The Highland Laird's Bride

by Nicole Locke

  After all, it was their marriage night. It was simply she didn’t know how to go about it. She couldn’t understand what he did now, standing away from her and drinking more ale.

  She didn’t know anything about him. She knew of his clan’s wealth and power, but for the rest...?

  ‘Would you tell me about your family?’ she asked.

  ‘This is unexpected,’ he said.

  ‘We’re married now,’ she said.

  ‘True, but I thought you already knew,’ he said. ‘Your father never told you?’

  Her father confiding in her? She couldn’t imagine it. ‘I know of Gaira, but he didn’t tell about the rest.’

  Bram took a drink. ‘What do you want to know?’

  She didn’t know; she just expected him to talk. He was used to people asking questions and answering them in turn. She barely asked her question.

  Bram lowered his cup and tilted his head as if he was assessing her. Did he think this was a negotiation? A barter? She shrugged.

  ‘We’ll start from the beginning, then,’ Bram began. ‘My mother died giving birth to my youngest sister, Irvette. My father died some years later. He was always eager and one day he was reckless with a horse.’

  A small smile against his lips. ‘My youngest brother, Malcolm, is like that. Looks like our father as well, although his hair is darker. The rest of us have the traits of our mother.’

  An odd twinge happened near her heart as Bram recalled his mother. She looked at the vibrancy of him, his constant laughter, the ease he had with everything...and yet he knew pain and loss in his life. How could he find laughter so easily?

  She lifted the cup to her lips, but it was empty. When he gestured for her to bring it to him, she hesitated to hand him the cup.

  She was right in the hesitation. He didn’t only slide his fingers this time, he enfolded his fingers over hers as he poured the ale. His entire concentration was on the liquid pouring into the cup, but hers was on their touch.

  When he released his hand, she barely stopped from protesting. To hide the sound, she said, ‘The rest of your family?

  Bram took a step back, his fingers now moving around the cup like a caress. ‘That would leave Caird, who’s a few years younger than me, and Gaira.’

  Gaira, his sister. She didn’t want to talk about Gaira. ‘What of your other sister, Irvette?’

  His hand jerked around his cup. ‘You truly know nothing? I thought my letter told you.’

  ‘Your letter was of my father’s death and your coming.’ She didn’t want to talk of Gaira returning to Colquhoun keep and his intention to come here. Not tonight. But she could tell from his expression that he didn’t want to talk of Irvette. It wasn’t only the pull of his brows, it was the pain filling his grey eyes. Then she knew.

  ‘You lost her, too. Did she die when your mother did?’

  ‘Irvette’s...gone. Your father never mentioned it? Maybe he didn’t have enough time.’ He shook his head and the pain eased a bit. ‘Irvette died at the massacre of Doonhill.’

  Grief and loss laced the tenor of Bram’s voice.

  ‘She died, along with her husband, at the massacre. Their daughter, Margaret, who we call Maisie, survived along with some other children.’ He looked into his cup. ‘It feels...odd...telling you this story.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because your family is such a large part of the tale.’

  Again, he was mistaken she was part of a family or part of a clan. She was surprised he hadn’t realised it himself. She thought nothing escaped his observant gaze.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘If you want to.’

  He turned, and it looked as though he wanted to take her hand before he let his own fall to his side.

  Odd that she felt that loss. To cover her reaction, she walked to one of the chairs and sat. He sat in the accompanying one and turned towards her.

  ‘When Gaira...separated from your father, she rode to Irvette at Doonhill, but it was too late. By then the English had destroyed everything, killed everyone. Gaira found Maisie in the valley and three surviving children in the forest above. She returned with them to Colquhoun land.’

  ‘She travelled that distance with children?’

  ‘Aye.’

  She hadn’t known. All this time, she imagined Gaira as someone weak. Why else flee her father and the hard work waiting for her at Clan Fergusson? When in fact, such a journey from Doonhill to the Colquhouns’ would have been dangerous. Gaira couldn’t be soft or weak or anything she imagined her to be. But talking of Gaira and her journey was painful for other reasons and the grief on Bram’s face was still there.

