My Reckless Love

by Melissa Limoges

  Patrick laughed and thumped him on the back. “’Tis good to see you, too, old friend.”

  “Please,”—Calum stepped aside and lifted Arabella’s hand to Patrick—“Allow me to present my bride, Lady Arabella de Percy.”

  Patrick’s grin slipped as he grasped her hand. “I’m truly sorry for the loss of your brother, my lady.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Arabella bowed her head.

  “Please, call me Patrick. Calum did not mention he’d found such a stunning bride in his missive. ’Tis my pleasure to meet such a beauty.” He bent forward to place a lingering kiss on the back of her hand.

  As quick as a bolt of lightning, jealousy flooded Calum at the sight of another man touching Arabella. Goaded by instinct, he snatched her hand away and tucked it beneath his arm.

  Straightening, Patrick lifted his brow at the telling action, but Calum remained unmoved. Humor lit his friend’s dark eyes and a broad grin stretched his lips.

  “Truly, I wish the both of you every happiness. May you be blessed with many fine, healthy bairns.”

  The sincere words thawed Calum’s annoyance. “Thank you, Patrick.”

  The man stepped aside and flourished an arm toward a tall, lean older man garbed in brown, woolen robes. “As you can see, I’ve brought your priest.”

  “Father MacKinley.” Calum nodded at the holy man. “We’re happy to welcome you.”

  Arabella beamed a bright smile. “Thank you for coming, Father.”

  “Please, come inside.” He motioned to the keep. “You must be famished from your travels.”

  “Aye, a drink would serve me well. You have my thanks, Laird MacGregor.” Father MacKinley shuffled past and headed for the front steps.

  A tug to his sleeve pulled Calum’s attention to Arabella. She stared up at him expectantly.

  “I wish you to meet Maggie and Dougal now.”

  Calum grinned at the note of exasperation in her voice. He grasped her hand and strode ahead until they stood before the pair.

  Arabella beamed a brilliant smile at the older couple. “Maggie, Dougal, I’d like to present Laird Calum MacGregor. I’ve agreed to wed him in a sennight.”

  Maggie gasped and clutched at her heart. The next instant, she yanked Arabella into a tight embrace. “Oh, ’tis such wonderful news. I’m so happy you’ve found yourself a fine-looking husband, lass.”

  The two women squealed in delight, laughing as tears leaked from their eyes.

  Calum exchanged a look with Dougal, who merely rolled his eyes.

  He extended his hand to the older man. “You have my thanks for protecting Arabella. I’m proud to welcome you and your wife to our clan. Please know that you and Maggie will always have a place here with us.”

  Dougal’s grin broadened. “My Maggie and I appreciate your kindness, Laird MacGregor. We’d be honored to join your clan. Arabella is much like a daughter to us.”

  Someone nudged Calum and he peered over his shoulder to find Mairi, Liam, Patrick, and his first commander, Marcus, had closed in around them. Within moments, the group exchanged greetings.

  He focused on Arabella as his kin and their new guests fell into idle chatter. She practically glowed with happiness as she spoke to Maggie and his sister, and he took pride in the fact ’twas of his doing. When she’d spoken of her worries for Maggie and Dougal, he sent Symon after the older couple. His second commander confessed it’d taken him days to track the pair. Dougal had wisely chosen a less traveled and distant path into the Highlands.

  “Ah, Dougal and his lovely wife, Maggie!” Fraser’s booming voice cut through the chatter.

  Heedless of the clan’s wide-eyed stares, Fraser and Elena moved through the assembled crowd to join their group near the front steps. Calum did not miss the glare Liam cut the older man.

  “You’ve been away far too long, my old friends.” Fraser grabbed Dougal’s shoulder and squeezed. “’Tis good to have you home at last.”

  “’Tis good to be home, Hammish.” Dougal cuffed Fraser’s arm. “I never expected the day would come when we’d see the lass married off.” Arabella gasped and Dougal grunted. “Do not get your feathers ruffled. Only stating the truth.”

  “Dougal.” Maggie slapped the back of her hand against his middle, and he grabbed his stomach in mock pain. She grabbed Arabella’s hand. “What he means is, we’re pleased to know you’ll be well looked after, my girl.”

