The Laird's Choice

by Amanda Scott

  Another glided silently past her on the right and stopped.

  She felt no fear but easily sensed sudden terror in the three rogues.

  One of the three wildly waved his sword and shouted at the wolves. As he did, a third wolf leapt at him from the shrubbery.

  Shrieking in terror as the beast’s speed and weight took him to the ground, the man tried desperately to fight the wolf off. The third man raised his sword to attack. As he took a step forward, the surrounding woodland came alive with menacing barks, bays, and deep, threatening growls.

  The swordsman turned to flee, his eyes wide with terror, only to see other men with swords drawn rushing toward him. Their leader was a veritable giant with fury in his golden eyes, who apparently lacked any sensible fear of wolves.

  Andrena, seeing a warrior intercept Mag and engage Mag’s sword with his own, felt her throat close in horror.

  The wolf pack surrounded her. When she took an impulsive step toward the two fighting men, the leader of the pack growled menacingly… at her.

  Mag had seen the wolves and the men with Andrena before the warrior’s sword clanged against his. Another swift glance, as he parried the blow, showed him that the wolves, although near the lass, seemed all to be facing away from her, threatening anyone who approached them.

  He focused fully then on his opponent, and the sounds of battle retreated. Even so, he knew from experience that he would notice anything unusual or threatening. No sooner did he dispatch the man, though, than another took his place.

  He realized that MacFarlan’s men were fighting an enemy that seemed to increase each minute in size. Images flashed of Andrena and the wolves, but he ruthlessly suppressed them. If he fell in battle, he could do nowt for her.

  A horn sounded. His flicking glance revealed a banner flying through the woods as its bearer raced toward him. The three bears’ heads on that banner were instantly reassuring. The horn sounded again, and new men-at-arms entered the fray, all bearing the Galbraith badge. In the thick of them was the laird himself.

  The battle ended quickly after that.

  When Mag recognized the man he had just sent to ground as one of the thugs he’d seen menacing Andrena, new rage surged through him. Hauling the ruffian up with his left hand, he set himself to teach him another lesson with his right.

  “Nay, lad.”

  Snapping his head around, he saw Andrew with a hand raised, palm outward, and determination in his eyes. Mag held his fist in midflight and let the ruffian fall.

  “This lout threatened my lady wife, your daughter, my lord.”

  “Aye, well, the lass stands yonder, safe as a mouse in a mill,” Andrew said, gesturing toward the woods.

  Mag saw her then, standing calmly, alone. The wolves had vanished.

  “I have me doots that that chap kens the lass for who she is,” Andrew said. “Forbye, if he’s a MacFarlan, he’d be one of me own. If so, he deserves the chance to submit to his true chief. Will ye do that, lad?” he asked of the shaken warrior.

  The man dropped to a knee and bent his head to Andrew. “Aye, laird,” he said gruffly. “I do yield and do swear my fealty to ye, right willingly.”

  Andrew glanced at Andrena. When she nodded, he looked around, his gaze taking in the defeated warriors and the Galbraith men standing guard over them. “What then of ye other MacFarlans?” he demanded. “D’ye swear to abandon the wicked usurper, Parlan, though he calls himself Pharlain after our own great ancestor? Will ye aid me in taking back me own lands and chiefdom from him?”

  One by one, they submitted. After each man who did, Andrew looked to Andrena for a nod. Only once did she shake her head, whereupon, he said to the man, “I have given ye the chance to side with your true chief. But ye’ve lied to me. Sithee, lad, the true MacFarlan chief, whilst standing on the sacred ground of Tùr Meiloach, kens all that be in any MacFarlan mind and heart. What say ye now?”

  Trembling, the man swore his allegiance again, fervently.

  “Art sure this time?” Andrew asked him.

  “Aye, laird, afore God and the true son o’ the ancient Pharlain, I do swear.”

  Andrew looked at Andrena, who nodded.