  ‘Irvette. You miss her still,’ she said.

  ‘Every day. Malcolm and I talk of her, but Gaira most of all. She’s raising Maisie, who has so much of our sister in her. It’s joyous and heartbreaking to see her grow.’

  ‘And Caird?’

  ‘Still won’t talk of Irvette. He rarely talks as it is. But with Irvette? Absolute silence. We all tried, but he’s never been open or talkative like the rest of us. Malcolm once accused him of not caring. Caird swung fast and hard, and took us all by surprise. By the time I reached them, Malcolm had left the keep.’ Bram jerked and some sound came out of him before he took a long drink. ‘He even left Colquhoun land for...a while.’

  She tried to remember Malcolm, and what she had been able to see of him. He had scars and they weren’t that old. Had they occurred after he fled?

  ‘No one’s accused Caird of not caring again,’ Bram continued. ‘That swing was lethal and Caird never loses control. Although—’ he tilted his empty cup ‘—I think that may change.’

  Lioslath took a sip and thought back to the day she’d seen the Colquhouns talking with Bram outside the gates. Caird had been the man with hair that looked red only in the sunlight. ‘He was the one here with the curly-haired woman.’

  ‘That was Mairead. I think my brother has met his match with her.’ Bram went to the pitcher, which must have been empty, since he set it and his cup back down. Then he eyed the bed and small room. The light was dimming as some candles sputtered out. There weren’t any sounds from the Hall or courtyard.

  ‘They were close... Are they married?’

  ‘You observed much in those weeks,’ he said.

  ‘Little was left for me to do.’

  That brought his eyes to hers. ‘Aye, well. We have this agreement between us now.’

  ‘This marriage?’ she said. ‘Aye.’

  He looked around him again as if he was lost for words or actions.

  ‘It’s night,’ he finally said, glancing at her and then away. ‘Are you tired?’

  She should be. She drank the ale, but none of her nervousness was gone because he’d touched her hand, he’d talked and his voice affected her. ‘Nae.’

  He went to the pitcher, which was still empty, but it seemed to surprise or irritate him again. ‘We should talk more.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because the night is long. Because I didn’t think it would be like this with you.’

  ‘Am I to understand you?’

  ‘You’re making a crease between your brows, Lioslath. It’s very trying to a man who’s denying things.’

  She shook her head. ‘What is there to deny?’

  Bram looked away when Lioslath’s lips remained softly opened on her last word. A single word should not be so tempting. And it had nothing to do with denial. It had everything to do with the colour and shape of Lioslath’s lips and everything else about her in the dark green gown. ‘Tell me anything. Talk to me of anything. Anything at all. What is your family like?’

  Lioslath sat deeper in her seat. Her stricken look cut through his desire. Fool. He asked about her family. Of course, she would think of her father.
This was not the night to discuss her father.

  ‘Your siblings, what are they like?’ he asked, sitting down again.

  The pain eased around her eyes, but not the tenseness around her shoulders. And she took another sip of her ale. ‘You’ve seen them.’

  Aye, he had seen them with her. Like today when she gleaned and ploughed the fields with them. How she frowned perplexingly or startled when they tried to play with her. Minute actions, but all as if she didn’t know what to do with them.

  She had that look, too, if she was approached by her clansmen or if she suddenly looked around her. As if she realised she was surrounded by people and was wondering where they came from. He never thought himself curious before, but when it came to her, he...was.

  ‘What do they like?’ he asked.

  ‘Like?’ She shook her head a little and set her cup down on the table. She was perplexed, but he didn’t know if it was the question or him asking the questions.

  Patience, he reminded himself. Even if the marriage was temporary, there needed to be some understanding between them.

