Sara had been caught off guard. She’d never expected something like this to happen, hadn’t even known Harken was around, nor had she considered him a threat in any way. Now here he was, threatening to spoil her plan. How did she handle him?
Killing him would be preferable and solve the problem, she thought, but she had only killed that once, in self-defense; this was a different matter.
Then she realized she wasn’t alone in handling this, and folding her arms across her chest, smiled. “Why don’t we discuss this with my husband and see what he has to say?”
“I’m not afraid of your husband,” Harken boasted with a tremble.
“You should be,” Sara warned. “He won’t take kindly to you threatening his wife.”
“False wife,” he accused with a sneer.
“And you’ll be proving that how?” she said on a laugh.
Harken raised a shaking fist at her. “Mock me, woman, and you’ll be sorry.”
Sara took a couple of quick steps toward him and he stumbled away from her. “You remember the last time you thought to threaten me or do you need a reminder?”
“You were promised to me and I’ll see that I get what is mine,” he said defiantly.
“Sara is mine!”
Harken paled a deathly white and his eyes near popped from his head, while Sara’s heart leapt and her legs quivered beneath her dark blue skirt at her husband’s thunderous proclamation.
Cullen’s arms were soon around her, having approached from behind, and she hugged the strong arms that embraced her waist. He pressed his body hard against hers, letting her know he was there for her, would protect her, keep her from harm, and that knowing filled her with an indefinable pleasure.
“Explain yourself,” Cullen ordered with a shout at Harken.
The man looked ready to run, inching slowly away like a crawling bug.
“I’m a patient man,” Harken said, staring directly at Sara, then he turned and ran.
“What was that all about?” Cullen asked, turning Sara around in his arms.
She almost sighed at the sight of him, so handsome and clean and fresh smelling. She wanted to hug him close and never let him go. Instead, she kissed him, nothing passionate, simply generous.
She eased away from him, though took his hand. She would not have him think her upset. She would not have him know how she truly felt.
“It’s nothing. Let’s go see your son.”
He halted her with a tug. “Alexander is sleeping and we go nowhere until you tell me what this is about.”
Did she tell him or did she deal with it herself? The way Harken had paled and trembled at the sight of her husband probably guaranteed that he wouldn’t show himself again until after Cullen left, though she couldn’t be certain of that. If it were the case, would she be able to handle him herself?
She had been handling her problems alone well before she’d wed Cullen, she thought. She would do so again.
“He’s disgruntled, having lost his chance at joining the McHern clan,” she said, speaking the truth though not all of it.
“Before I leave, I will make certain he will not bother you.”
“Not necessary,” she advised, her tone light, her heart aching.
Then they walked hand in hand, the sun a bright yellow globe in a clear sky and the air warm for spring. It was a perfect day, a perfect moment; if only it were real, she thought.
Chapter 26
Cullen woke alone the next morning and turned to bury his face in Sara’s warm pillow, the scent of her still fresh on the white linens. Hints of lavender and pine mixed with her unique womanly aroma and he inhaled deeply of it.
He threw the coverlet off and rushed out of bed, perturbed by the fact that he favored Sara’s scent while unable to remember Alaina’s. He’d come to realize that Alaina had been fading from his memory little by little each day. Where once he could picture her so clearly in his mind, it was now more of a faded view, as if obscured by a mist.
He blamed this failing memory on Sara. Since entering his life, his mind had been consumed with thoughts of her, and not all good, at least at first. Then she began to grow on him, and now she invaded his thoughts and senses nonstop. She wouldn’t leave him alone, or was it that he wouldn’t stop thinking about her?
Cullen dressed in a tan shirt and plaid, and after slipping on his sandals, reached for Sara’s comb. He stared at the tangled hairs nestled in the teeth. If only their bodies could tangle like that.
He shook his head and mumbled a few oaths as he dragged the comb through his hair with pulls and tugs before replacing it on the table. He spied Sara’s nightdress draped over the chair, reached out for it, then stopped.
“Fool,” he mumbled, turning to leave, then turning back and grabbing the nightdress and doing what his reflex had first bade him to do—bury his face in it. Her scent was strong and alluring, and damn if he didn’t get a rise from it.
He tossed the garment back on the chair and stomped out of the room. It was clear that he wanted his wife in the worst way, and as clear that he was failing miserably at accomplishing the simple task.
The conflicting thoughts were driving him crazy, while his guilt over betraying Alaina’s memory ate at his heart. He had no idea how to settle his torment, and could only wish, pray, and beg that it would end. Yet he knew that only he could end it, however that might be. He wasn’t sure.
He wished he were leaving today with his son, yet glad that he wasn’t—more conflicting musings that made no sense. In a few days, Sara and he would have known each other for only two weeks, and he was acting, feeling, as if she’d been in his life forever.
He near cursed aloud, but his wife beat him to it.
“Like hell I will!”
Cullen entered the great hall to see Sara sitting rigidly at the table while her father paced in front of the fireplace, his hands hooked behind his back.
