and the wretched bargain had been struck.

  “Nooooo! Not go! Not go!”

  The desperate, high-pitched cry making his horse snort and toss its head, Gabriel swore under his breath and dismounted heavily to find his men still gawking, stunned.

  The scowl he threw them made Alun, Finlay, and Cameron clear their throats and look away, though Conall appeared not to have noticed and grinned as if thoroughly amused by the spectacle.

  Gabriel loved his captains like brothers, and they had saved each other’s lives more times than he could count, but the younger Campbell’s legendary and lusty appreciation of women irked him now beyond measure. The naked lass in the fountain was his wife, after all!

  “Wait for me outside the convent, all of you!”

  At once Conall sobered as if realizing his impropriety, his expression apologetic, and he wheeled his horse around with all the others at Gabriel’s bellowed command.

  The nuns encircling the fountain spun around, too, and gaped as Gabriel strode toward them, while the woman who appeared in charge rushed to his side.

  “Laird, I’m Sister Agnes, the Reverend Mother of this Order. Be gentle with her, I beg you! She’s frightened, as you can see. I doubt she has any real sense of the fate that’s befallen her other than that she must leave us—”

  “By fate, I assume you mean our marriage,” Gabriel cut her off grimly. “Didna you prepare her? I sent word earlier in the week that I was coming tae fetch her with your Sister Therese in tow.”

  “I only told her today, Laird MacLachlan, forgive me. She’s been so happy here—four years, it’s been! I feared the news would only distress her. She’s the sweetest child most times, but her manner can change in the blink of an eye tae a wildness that’s often hard tae control—”

  “Like now, Reverend Mother?” Gabriel stopped a few feet from the fountain, Magdalene shivering uncontrollably as she peered out at him from behind the tumbling water. “It appears my bride is turning blue.”

  Indeed, with the sun disappeared behind thick, gray clouds that portended a thunderstorm, Gabriel could see that Magdalene was chilled to the bone.

  Her waist-length wet hair sheathed her body like a second skin, but not so much that he missed pale pink nipples hardened to nubs peeking out from her sodden tresses.

  The sudden tightening in his lower abdomen made him scowl anew.

  She might be petite, but she was perfectly proportioned with high, saucy breasts, a tiny waist and rounded hips, his gaze drawn to the damp triangle of tawny curls between her thighs—but for only an instant. Her sudden shriek made him start as she dove beneath the surface, nothing left to mark her presence than frothy foam.

  Oh, no, oh, no, why hadna she drawn a deeper breath?

  Her lungs already afire, Magdalene felt her panic growing as the dark-haired giant of a Scotsman drew closer to the fountain to stare down at her. Through the crystalline wate
r she saw Sister Agnes appear by his side, wringing her hands and appearing close to tears.

  Heaven help her, how could Seoras have done this to her? Had her four years of feigning madness to protect herself been for naught? Why couldn’t her wretched brother have left her well enough alone? She would never go anywhere with this man, husband or no! She’d rather drown first!

  Bubbles erupting from Magdalene’s mouth, she feared she was drowning.

  Desperately, her hair floating around her, she pushed off the curved side of the fountain with one foot to swim to the opposite side—only to gasp, sucking in water, when a steely hand clamped around her ankle. Coughing and spluttering, she felt herself pulled backward as if she were weightless and lifted so abruptly out of the fountain that her head spun, the world going gray around her.

  Until she felt a sharp whack between her shoulder blades and water shot from her mouth.

  Magdalene coughed in earnest now and gasped for breath as Sister Agnes’s anguished cry rang in her ear.

  “Sister Hestia, fetch the child a dry cloak!”

  In no more than the blink of an eye, Magdalene felt herself wrapped in a heavy woolen garment that both warmed and smothered her. Dazedly, she opened her eyes to find a masculine face very close to her own, his breath fanning her cheek, his deep voice low and stern.