  ‘What do you do with them?’ He sat forward and rested his arm on his legs. ‘You have lived here all your life, haven’t you?’ he teased.

  She looked away. ‘Aye,’ she whispered.

  He hurt her again and the night was not even half over. He remembered Busby. He had been a strong man, prideful...vengeful. Talking of her family would not benefit either of them this evening.

  Still, he didn’t understand why talking of her siblings or clansmen hurt her. Her brothers and sister obviously loved her. Her clansmen were loyal to her. He needed another distraction. Maybe another subject.

  ‘What do you like?’ he asked.

  Lioslath looked around the room. She felt like standing or pacing or doing something with her body so she didn’t feel so trapped by Bram’s questions. It felt as though he was prying, and yet she asked him similar questions, and he offered answers. She knew it was reasonable for him to ask something of her. But she didn’t know how to answer questions of her family.

  ‘What do I like?’ She liked to have food, a roof over her head and a dry bed to sleep on, but she didn’t think this was what he meant. Games. Play, which she didn’t do. But there was something she did. ‘I like hunting,’ she said.

  ‘Like when the men bring food to the keep for preparation.’

  She didn’t like his smile, or him thinking she didn’t actually hunt. ‘Nae, not like that.’

  He straightened. ‘You’re saying you like to hunt? It’s just—’

  He sounded too incredulous. Did he think her a liar? ‘Did you forget how I beat all your archers?’

  His lips thinned.

  ‘Now you’re angry again,’ she said.

  ‘Nae, I could not doubt your skill. I thought...maybe you were forced to hunt.’

  ‘What would give you that idea?’

  He shook his head as if answering an internal question. ‘Forgive me. What do you like about it?’

  The freedom of it. How her skill gave her pride again, when her whole life she felt worthless. But that was not what she wanted to tell this man she married.

  ‘It’s...the way the air feels in the morning...the stillness. Except, the forest is never still because around the next tree there will be—’ She waved her hands, not knowing what that fast feeling was that coursed through her.

  ‘Excitement?’ he offered.

  ‘You’re making fun of me.’

  ‘Nae, did you not know I like to hunt? I know that feeling, lass. That one that makes your blood hot and cold at the same time. It’s called anticipation.’

  She anticipated food or the day breaking. Could a feeling be anticipation as well?

  ‘What else about hunting do you like?’ he asked. ‘Was it always like that?’

  ‘Nae, I came upon it by accident, but I quickly... It felt like what I was supposed to do.’ Avoiding the emotion of it now, she talked of learning the skill, the different equipment she favoured and the times wildlife would surprise her.

  As she talked, Bram became very still. His eyes turning from dark to almost light and filled with a sort of pleasure that skimmed over her. She was dressed, and yet, with the heat in Bram’s eyes, she felt suddenly bared for his touch.

  ‘I doona think I like this talking,’ she said.

  He seemed surprised she stopped. ‘It leaves us little choice if we do not.’ He gave a small smile. ‘Otherwise all we have is...anticipation.’

  The gleam in Bram’s eyes reminded her too much of their almost-kiss, but at the same time, she could tell he teased again.

  ‘I think it will only lead me to throwing a bucket of dung at you.’

  He laughed. ‘I didn’t know you had a sense of humour.’

  She would never understand his amusements. ‘I meant it.’

  He stopped suddenly, as if her anger and confusion stunned him. ‘That’s what I feared. Especially since you look the way you do.’

  Donaldo had spent hours on her appearance. Of course, she would have ruined their efforts by now. ‘How do I look?’

  ‘I was hoping the ale, and the labours of the day, would be enough. How do you look? You get this crease between your brows and it just about—’ He sighed then, as if tortured, as if facing what he could not. ‘We need to negotiate, Lioslath.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘Negotiate?’

  Maybe it was the dimming candlelight, but his usual smile didn’t seem so easy for him. ‘Regarding our agreement,’ he said.

  ‘I married you. Why would we need to negotiate?’

