Thirty Nights With a Highland Husband

by Melissa Mayhue

  I’m actually in the thirteenth century. It boggled her mind whenever she allowed herself to think about it.

  What she needed was time to herself. Time away from all this, away from him, to process what was happening to her, to adjust.

  “I’m going to walk down to the water. I’ll be back in a little while.” The stream was not too far from where they had chosen to camp.

  “Do you hae need for one of us to accompany you?” It was the first Connor had spoken to her since he’d helped her off the horse when they’d arrived at this spot.

  “No.” She spoke more sharply than she’d intended in her haste. She attempted to soften it. “But thanks anyway.”

  “Weel, stay close. Mind now, do as I say. Yer to go no farther than the water.” He barely looked at her as he gave the order and resumed his conversation with Duncan, dismissing her like a child.

  It was the second time in two days a man had treated her like that.

  “Men.”

  Cate stomped through the lush forest growth. Hard to imagine she had ever thought a “take control” attitude was attractive in a man. She’d known this one for less than twenty-four hours and already he acted as if he had the right to tell her what to do. Here he had just popped in, totally disrupted her life, planted the most electrifying kiss she’d ever had on her, made her think of nothing but him and then completely ignored her until he chose to give more orders.

  “Classic male behavior.”

  Mumbling to herself, she rounded a large group of boulders and approached the water’s edge. She knelt down, and after unbuttoning her jacket, dipped her hands in the water and splashed it over her face and neck.

  The icy water cooled her face but not her temper. She was still fuming over Connor’s attitude when she started to rise and unexpectedly found herself face-to-face with a huge, hairy, drooling beast.

  She did the only rational thing she could think to do. She screamed.

  * * *

  Sword drawn, Connor raced toward the stream. Adrenaline flooded his body as his imagination conjured myriad dangers confronting the helpless woman in his care. What had he been thinking to let her wander off alone? The fact that her very presence distracted him from rational thought was no excuse. Her safety was his responsibility and his alone.

  As he rounded the boulders, a most curious sight halted him in his tracks. Cate, on her back, pinned to the ground by an enormous dog. He couldn’t immediately decide which was more amazing—Cate’s giggling or the huge animal happily licking her face.

  “Beast,” he shouted. “Dinna maul the wee lassie.”

  The dog perked up his ears and ran to Connor, who ruffled his fur while the dog nuzzled his hand.

  “I see you’ve met my companion. Yer no afraid of dogs, then?”

  Cate sat up and brushed herself off. “I love dogs. I’m sorry I screamed. I just didn’t realize that brute was a dog when I first saw him.” She gave an embarrassed laugh. “Lord, he’s the biggest wolfhound I’ve ever seen.”

  Connor leaned down, offering a hand to help her to her feet. The blush covering her face and neck was most attractive, especially as it crept down the skin now bared by her jacket’s opening. The question of just how much of her skin might be covered by the warm pink color floated through his mind. He quickly let go of her and rubbed his hands together nervously.

  “Beast disna usually take to strangers.” Connor shook his head as they started back to camp. “I hae seen him chew upon someone on first meeting, but never carry on like he was. Are you in any way hurt?”

  “No, he was very gentle. Well, after he knocked me down, that is.” Cate smiled up at him. “Beast. Is that his name?”

  “Aye, it’s what I call him.” She looked so young and trusting when she smiled at him like that. Naught but a woman’s deceptive mask, he reminded himself. “It’s what he is. He usually stays outside the camp when I’m with others.”

  He took her arm to help her over a downed limb, and somehow maintained that contact all the way back to the clearing, with Beast following closely at her heels.

  The wolfhound remained at Cate’s side. During the evening meal, Connor ignored her slipping bits of food to the creature as they ate. By the end of the meal, it appeared that Beast was completely captivated by their guest.

  * * *

  “Right here? On the ground. Out in the open?” She should have expected as much. It was, after all, the thirteenth century. It wasn’t as if there were hotels along the road. “Not even a tent?”

  All three of her traveling companions stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.