The man had a gruff manner about him, but Cullen had come to realize that McHern actually had a soft heart where his daughters were concerned, especially for Sara. She was without a doubt her father’s daughter, stubborn and bold, yet kind and honest. And because of this, he expected from her what he expected from himself—strength, courage and a do-what-was-necessary nature.
Sara, however, wasn’t complying.
“It’s a good cottage,” McHern said sternly.
“It is too close to the keep,” Sara argued.
McHern caught sight of Cullen, stopped pacing and smiled, and Cullen knew that the old man saw him as an ally. He looked to his wife, wanting to reassure her of his support, and wasn’t surprised to see that she didn’t require it. She sat self-assured, positive, while her pacing father sweated.
McHern waved for him to join them. “Cullen, we need your help.”
“No we don’t,” Sara corrected.
Cullen walked over to his wife, placed a hand on her shoulder and a kiss on her cheek. “What’s the problem?”
“I’m offering Sara and you a nice cottage—”
“Too near the keep,” Sara finished.
“What’s wrong with that?” McHern barked.
“I want privacy,” Sara snapped. “I want the land and cottage that sits between here and Teresa’s place. Katie’s old place.”
“That’s too far, and what about your husband?” McHern demanded. “What about what he wants?”
“I want what Sara wants,” Cullen assured him.
“I thought to keep you closer,” her father grumbled.
Cullen understood Sara’s tactics. Once he was gone, her father would most likely have a different opinion of her, and a home a bit of a distance from the keep would serve her well.
Sara’s eyes softened just as her father’s did, and Cullen couldn’t help but smile at how alike father and daughter were.
“The cottage you suggest is too small,” she explained.
McHern grinned. “It’s a brew you’ll be having then?”
Cullen answered for Sara, kno
wing it would disturb her to lie even more to her father. “As many as we’re blessed with.”
McHern grinned at his daughter and rubbed his hands together. “I knew you’d do right by the clan.” And with a pound to his chest he declared, “I’m proud of that.”
Cullen could feel the weight of her father’s praise descend on Sara’s shoulders, and he watched them slowly droop. He knew this deception upset her, but she had little choice, and after seeing Harken, he realized the necessity of the ruse.
“You have a fine man there, Sara,” McHern said. “Do right by him.”
Her head snapped up. “What about me? Do you tell him to do right by me?”
McHern cringed. “Don’t go getting your nettle up. You don’t want to go chasing a good man away.”
Sara slammed her hands on the table and stood, the bench near toppling over if Cullen hadn’t saved it.
“Me? Chase him away?” she asked, affronted. “He’d do well to keep me happy or it’ll be me leaving.”
“Don’t threaten your husband, daughter,” McHern warned.
Cullen remained silent, sensing that Sara was setting their plan into action, but when he caught the hurt in her eyes, it stung his heart and the need to shield her overwhelmed him and propelled him into action.
“Don’t raise your voice to my wife,” Cullen ordered, stepping around the table to stand face-to-face with McHern.
The older man shook his head, his eyes more weary than angry. “You’ll need a firm hand with her or she’ll drive you away.”
“Sara can’t drive me away. I love her.” His own declaration startled him, especially since it came so easily, without a shred of hesitation.
“Good, good, my son.” McHern smiled and encouraged him with a firm nod. “Remember that, always remember that, and it will serve you well and save you trouble in the years to come.”
Cullen heard his advice, but was more concerned with the astonished look in Sara’s rounded eyes. She didn’t believe his words, did she? He merely was adhering to their plan, wasn’t he? He hadn’t planned on announcing he loved her, had thought demonstrating it by holding hands, a kiss now and again while in the village, a protective arm around her waist, would be sufficient to give the impression that they were in love.
“Sara, feed your husband then take him to see your new home,” her father said with a satisfied smile. “And move in when it pleases you.”
“Thank you, Father,” Sara said stiffly.
It was as hard for McHern to accept his daughter’s gratitude as it was for Sara to give it, and the old man simply shrugged and walked off.
“You don’t make it easy for your father to love you,” Cullen said, sitting beside her and helping himself to a thick slice of honey bread.
“You declare your love easily enough,” Sara snipped.
“Isn’t that part of our bargain?” Cullen asked.
Sara stood, though kept her voice to a murmur. “I respect honesty above all things. You didn’t have to tell such a blatant lie. You could have phrased it differently.”
She walked off in an anxious flourish and was out the door before Cullen could blink. The woman could be frustrating at times, while other times impossible, and in between lovable. She was a riddle of sorts, which intrigued him, and had since he first met her.
He feared solving that riddle would take years, and he wondered if even then he’d ever find the answer. But he wouldn’t mind trying. If only he had the time. Time, however, wasn’t his friend. He had little of it, and what was left to him he’d dedicate to Sara’s safety.
He reached for another slice of honey bread and stretched to a stand. He’d best go be the good husband with the limited time allotted him, though honestly it was no chore, even when Sara bristled. He had yet not to enjoy her company, or ever found conversation with her boring. She possessed a quick mind, and though her tongue matched, he’d never seen her abrasive or malicious to anyone.