  “Verra well then, I accept your oath,” Andrew said. “See that ye remember it, though. Do ye forget, I’ve a fine hanging tree to accommodate ye. We’ll be going past it, so ye can take a close peek at it as we do—all of ye,” he added, scanning the group. Then, to Mag, he said, “We’ll collect this lot and take them to the tower. I warrant ye’ll want to speak with your da, so—”

  “With respect, sir,” Mag said, shifting his gaze from Andrew to Andrena, “I would first see my lady wife safe within the tower.”

  “Aye, sure,” Andrew said. “We’ll no wait for ye then. But I did tell ye she would keep safe, did I no?”

  “Mayhap she was safe then,” Mag said, still eyeing her. “She is less so now.”

  Without another word to Andrew or a glance at his own father, Mag strode to his wife, scooped her up bodily, and carried her back into the woods.

  For once, Andrena had no doubt about Mag’s feelings. His fury flowed through him unchecked and radiated outward to engulf her in a wave that made the sensations she had felt during the battle seem insignificant by comparison.

  She did not have to look at him to sense his wrath, which was just as well. She regretted his anger, was even a little afraid of it. But the regret and fear mixed oddly with grateful delight that he had at last opened himself to her emotionally.

  “Prithee, sir, put me down,” she murmured, laying a cheek against his chest and keeping her eyes hooded, lest he discern her relief. “I am perfectly able to walk.”

  “I know you can walk,” he snapped, his fury with her increasing to rage that seared her senses. “You would be safer now had you not been so able and had stayed inside as I commanded you to do.”

  Had she sensed such rage in him before that day, it would doubtless have made her tremble in the same way that her father’s merciless anger had affected Parlan’s man. But she did not tremble. She said, “You are gey strong, sir, and can carry me easily. But what if we meet enemy stragglers here?”

  “We won’t,” he said. “My father’s men and Colquhoun’s will have collected all in their path from the east or the south. I am the only one who need concern you.”

  “I do wish you would put me down.”

  “If I put you down,” he said dourly, “it will be over my knee. Never before has anyone given me such a scare or so thoroughly deserved a hiding.”

  Moving her face closer to his neck so he would not see the least tiny twitch of a smile, if one stirred, she kept silent, letting his continued fury enfold her until she could trust her voice and demeanor. Now that the dam holding back his emotions had broken at last, she knew it would not easily reconstruct itself.

  Drawing a breath, she relaxed in his arms and looked up to say, “You are gey fierce for one who has just done battle, sir. Mayhap you could put such energy to better use with a repentant wife than in skelping her. You do want many sons, I trow.”

  His pace checked slightly. But he remained silent long enough to make her wonder if she could ease his fury before he expressed it as he had threatened to do.

  She sensed no cooling of his temper.

  At last, he said, “Art truly repentant?”

  Aware of his ability to read much in a voice or a facial expression, she said frankly, “I was wrong to come so far, Magnus. But I’d sensed danger approaching, and I was terrified for you and for Father. Tibby told me only that you and he had gone hunting with Colquhoun and some other men. Moreover, it is the anniversary of Mam’s birth, the day of her celebration. So I thought what Tibby said was true.”

  His fury ebbed swiftly then, for he exhaled it in a rush of breath before his gaze collided with hers. To her surprise, she sensed guilt stirring in him.

  About to step over a trickling rill, Mag stopped where he was and set her on her feet. The forest floor there was flat un
der a thick carpet of pine duff.

  Except for the trickling water, the only sound she heard was a distant horn blasting three notes.

  “That is a Colquhoun signal,” she murmured, eyeing him warily.

  “Aye. ’Tis the one we agreed on to let men on the wall and ramparts know that all is well and that whoever approaches has prisoners.”

  “So our men knew there was to be battle.” Although, she added silently to herself, Pluff had not known.

  Mag said, “Malcolm and the captain of Andrew’s guard knew. That is all.”

  Her thoughts raced on. “If we took many prisoners, those who swear fealty to Father may agree to testify for his grace against Parlan and the other conspirators.”

  “They may, aye.”