  “It’s time we sleep. You’ll hae to make do. It appears there’s no grand inns along our route, milady.” Connor’s mocking tone matched the haughty look he gave her now as he threw what appeared to be a bundle of blankets at her feet.

  Both Rosalyn and Duncan took similar-looking bundles and arranged them on the ground a short distance from the banked fire, quietly climbing into their individual covers. Connor, his own bundle tucked under his arm, turned his back and walked a distance away from her.

  She picked up the bundle he’d tossed to her and followed. “I don’t expect grand inns.” Though an inn of any sort would be more welcome than sleeping out in the open wilderness.

  He didn’t respond, or even bother to look at her, as he arranged his own bedding and lay down, closing his eyes as if to dismiss her.

  “What if it rains?”

  “Pull the covers over yer head. The woolens will keep you mostly dry.” He still didn’t look at her.

  “Mostly dry,” she repeated. “What about . . . about things out there?” She pointed vaguely into the darkness that surrounded them.

  He huffed an impatient breath. “Things? What things?”

  “I don’t know. Animals. Bears. Whatever big things are out there.” Bugs. Snakes. Oh Lord, she hadn’t even thought of them until now.

  Connor opened his eyes and raised himself up onto one elbow. “Are you afraid, then, lass? Is that it?”

  “No.” Well, she hadn’t been until she started to imagine all the possibilities that actually could be out there in the dark.

  He studied her through narrowed eyes, clearly skeptical of her answer before he stood and took the bundle from her arms. He opened it, arranging the blankets on the ground next to his own.

  “There. Lie down now and go to sleep. We’ve an early start tomorrow and a long ride ahead of us. I’ll see to any ‘things’ what creep out of the dark tonight. Dinna you worry.” He waited while she looked at the blankets, making up her mind.

  Obviously this was her only option. She curled up on the blanket and he pulled a woolen cover over her, then lay down next to her.

  Something cold touched her face and she jumped.

  “It’s only Beast,” Connor whispered, but he put his arm protectively across her all the same.

  This time it’s only Beast, she thought, and scooted closer to him, grateful for the shelter of his arm. Let him think what he wanted; she wasn’t really afraid, just being cautious. She would not think about what might be out there. She’d concentrate on going to sleep.

  But sleep eluded her for quite some time as her fear of the wild was gradually replaced with a keen awareness of the man lying next to her. She remained awake, listening as his breathing became slow and regular. In sleep, his hold tightened, drawing her closer, and she didn’t resist. The strong warmth of him comforted her. Lying in his arms like this, it would be easy to allow herself to imagine him more than he was, to imagine his caress of her meant more than it did. It was impossible not to remember the feel of his arms about her as he’d sworn to protect her from all harm, the look in eyes as he’d lowered his head, the feel of his lips electric against her own.

  To her surprise, with Beast curled at her feet and Connor wrapped around her back, even the terrors of the dark forest couldn’t prevent her feeling inexplicably safe. As she finally drifted off to sleep, thoughts of a handsome warrior ha
unted her dreams.

  CHAPTER 5

  It was growing dark by the time the castle came into sight, sitting as it did on the crest of a small hill. They’d been riding hard for the past hour or so, the men determined to reach their destination before full nightfall.

  Cate was exhausted, both from so little sleep the night before and from the exertion of riding for two days. Her legs ached and muscles she didn’t even know she had hurt. When she got home, she was never going to ride a horse again. Nothing she could imagine at the moment sounded better than a long hot shower.

  Connor shifted the reins, bringing his arm closer around her. The movement brought a wave of memory, of how it felt to lie next to him all night, to be held by him, and she had to admit to herself that her imagination had quickly found something much better than just a shower.

  Thinking along those lines, she closed her eyes and visualized a shower with him in it. She relaxed into Connor, allowing herself to get comfortable against his body, when suddenly he straightened in the saddle, tightening his arm around her.

  “Riders,” Duncan called, not sounding any too pleased as he and Connor quickly sandwiched Rosalyn’s horse in between their own two.