  Elena added, “Trust me, ’tis equally satisfying to know this one’s found a worthy bride.” She waved her hand at Calum.

  “I see the two of you have called a truce.” Liam’s biting tone cut off their laughter.

  Fraser smiled at Elena and tightened his hold around her middle. He craned his neck to peer at Liam. “Your mother has agreed to become my bride.”

  All sound in the courtyard faded into absolute silence.

  Elena had to the good grace to blush, while Fraser beamed with satisfaction. Liam, on the other hand, looked ready to slay Fraser where he stood. Calum closely watched the two men, ready to intervene if necessary. He counted it a mercy Liam had not followed him to Elena’s cottage earlier.

  Anger gleamed in Liam’s eyes. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

  Fraser stiffened, but Elena placed a steadying hand on his chest before she stepped closer to Liam and reached a hand toward him.

  “Please, there is much I must tell you, but ’tis not the time. Believe me when I say, this is my wish. All I ask is you’ll accept my decision. I love you both. Do not make me choose, Liam.”

  For a few unsettling moments, Liam searched over his mother’s features, as if trying to divine the truth of her words. What he saw must’ve appeased him. Heaving a deep sigh, he relented and accepted her hand.

  Elena wrapped her arms around him and rose on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

  Liam kissed her forehead and tugged her behind him. He paced a step closer to Fraser.

  Calum readied his stance, unsure of what his cousin might do. Liam surprised him by offering Fraser his hand.

  Fraser reached to accept, but Liam lifted his arm away. “One condition.”

  “Name it.” Fraser grunted.

  “If you ever hurt my mother again, I’ll make her a widow.”

  A smile bloomed on the older man’s face. “I’d expect no less, boy.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Yet again, Arabella found herself captive in the solar. She sat in silence and gazed through the panes of glass to the training fields outside. Behind her, Mairi, Elena, Maggie and Heartha fretted over the final alterations to her wedding gown. Plucking at a loose thread on her sleeve, she released a trembling breath and swallowed a bout of unease.

  On the morrow, she was set to wed the very same man who just slammed his opponent to the ground outside the window. Despite her willingness to marry Calum, her nervousness grew with each passing moment.

  “Have you heard a thing we’ve said, Arabella?” Mairi nudged her shoulder and glanced outside the window. “Oh, ’tis no wonder.”

  Maggie moved to Arabella’s opposite side and craned her neck to see. “With that view, I doubt I would’ve paid heed either.”

  The group of women burst into laughter, and blood rushed to Arabella’s cheeks.

  “Come along.” Mairi hauled her from her seat. “One last fitting and your dress is finished.”

  Arabella rolled her eyes and allowed Mairi to lead her into the circle of the women. They made short work of the gown she wore, leaving her to stand in her shift. With the final frayed threads of her patience, she lifted her arms in obedience as they tugged the soft material over her head and laced the bindings along her sleeves and back.

  ’Twas unfair. Surely, Calum had not dealt with the same frustrations with his wedding garb. Honestly, why should her attire matter so much?

  Elena stepped back and clapped her hands with glee. “Oh Heartha, ’tis beautiful. You’ve truly outdone yourself.”

  Maggie and Mairi circle
d Arabella, examining the weaver’s work.

  “Absolutely stunning,” Mairi said.

  “Just lovely.” Maggie flashed Arabella an expectant grin. “Well, what do you think, lass?”

  She glanced down at the gown and lifted the embroidered hem, rubbing the thick, emerald linen between her fingers. Bands of rich gold and silver threading ran along the hem and forearms, while soft pink silken sleeves touched the floor at her feet. Flowers, vines, ribbons, and pearls wound around the neck in an intricate display. A light leather belt embroidered in shimmering gold hung weightless at her hips.

  In awe, she twisted left then right, struck by the perfect fit and flow of the dress. At once, she regretted her poor behavior since Heartha had toiled hard the past fortnight to create such a striking gown. The woman had truly worked a miracle.

  “Oh, Heartha, ’tis lovely. How can I ever thank you?”