She was a good soul with good intentions, and a far more beautiful woman than anyone noticed, and he believed that was because she intimidated most people she met. Her tall height, her overpowering nature, and that bright red mane of hers captured the attention before the gentleness of her eyes was seen or the smoothness of her flawless skin was noticed…or how perfect her rosy lips were for kissing.
He shook his head and his reverie away and went to join his wife, reminding himself that this was all a ruse and he would soon be gone. He needed to do what needed doing and be done with it, as he had advised her from the start.
Cullen hadn’t been surprised to learn that Sara had left for the cottage without him, and after mounting his horse, it didn’t take him long to find his way there, the women of the village graciously offering help with directions.
He arrived just as a broken chair came flying out the front door of a good-sized cottage. It had a fine thatched roof, and two windows with broken shutters flanked the open door. A large garden overrun with weeds ran along the left side of the cottage, while a well-worn path cut its way to the front door.
Cullen dismounted and left his horse to wander over by Sara’s mare, who was busy drinking from a trough near a grove of oaks. He made his way carefully to the door, ready to step out of the way if any more furnishings should take flight.
“Sara,” he called out when near.
She appeared in a flash at the open door, her hands hugging her hips, and he smiled. A smudge of dirt ran across her nose and dotted her cheek and chin. Her bright red hair was piled atop her head, and her eyes glared a little too brightly.
Had she been crying?
Impossible. He had rarely seen Sara cry, at least a hard cry. He didn’t think her capable of it.
“What do you want?” she asked, near snapping his head off.
“To help.”
“I don’t need your help. I do just fine on my own.” She turned and entered the cottage.
He followed her into a large room, light spilling in from the open windows and filling the space with iridescent sunshine. A fireplace with a fine oak mantel occupied the wall opposite the door, and the only furnishings were a spindle-backed rocker, a small table, and a bed, the mattress in need of fresh stuffing.
“Have I upset you?” he asked, reaching out for her hand.
She moved out of reach. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“You’ve been snarling and snapping at me since I first greeted you this morning.” He walked over to the table, reached for the cloth draped over the rim of the bucket of water and wet it.
Sara stood staunchly, arms crossed over her chest, in front of the fireplace. “I suppose I’m feeling cross today.”
Cullen nodded and approached her slowly. She didn’t move, and he didn’t expect her to. She would show him no weakness or fear. He knew that was how she hid her deepest hurts—with a false bravado.
“Your face is smudged with dirt,” he said, and wiped at the spot on her chin.
She kept silent and moved not a muscle.
Cullen cleaned each smudge off her face, slowly and methodically until her skin sparkled a rosy pink and her blue-green eyes softened. Then he kissed her.
It was a simple kiss, or meant to be. A mere brush of his lips to let her know he was there for her even if she were angry with him. But when he tasted her, he couldn’t stop.
She was lusciously delicious, like a favorite treat you simply couldn’t refuse.
He tossed the cloth aside and cupped her face to feast on her, as she did on him. It felt as if he’d been hungry for her forever and that if he didn’t quench this relentless hunger he’d die from starvation.
He nibbled along the silky column of her neck, and she dropped her head back to give him full rein. He took it, nipping and nibbling until she shuddered in his arms.
“I want you,” he growled, then nipped at her ear and moved to her mouth to claim any objection.
She shook her head and pushed him away, but he didn’t give in so easily.
“Don
’t deny us,” he demanded.
“This will serve no purpose.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her lips, ripe from his kisses. “The hell with purpose. I want you and you want me. Don’t deny it.”
“I won’t deny I want you. But I can’t deny I fear falling in love with you,” she said, and pushing him off her, ran to the door.
Cullen got there first, slamming it shut and grabbing her arm to swing her around and pin her against the closed door. He anchored her there with his body while he planted his hands on either side of her head, encasing her.
“Don’t so this,” she warned.
He had to smile. “Only you would warn. Most women would plead with want.”
“I’m not most women.”
“And grateful I am for it.” He leaned in to kiss her, and she turned her head.
“Why are you grateful?” she asked challengingly.
“You are a woman of great passion in everything that you do,” he replied, meeting her challenge. “You seize the moment, you take a chance, you defy the common, you defend the helpless, you fight for life on your terms, and…you are so very beautiful.”
“You believe me beautiful?” she asked doubtfully.
He brought his mouth slowly to hers. “More beautiful than you can ever imagine.”
She ducked and squeezed out from against him. “I can’t.”
“You can,” he urged, frustrated, and reached out for her.
She skirted away from him anxiously, yet he saw the ache of unfulfilled passion in her misty eyes, and in response his own passion soared like a mighty warrior prepared for battle.
Then he descended on her so quickly that she didn’t have a chance to slip out of his reach. He grabbed hold of her arms and held her firm as she attempted to wiggle free.
“I’ll not let you go this time,” he warned.
“I’ll not submit to you,” she argued.
He shook his head. “I see the desire raging in your eyes. You have denied yourself too long.”
“I will not—”
“You will,” he snapped.
“I won’t.”
“You want me.”
The Highlander's Bride Page 20