  “It’s only Artair’s men, come to escort us in,” Rosalyn said as the riders pulled even and turned to surround their small party.

  “Greetings, Fergus,” she called to the leader of the group.

  “Welcome back, milady.” Fergus nodded to Connor and Duncan.

  It was too dark now to see his face clearly, but Cate felt him and the other riders surveying her with curiosity.

  Once they reached the castle, Connor dismounted first, reaching up to lift Cate down. It surprised her when, rather than quickly letting go of her as he had every other time he’d helped her down, he instead tucked her under his arm and drew her toward the entry.

  “Yer uncle says I’m to bring you directly to his hall.” Fergus seemed uncomfortable, as if expecting an argument.

  “Tell my uncle we’re tired from our hard journey. I’ll join him in the morning.”

  Fergus held his arm across the door, and Connor’s body tensed next to her.

  “I’m verra sorry, Connor. Yer uncle says I’m no to take you anywhere but his hall.” He shuffled his feet awkwardly.

  “We may as weel get this over with, Nephew.” Rosalyn leaned over to whisper to him.

  “Verra weel, Fergus. Lead on.”

  In the dimly lit hall, several people sat behind a long table on a raised dais. Seated at the center of the group was a large, stern-looking man whose coloring was similar to Connor’s. He must be the uncle. A lovely young woman with shiny black hair was seated on one side of him, while an attractive blond man lounged in the chair on his other side.

  Rosalyn stood off to the side observing. Duncan had disappeared completely.

  “Uncle.” Connor bowed his head slightly in greeting.

  “What was so important in Cromarty that you’d no the courtesy to tell me you were going, simply up and left in the middle of the night?” Artair shouted across the table, his reddened face reflecting the intensity of his anger.

  “Really, Artair, he’s hardly a bairn to ask yer leave. He was only here for a few days, visiting with Mairi.” Rosalyn moved to seat herself at the table, motioning to the servant to bring her a drink. “And it was early evening when we left, Brother, no the middle of the night.” She actually batted her eyes at the man.

  “I’m no asking you, Sister. I’ll thank you to keep yer place and let the lad answer for himself.” He spoke through gritted teeth, glaring at her.

  To Cate’s surprise, Rosalyn seemed completely unaffected by him. Just seeing the look on that man’s face made her flinch. He was clearly angry.

  “A messenger brought word that my bride was arriving at the port of Cromarty. I had need to be there to meet her. There was no time to discuss it with anyone.” Connor tightened his arm around Cate.

  “You had time to discuss it with Rosalyn,” Artair challenged with a glare. “I saw no messengers. And what’s this about a bride? You said nothing about a bride when we last spoke. Where’s she from that she’d arrive at the port in Cromarty?” His glare turned on Cate.

  The man looked furious, his face a bright red, his eyes menacing. If not for Connor’s arm around her, she would have been backing up.

  “The message was mine, no yers, Uncle, so there’d be no need for you to see the messenger. Speaking to Rosalyn was necessary. I could no allow my bride to travel without a chaperone.” Although Connor shrugged nonchalantly, the tension remained in his body where he held her next to him. “She’s come from Outremer. I saved her father’s life in battle and he’s sent her to me to repay the debt.” He paused only for a moment, scanning the faces of those seated in front of him. “We’ll be married right away.”

  “Married?” Artair shouted. “No without my consent, and you’ll no hae that. I forbid it.”

  The woman at the table gasped. “A heathen? You’ve brought a filthy little heathen into my home?”

  “Anabella.” Artair said only her name, without so much as looking in her direction, but it was enough to quiet her.

  Connor didn’t spare a glance to the woman, his eyes locked on his uncle. “I will wed her, with or without yer blessing. If I have to seek the king’s approval over yers, I’ll do so, though for the sake of our family, I’d prefer yer consent.”

  Artair continued to stare at Cate, but his look had turned speculative. His tone changed as well.

  “There’s no need to involve Alexander in our family affairs. If this one’s naught but a heathen’s gift for a life debt, lad, you’ve no need to sully yerself by marrying her. Take her to the old castle and set her up as yer mistress if you like.”