  As he spoke, he took off the leather baldric that held his sword and set it carefully atop a nearby flat rock. Turning back to face her, he unbuckled his belt.

  A chill shot through her.

  But he set the belt atop the sword, unkilted his plaid, and draped the fabric over an arm. Then he unfastened and took off the chain mail he wore over his sark. Setting the mail aside, too, he said, “Come here to me.”

  She went without hesitation, sighing deeply as his arms enfolded her and pulled her close enough to feel the length of his body against hers. His body warmth reassured her, although not as much as the warmth flowing to her from within him. She sensed his relief, lingering shreds of his anger, and remorse.

  “Andrew did not tell me that he’d said we were going hunting,” he said. “I cannot blame him alone, though. I never stopped to consider what he might tell his people. And, knowing his penchant for telling tall tales, I should have. I also ought to have recalled your ability to sense danger and what that might lead to. I thought my command to stay inside would be enough to keep you out of danger.”

  “You did not consider all the possibilities before you acted, aye,” she said. “But I can say naught to that, sir. It is a fault that people more often ascribe to me.”

  “You deserve that I should accuse you of it now,” he said solemnly. “But for me to scold you for something that Andrew and I also did seems unfair.”

  Concealing a wry smile, she murmured to his chest, “And most unwise.”

  He set her back on her heels then but gave only a warning look in response to those words. Then, abruptly, he said, “How did you summon the wolves?”

  “I did not,” she said. “The first one was at my heels when it growled. The second appeared from the shrubbery. Then a third sprang at one of the men, knocking him and his sword to the ground. When the woods erupted in battle, other beasts gathered round me. I felt no fear, though, because the warriors kept well away from us. Once, when I tried to stir from where I stood, the wolves stopped me. Still, I was not afraid of them. ’Tis gey odd, is it not?”

  “Just part of the magic of Tùr Meiloach’s sacred grounds, I expect,” he said, looking into her eyes. “Word of their behavior will spread fast, lass. As it should.”

  “Aye,” she said, returning his gaze and licking suddenly dry lips. “Father will encourage the tales, especially if Parlan is not amongst the prisoners.”

  “We’d have heard straightaway if he was,” he said.

  He put a hand to her chin, tilting it up more. His forefinger traced a line along her jawbone, then moved to touch her lips. “It did terrify me to see you in such danger, especially when that lout grabbed you and jerked you out of my sight.”

  “It made you gey angry with me, too,” she said. “I ken that fine.”

  “Who let you outside the wall?”

  She pressed her lips together, determined to protect Pluff. At last, she said, “Most of our men are accustomed to following my orders, sir.”

  “The men I’ve commanded follow mine, too,” he said. “The only person who does not is my lady wife.”

  “Then I am the one you should punish if you punish anyone,” she said. “I remembered what you told me, though,” she added. “I had my wee knife, and I used it. When the man who grabbed me tried to do it again, I slashed his hand and got away by weaving amongst the trees. He tried to catch me, but the wolves came. By my troth, sir, I never felt as if I were in danger, except from you when I sensed how angry you were. I did know earlier that danger threatened you and my father. But when the battle broke out, I had every confidence that our people would win.”

  “They’d likely have lost had my father and Colquhoun not come to our aid.”

  “I told you that your father would come,” she reminded him.

  He bent nearer, his lips almost touching hers. “Would you argue with me, lassie mine? Or will you honor that so-enticing invitation you extended a while ago?”

  Her beautiful eyes widened. “Here?”

  “Aye, here, why not?” Mag demanded, giving her another stern look to see how she would react.

  “But what if someone comes?”

  “I will know if someone is coming. And, unless you have deceived me, you will sense any such approach before I do.”

  Her lips parted, and he brought his down on them possessively and hard. Thrusting his tongue into her mouth, possessing it, too, he caressed her back and breasts thoroughly before moving his fingers to her lacing. In scant moments, at his command, she stood naked before him while he spread his plaid on the ground.

  Straightening slowly, he feasted his eyes on each tantalizingly soft curve. Then, in his own good time, he moved to her, picked her up again, and laid her on the bed of softly yielding, wool-sheeted pine duff.