  “Easy, lass, dinna gulp the air. Take slow breaths, that’s it. I think you’ve coughed up most of the water you swallowed.”

  Hiccoughing, she blinked and stared up into eyes that looked black, he studied her so intensely. The longish hair that framed features anyone would deem handsome appeared wet, and his face was damp, too, which made her realize that she must have spewed the water from her lungs right at him.

  Somehow she found the presence of mind to tell herself to remain silent, but she began to squirm in his arms, realizing, too, that he held her closely.

  Too closely. He must have carried her to the bench and sat down with her, cradling her like a child.

  “Och, Magdalene, you frightened the wits from me!” came Sister Agnes’s voice to one side. “Thank God you’re not shivering so terribly now, thanks tae your husband wrapping you in his breacan. Will you allow us tae take her, Laird, and see her dressed for the journey?”

  “No, she stays with me,” came the grim response. “I’ll not have her running off or jumping back into the fountain. I had hoped you would have her things ready.”

  “Oh, aye, you’ll find everything packed in her room, Laird. She doesna have much, a few gowns, a few personal items. She’s lived quite simply here with us. If you will allow me tae lead the way.”

  No, no, no! Magdalene screamed to herself as the man Sister Agnes had told her was named Gabriel MacLachlan, gathered her close and rose from the bench as if she weighed no more than a sack of goose down.

  She began to wriggle in earnest, wishing she could flail her arms, hit him, strike him, but she was encased in his brown and gray plaid breacan like a cocoon. The hard set of his jaw told her that her struggling was doing little other than perhaps to annoy him, although in truth, he didn’t appear irritated at all.

  Only resolute. That stark realization chilled her more than any cold water, and with a terrible sinking feeling, she knew she wouldn’t be able to fight him.

  Laird Gabriel MacLachlan was going to take her away from the convent! Hadn’t he been told that she was a lunatic? Or so she had pretended to be for so long now that she scarcely remembered what it was like to do otherwise.

  Vaguely, she recalled seeing his face before, as if in a different lifetime—for so these past four years felt to her, a time of peace, a time of freedom that was being cruelly wrenched away from her.

  “No…please…” Magdalene breathed, her throat raw from nearly drowning herself. “Not go…not go.”

  He ignored her broken plea and followed Sister Agnes to the walkway leading to the sleeping quarters, the rest of the nuns remaining behind except for Sister Hestia and Sister Tabitha.

  The two women hastened alongside Sister Agnes and kept glancing over their shoulders at the dark-haired giant carrying Magdalene as if they had never seen the like. Everything about him screamed strength and power, from his determined stride to how firmly he held her as if he thought she might still try to wrest herself free.

  Aye, one day she would be free of him, Magdalene vowed to herself as tears of frustration burned her eyes. She would make his life so miserable and that of everyone else around him that he would bring her right back to the convent before the month was done!

  “Magdalene’s room is the second on the left,” Sister Agnes murmured as they entered the stone structure, the long hallway lit by candles sputtering in wall sconces.

  Magdalene heard the familiar creak of her door being opened as Sister Agnes added, “You can see, Laird MacLachlan, that everything is packed and ready on the bed—”

  “Leave us.”

  Magdalene felt her breath stop at Gabriel’s stark command, while Sister Agnes’s face had blanched white. Sister Hestia and Sister Tabitha looked pale, too, and glanced askance at each other.

  “Oh, but, Laird, surely you dinna mean tae consummate—oh, my, forgive me. I know she’s your wedded wife, but we’re a holy order—”

  “I will speak tae her alone, is all. As you said, Reverend Mother, she’s my wife. Close the door behind us.”

  Magdalene heard Sister Agnes’s sharp exhalation of relief as Gabriel strode past her into the small room, and then the door shut with a thud.

  A thud that was nothing to the fierce pounding of Magdalene’s heart as he set her down upon the floor near the foot of the bed. She clutched at the breacan enveloping her and stared at him wide-eyed, scarcely daring to breathe.