  Artair elbowed the younger blond man next to him and smiled as if he were well pleased with this new course of action.

  “Her father’s a wealthy nobleman in his country, Uncle. A man I respect. I would no shame him, or herself, in such a manner.”

  There was an edge to Connor’s voice Cate hadn’t heard before. He let go of her then, placing her behind him when he moved forward a few steps.

  “We’ll marry right away.” He rested his hand lightly on the hilt of his sword.

  Artair surged from his chair as Connor approached, the two men locking gazes. Tension rippled through the room. The situation had rapidly turned into something quite uncomfortable, something that appeared to be headed toward violence.

  These people were nothing like the ones who’d greeted Cate upon her arrival. These people were absolutely hateful. Thank goodness she wasn’t really here to marry Connor, or she’d be feeling pretty irritated with this current group.

  Above all, Cate hoped that hateful woman up there wasn’t Connor’s sister. She didn’t seem like someone Cate would particularly want to save.

  “The filthy heathen’s dressed like a common harlot, no a noblewoman, her legs outlined in trews without even the intelligence to look ashamed,” Anabella sniped. “I’ll no hae a street whore sleeping in my home.”

  Cate’s mouth dropped open in shock. Her rational mind shut down as the exhaustion and irritation coupled. They spoke about her as if she weren’t standing right there, as if she couldn’t understand the words they said. And the nerve of that awful woman. These pajamas, although, granted, a little horsey at the moment, cost enough to keep that snotty cow in clothing for a year.

  Cate fumed, listening without really hearing as they argued among themselves. Everyone was standing now, yelling about “banns” and “honor” and “heathens,” pointing at her and carrying on until finally Cate had enough.

  Wasn’t she supposed to be the daughter of a wealthy nobleman? It was time she started to play her part.

  She held up her hand. “That’s enough.”

  No one seemed to notice her, least of all Connor, who had advanced another step toward the podium, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword now. The young man next to Artair fin
gered his sword as well. Things were going downhill quickly.

  “I said that’s enough,” she yelled at the top of her voice. The room went silent at Cate’s statement. “I’ve listened to you people bad-mouth me for as long as I’m going to. Now you can just listen to me for a minute.”

  Moving forward, she eluded Connor’s attempt to grab her arm as she passed him, pitching her voice low to force their attention. “I will not be treated in this manner.” She stepped onto the dais and slammed her hands down on the table, leaning toward those standing on the other side. “My name is Caitlyn Coryell, and I am not a heathen, filthy or otherwise.” She swept those in front of her with a contemptuous glare before pulling herself up to her full height and looking down her nose at all those assembled, which was no easy task considering that everyone there towered over her, especially Connor’s uncle, who stood directly in front of her, his eyes wild with anger.

  “I have just traveled farther than most of you can possibly imagine. I am tired, hungry and dirty. I need a room. I need some decent food, and I need a warm bath.”

  Cate turned to walk out of the hall, emotionally drained after the scene she’d just endured. She stopped as she reached Connor.

  “I’m not at all impressed with your family. Where I come from, at the very least we know how to take care of a guest in our home.”

  Fortunately he took her arm to support her as they walked out of the room. Her palms stung from slamming them on the table and her legs felt almost too weak to support her. Above the babble of voices in her wake, she thought she heard the sound of Rosalyn’s laughter.

  Cate sagged against Connor, exhaustion and nerves finally catching up with her. His strong arms pulled her close, her head resting against his chest. She felt strangely comforted by the vibration of his deep voice rumbling as he quietly spoke to the older woman who approached them. She didn’t care who he spoke to or what they did. She only wanted to close her eyes and sink into the shelter of his protective embrace, where she felt safe.

  Within minutes, she was pulled from that haven and escorted upstairs to a room, where, in very short order, she was served a meal of sorts. She’d only just begun to eat when someone else arrived with a large oblong wooden tub, followed by a parade of people carrying buckets of hot water.