  The weaver beamed with happiness. “I’m simply pleased you like it, my lady.”

  “I love it.” Arabella rushed to the woman and wrapped her in a tight embrace. “Thank you.”

  Heartha clucked her tongue and released her. “Careful now. We do not need you full of wrinkles before the wedding.”

  Mairi snorted. “I’m sure there’ll be plenty of that afterward if Calum has his way.”

  Arabella gaped at her friend as warmth spread over her face. The other women laughed as they untied the lacings and tugged the soft fabric over her head. Once dressed in her old gown, she retreated to a bench along the wall and slumped against the cool stone.

  “We’ll place this in your chamber, then I’ll see that Florie draws you a bath.” Mairi grinned and helped Heartha carry the wedding gown from the solar.

  When Maggie closed the door after the pair and shared a look with Elena, Arabella recognized the warning. Her stomach rolled into a tight ball as the two women seated themselves on either side of her. Saints help her. She knew what was to come, and ’twas not a discussion she wished to have with either woman.

  “Now, love…” Maggie lifted her hand and offered a maternal pat. “There are things we must speak of before the wedding. Matters your lady mother would’ve explained if she were here. God rest her soul.”

  Arabella cringed and slumped lower on the bench. Her face burned from mortification. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if she might somehow block out Maggie’s next words.

  “I know Iain tried to keep his and his men’s pursuits out of your reach.” Maggie tapped her knee.

  If the woman only knew. Sneaking around Penswyck’s training grounds, she caught an eyeful on many occasions. Many of Iain’s men bore no false modesty. That much was sure. Although, she’d never quite understood what the serving girls mooned over.

  Clearing her throat, she choked out, “I’ve seen one before.”

  Elena darted her a startled glance. “You have?”

  “What? When?” Straightening, Maggie scowled. “Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, if I had to guess.”

  Unwilling to admit to wrongdoing, Arabella lowered her head and picked at her fingernail.

  “Well then, in that case. You see…a man…” Maggie paused and glanced at Elena for help.

  “A man is…different than a woman. He has a…” Elena glanced around the solar, as if searching for the words.

  If only the floor would split open and swallow Arabella whole.

  Elena opened and shut her mouth twice before she peered around Arabella to Maggie. “You should tell her.”

  Maggie reared her head back. “Why not you? He’s your nephew.”

  “But she’s your charge.” Elena tossed back, leaning across Arabella’s lap. “And, you’re a married woman.”

  “You’ve a grown son!” Maggie argued. “You know the workings of the marriage bed as well as I do, if the smug look Hammish wears is any judge.”

  Elena gasped in outrage.

  Arabella glanced heavenward in exasperation. Saints, this discussion treaded into dangerous territory. Before the women came to blows, she pushed the pair away from her, jumped to her feet, and spun to face them.

  “Thank you both for the insight,” she rushed out.

  The two simply blinked at her.

  “I’m sure I understand well enough.” Arabella stifled a false yawn. “With the excitement of the wedding and all, I’m feeling rather weary. I think I’ll have that bath Mairi arranged and a bit of rest before the evening meal.”

  “Oh.” Maggie frowned.

  Arabella bolted across the chamber for the door.

  “But, do you not wish to know of a man’s rod?” the older woman called after her.

  Internally screaming, Arabella slammed the door loud enough the wood rattled on its hinges and froze at the sight of a grinning Sean and Gavin standing guard outside the solar.

  *

  Aaron MacRae paced the herb garden for the hundredth time, searching for a sign of weakness in the surrounding stone wall, anything he might use as an escape route. Uneasy, he scrubbed a hand over his face and kicked a plant at his feet. Christ, how had he gotten into this mess? Every instinct in his body screamed at him to abandon this cursed quest, but Longford held him by the stones.

  Curse the English cur for sending him on a fool’s errand—a dead fool’s errand at that. For only a dead man would walk into MacGregor’s home and think to steal the man’s bride from under his nose. But without the woman, his brother was as sure as dead.

  Aaron glanced down and instantly regretted his actions. He bent forward and grasped the broken branches of rosemary, crushing the sprigs in his hand. The clean, fresh aroma rushed up his nose, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the calming scent—a feeling he’d known little of in his life.