  “Now, mo chridhe,” he murmured, stretching out beside her as he yanked his sark off over his head, “I’ll teach you a few new lessons.”

  Andrena gasped at her body’s response to his masterful tone, as if every nerve in her leaped unbidden to be possessed.

  When she moved to return his caresses, he caught her hands and put them above her head, pinning them together under one of his. The warning look was back in his eyes, but the Galbraith twinkle replaced it before his lips claimed hers again. He eased one knee and then the other gently between her legs, used his free hand to see if she was ready for him, and thrust himself deep inside her.

  For the first time, she could sense his every emotion. His passion for her filled him, but she sensed protectiveness, too. Just as he had taken care before he’d entered her, he now seemed to hold himself back. So, although he began to move more swiftly and powerfully, she knew he was restraining himself.

  Using her gift to determine what movements of hers would excite him most, she exerted herself to stimulate him more, and then more yet. So intent was she on learning the extent to which she could influence his responses that when he moaned, her own response to it caught her off guard.

  Heat surged through her, burning hottest at her core, until in a pulsing climax, she reached the dizzying heights that he had revealed to her at Inch Galbraith and cried out just as she had then. His reactions were noisier, too, but she didn’t care. What was happening was too intense, too incredible, too sensually explosive for her to care about noise or anything else.

  Epilogue

  Two months later

  He had wanted to run, but the plain fact was that he was too exhausted. His head ached, and the sword cut in his forearm, where his chain-mail sleeve failed to meet his glove, still stung. And wasn’t it just like his lass to be gone when he wanted her, rather than awaiting him at home, where a wife ought to be?

  That he’d had to ask Muriella where Andrena was had delayed him, too. Murie had wanted to hear about his time away and had been disappointed when he’d insisted on finding Andrena first.

  He had not stayed on the path they’d followed the first time, to reach her spear-fishing rock, but had angled uphill before reaching the burn, aiming to come out above the jutting granite slab and its nearby boulders. That way he’d get a look at it from the side opposite the slope he’d climbed that day to look southward.

  Then he saw her, and his heart began to pound, banishing
his exhaustion.

  She sat below at the edge of the rock slab, well to his right and looking away from him. She had rucked her skirts halfway up her thighs, providing a fine view of her slender, shapely legs while she dangled her bare feet in the water. Her head was bereft of veil or coif, her tawny plaits hanging down her back to her waist, one threatening to slip over her shoulder. She had no spear in hand today. If she’d brought the dirk, as Murie had told him, she had already stowed it in her cache.

  Surely, she had sensed his approach. Even had she been lost in thought, she ought to sense his presence now. Sakes, the one unusual thing that she had done was to tell Muriella where she meant to go. Cryptically, aye, but—

  Andrena turned her head and looked right at him. Smiling, she said, “Are you coming down here, or do you mean to stand gawking at me until suppertime?”

  “I like gawking at you. How long have you known I was here?”

  “I knew you were coming home and this morning that you were close. But I wanted to meet you alone, not with your men or others. Murie told you I was here?”

  “She said you had gone to stow your dirk in your cache,” he said, making his way quickly down the slope.

  “I knew you would remember where it was. Come and sit. You look tired.”

  “Mayhap I do, but I no longer feel tired. It is good to see you, mo chridhe. Are you not going to welcome me as a wife should properly greet her husband?”

  “Nay, for I want to hear everything that happened, and I ken fine that if I kiss you and feel your arms around me, I will learn naught. You have been a gey long time from home, sir. Explain yourself. We did hear of a battle near Perth and that rebels had taken Stirling, but no more. Still, I trust you were in time to warn Jamie.”

  “We were, aye,” he said, taking a seat near her where he could lean against one of the boulders. He wanted to take her in his arms. Sakes, he wanted to do more than that. He would be talking about his journey for days to come, but he knew that he’d be wise to give her the gist of it now. She had played an early part in it all and deserved to know its outcome before everyone else did.