  Consummate? Dear Lord, she hadn’t given any consideration at all to that stark reality of marriage, until now with him standing in her room.

  A room she’d always known as a refuge, but which seemed to have shrunk in size for the man who loomed so strapping and tall only a few feet away, his dark eyes fixed upon her.

  Not black nor brown but somewhere in between from the light spilling in through the narrow mullioned window.

  Magdalene saw anger flit across his face—a truly fine-looking face, she couldn’t deny it—the set of his jaw hardening again.

  He looked every inch the fearsome warrior with his black woolen tunic covered by thickly padded leather armor to his waist, oiled leather boots, and a belt slung around his hips that sheathed a massive sword. The carved hilt glinted ominously in the sunlight, making her take a step closer to the wall.

  At once Magdalene thought of her beautiful older sister, Debora, and how she must have felt to face her brute of a husband alone for the first time.

  Her marriage a political alliance forged by their father, Donal MacDougall, that had sent poor Debora to her grave within six months.

  Yet more horror was to come. Debora’s untimely death drove their sweet mother, Elspeth, to madness, her mind shattered by grief.

  Fearing that she might suffer a similar fate as Debora, Magdalene had imitated their mother’s lunacy so well that Donal had sent her away to the convent. She’d guessed long ago that his guilt over her sister’s fate had caused him to leave her in peace and not marry her off, but he was gone now, too, succumbing to a fever seven months past. She should have known Seoras would one day use her as a pawn—oh, no, the brute who’d wed her was coming closer!

  Trembling uncontrollably, Magdalene jumped backward and hit the wall, wincing as Gabriel reached out to her. She shook her head wildly and closed her eyes, but not before she saw a look of resignation on his face where anger had been only a moment before.

  “Magdalene, I swear that I’m not going tae hurt you. I dinna know if you can understand me, but I didna want this marriage, either. If I could leave you here, I would, you’d be much safer, but your brother has ordered that you reside with me at MacLachlan Castle. Now come. You need tae dress and we must go. Take my hand, I’ll help you.
”

  His voice low and coaxing, Magdalene nonetheless shook her head fiercely and kept her eyes tightly closed.

  Safer? What had he meant? Och, what did it matter?

  She wanted no part of this marriage and the sooner Gabriel MacLachlan regretted taking her away with him, the sooner she’d find herself blessedly back at the convent and in her room—alone!

  Inhaling a great breath, she let out such a piercing screech that she was certain the window might shatter and shoved him with all her strength—to her surprise, knocking him flat on his arse.

  She heard his startled curse but nothing else as she shrieked again and dodged past him to fling open the door and lunge into the hallway…straight into the arms of Sister Hestia and Sister Tabitha.

  “We’ve got her, Laird, we’ve got her!”

  Chapter 3

  Gabriel jumped to his feet, incredulous and disgruntled by turns that his wild-eyed slip of a bride had knocked him down, even as he felt the strangest urge to laugh.

  By God, no one had so bested him since his youth when he would wrestle with Cameron and Conall, the brothers’ combined effort needed to drop him to his knees. And then he had soundly trounced both of them until they had howled for mercy, their faces shoved into the mud, though moments later, they all were laughing and slapping each other on the back.

  Grinning at the memory, Gabriel nonetheless sobered at the sight of the two nuns struggling so mightily to prevent Magdalene, naked again, from breaking free.

  Sister Agnes, meanwhile, stood off to one side, wringing her hands and crossing herself by turns. He swept up his breacan discarded upon the floor and within two strides, grabbed his shrieking bride around the waist and hauled her into the air.

  “Enough, wife! If you wish tae ride bare-arsed all the way tae Argyllshire for the world tae see, then so be it!”

  With that, Gabriel pitched her over his shoulder and gave her a sound whack on her sweetly rounded bottom, which made the nuns gasp and Sister Agnes’s mouth to drop open.