  Was it any wonder why with his father? The man had been a sickness to the MacRaes—drinking away what little coin they earned, severing any ties with allies, sinking an already impoverished people deeper into poverty. An absence of strong leadership, weapons and, at times, food left their clan defenseless—too weak to withstand attack. Longford was proof of that.

  Naught more than cobwebs lined their coffers, leaving Aaron and his brother, Connor, a legacy of barren land, crumbling stone, and a broken clan. Nay, he found no kindness in his heart to mourn his father’s death. His brother, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. He would do what he must in order to keep Connor alive.

  Releasing a resolved sigh, he tossed the broken sprigs away and turned to resume his search of the wall. Unfortunately, he failed to note someone else had entered the garden and collided with a soft, female form.

  He reacted quickly, wrapping an arm around her curved waist to catch the woman before she hit the ground. Her faint gasp warmed his cheek. When her startled, light blue gaze met his, he swallowed the sharp rebuke on the tip of his tongue. For an instant, he forgot his purpose altogether as he searched her sparkling eyes. The hue reminded him of the churning waves below the cliffs of his home.

  “You may release me, sir.”

  Rather reluctantly, Aaron righted the shapely female to her feet and released his hold. A brilliant smile formed on her plump lips, framed by a comely pair of dimples. Hair as deep and shining as a raven’s wing swept over her shoulders and tumbled down her back. What he would not give to sink his fingers in the soft mass. Saints, she was stunning.

  ’Twas then he noticed her mouth moved.

  “…watched my step, but I had not imagined any of the guests to seek out a bit of solitude in my garden.”

  Mentally shaking himself, he forced himself to focus on her words.

  “Forgive me, my lady. You have my sincerest apologies for intruding.” He flourished his arm and executed a bow.

  Christ, he should leave. Just turn and run as fast as he could, far away from her, but his blasted feet would not obey the command.

  Smiling, she held up one dainty hand. “No need. ’Tis I who ran into you. You’re not intruding in the least, my lord.”

  Her catching smile r
oused one from him. “As you’ve guessed, I’m here for the wedding banquet.” He dipped his head. “Aaron MacRae at your service, my lady.”

  The beauty extended her hand, a bold gesture for a lady.

  “Pleased to meet you, Aaron. I’m Mairi Macgregor.”

  He accepted her hand and silently cursed at the same time. Of course, she was a MacGregor. Fate would not have it any other way.

  “A close relation to the grinning bridegroom?” he ventured. For some misguided reason, he had to know for sure.

  Mairi tossed her head back and laughed. “He is rather pleased with himself of late. And aye, close enough. I’m his sister.” She tilted her head, spearing him with her brilliant, forthright gaze. “Will I see you at the evening meal?”

  Say nay. By the Saints, say nay. Remember your purpose. “Aye, my lady.”

  She beamed a smile as bright as the sun. “I shall save you a seat at the high table, my lord.”

  Saints, he was doomed.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Calum paced the small confines of his solar. At least the room seemed smaller than usual. He paused briefly between turns to straighten the golden brooch holding his mantle in place for the hundredth time. Resuming his pacing, he rolled his shoulders in a bid to loosen the stiffness in his muscles. An hour hence, he and Arabella would pledge their troth.

  Or so he hoped.

  He paused, once again, and raked a hand over his head. Christ, what if she’d changed her mind?

  Last eve, she’d declined his offer to join him in the hall for the evening meal and chosen to remain in her bedchamber. The gesture had not set well with him. In fact, her actions set him on edge and made him question matters entirely. Had he been too hasty in assuming she truly wished to wed him?

  It’d had taken a feat of strength not to barge into her chamber—his bedchamber—and demand an answer of her. Instead, he’d lain awake until sunrise while his stomach contorted in the most unsettling fashion. Blast, he should have just asked her and been done with the matter.

  Annoyed, he stomped across the solar and slumped into a chair before the fire, despite his best efforts not to wrinkle his wedding attire. He dropped his head against the hard, wooden back with a solid thump. Closing his eyes, he breathed out a gust of air to calm his rattled nerves.