  ‘Because I need to change the parameters of our bargaining.’

  She didn’t know what he was talking about.

  ‘We’re alone, love. We’ve talked. We’re not tired. We’ve drunk all there is to drink and I’m not eating those rolls.’

  ‘Is this because I doona know how to talk? It’s true, I do like to hunt—’

  Bram sat forward with his arms resting on his knees again. It was a restful pose, but his heels subtly rocking belied his underlying restlessness. She was beginning to feel that way, too.

  ‘I know that now. I heard it,’ he said. ‘Saw it with your skill and how you glowed with the pleasure of talking about it. If you only knew what that means to me, that a woman would feel the way I do about it.’ He stopped moving and laughed, but it seemed to be pointed at himself. ‘And that’s a problem, too. It’s not your talking, lass. You see...I want to kiss you.’

  ‘Kiss?’

  ‘The want, desire, longing to kiss you hasn’t disappeared simply because we’re married. You see, it’s your hair, your eyes, the way that crease happens between your brows when you’re confused. Like now.’

  ‘Those things make you want to kiss me?’

  He straightened and sucked in an unsteady breath. ‘Aye, just like that.’

  ‘We’re married.’

  ‘Given the parameters of the agreement, I have nae right to ask for more. But I was a fool thinking anything different, so I have to change them.’

  ‘Change the...parameters...of our agreement?’

  ‘Exactly, but I won’t do it without your consent.’

  ‘To kiss me?’

  He pressed his lips together and nodded as if he couldn’t get the words out.

  ‘I didn’t think it mattered what I wanted,’ she said. She agreed to marry him. What more needed to be discussed?

  He shook his head. ‘It does matter. It must in our agreement, or we wouldn’t be keeping to our bargain. Although I would have argued about it before, I’d say what the wife wants in a true marriage should matter anyway.’

  ‘On the kissing.’

  Abruptly, Bram stood and turned in the little room bef
ore facing her again. ‘Aye, the kissing...amongst other things. I desire you, Lioslath. It’s your hair that rivals the night and your eyes that shame the sky. It’s your moles, your spots and that crease between your brows. All these and so much more. Too much more. You fought the English. You like to hunt.’ Another self-deprecating laugh that turned into a true chuckle. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying any of this at all. Doona you want to kiss?’

  If they had to negotiate for kissing, she did not understand what occurred on marriage nights. She certainly didn’t know he’d ask for a kiss. She held still for him in the field and she married him. Ever since the competition she thought of that moment. Of how he felt to her then. And even before, like when he carried her from the kitchens. He was warm and she wanted to bury herself in that warmth.

  She wanted to kiss him, but how was she to tell him that? She felt awkward asking about his family. How was she supposed to talk about kissing in a socially acceptable way? Was there a socially acceptable way to talk of kissing? Bram seemed to think so.

  ‘Your silence drives a hard bargain,’ Bram said, his voice breaking into a silence she didn’t know she created. ‘I’ve said what I like about you. Isn’t there anything about me you like?’

  As if to show what he was talking about, he rested his hands on his hips. His legs were slightly apart, his face almost grim, the constant laughter still in his eyes. He stood as if for her inspection.

  Now she truly knew nothing about wedding nights. Nothing.

  She knew of his diplomacy and trades. Everyone did. Maybe he was so good at it because that was simply how he thought. All the time. Like now on their marriage night. His talking seemed all too direct. Blunt.

  Lioslath’s confusion eased a bit. She wasn’t used to talking, let alone talking of wants or desires. But if they bargained, they’d have to be direct with each other. That she could do. So what did she like about him?

  His hair was still that blazing red that wasn’t anything she’d ever seen before. So offensive when she first saw it, but now it fitted him and she couldn’t imagine another shade. His eyes were always reminding her of storms. From the broadness of his chest that tapered to a narrow waist, his body was without an ounce of give, just as formidable, just as forceful as his personality. And his legs looked...sturdy.