by Mary McCall
The MacCallister's jaw went slack. “Did you say play wolf-bait?"
"Aye.” Mischief lightened Hope's tone. “But I much prefer boar-bait. ‘Tis a riskier kill."
"You have not done this with a boar!"
"Aye. See here.” Hope pulled back her left sleeve, showing him the scar on her forearm as if the mark were a proud trophy. “'Tis from my first game. Need to be bloody careful around tusks, don't you know? This way is easier than meeting a boar head-on with a dagger. I have a scar from the first time I did that too. But considering where it is, The MacPherson might get cursed riled if I showed you."
The MacCallister cast an amused grin toward Leonce. “My condolences, MacPherson."
Hope nodded. “You're right. I will be dead soon, because he will probably kill me. Do you know I have a problem with talking a lot when I get nervous? I didn't have it until we wed, so ‘tis his fault. You are a nice man. I'd like to chat more, but I can feel his eyes on my back. If I don't shut my mouth soon, his rage will burn hotter. Then flames will leap out and singe me. Here is your son back."
The MacCallister accepted the babe, who seemed reluctant to release his grip on Hope's hair. After the child settled, the rival chief addressed Leonce. “'Tis finished."
Leonce nodded in acknowledgement.
"'Tis a rare and precious beauty you've taken, MacPherson. I hope you survive the taming."
Hope glared and placed a fist on each hip. “Men tame animals, MacCallister, not wives. I'm bloody well of a mind not to like you anymore."
Throwing back his head and barking with laughter, The MacCallister turned his mount and rode off with his warriors.
Not wanting to see angry eyes directed upon her person, Hope decided an ignorant approach might serve her best. She would act like nothing was wrong and go about her day as usual.
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Chapter Twenty
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Damn if ten years hadn't just been snatched from his life. Watching Hope stand upon the bare back of that savage horse while she lashed out at The MacDougall was bad enough. Her leap onto the back of a raving wolf had sent fear clutching at his heart until Leonce thought it might stop.
She walked over to the dead beast, and his breath hitched. She moved with an innate sensual grace. Radiance exuded from her, conveying pure ecstasy—ultimate pleasure. Her expression reminded him of the time they'd made love, at the moment she'd found her release.
He raised a brow as she knelt beside the carcass and pushed it on its side. Harry flew over and landed on the wolf's hind end while Hope sliced open the belly, wiped her blade on the fur, and returned the dirk to its sheath. She praised the bird for his strength, loyalty and speed. Then she thanked him for his daring feat in helping her win their game and bade him enjoy his reward.
The eagle settled in for his feast. The stallion nudged her shoulder. She turned, kissed his nose, and praised his speed and cunning. Hugging the horse's neck, she let him lift her to her feet and kissed him again. Damn if the beast didn't kiss her back. And double damn if Leonce wasn't jealous. A gurgle of melodic laughter burst from her lips.
"Are you ignoring me, Hope?"
She stilled by Diable's neck and turned her head to one side, but didn't face him. “I am bloody well aware of you, MacPherson, and of all your clansmen, and Cassie and The Fraser and all of their clan too. I'm waiting for you to realize nothing unusual happened."
Apprehension gnawed at his gut. “Do you do this often?"
"'Tis fun...except for the first time. Then I was tired and hungry, and the beast caught me unawares. I knew I could not outrun the wolf, and ‘twas him or me. ‘Tis a good tactic. A hunter doesn't expect his quarry to turn in the midst of pursuit. It became a game.” She turned her face toward the horse's neck, and her voice faltered. “My father took away the traps and quit hunting me when I started leaving meat for his table."
Leonce dismounted, approached her, and stopped an arm's length away. “You're not on your own anymore, and you do not have to leave meat for that swine's table. Did you do this to provoke me?"
"You left me with all those people who hate me!” She spun around, her face a mask of woe, all vibrancy and joy gone. “I've been cooped up since I arrived. I am not used to that, and being so confined makes me ill. Diable and Harry are the only friends I've had since The Fraser stole Cassie. They cannot come inside your keep like they did in our cave, and I've been lonely. When I found out you were feuding with The MacDougall, I wanted to get my revenge afore you killed him."
Slender fingers massaged her brow. “'Twas gracious for you to wed me, knowing about my cursed father. But since I have blood from two of your enemies, ‘tis a bit much to expect you to keep me. When you cast me out, I have no place to go. The thought of a cave wasn't too appealing, and I realized I have grown soft. I was afraid I couldn't take care of myself anymore. When I saw the babe and the wolf, I...” She dropped her hand and gazed sadly at the earth. “'Twas never to provoke you. I played wolf-bait to prove to myself I could still win."
God's bones! She truly views courting death as a game. “And what if you had lost?"
"The MacCallister's son and I would both be dead.” She shrugged. “The winner gets to live. ‘Tis the object of the game."
Leonce fisted his hands, appalled and angry. “And you value your life so little?"
"Zounds! Do you not see!” She looked up at him. “'Tis because I value my life so much that I swallowed my fears and escaped the baron. ‘Tis because I value my life so much that I didn't kill myself the moment I realized you had tricked me. ‘Tis because I value my life so bloody much that I need to know I can still win this game!"
She pressed a palm to her cheek, glancing about desperately. “How can I explain? I truly want you to understand.” She raised pleading eyes and opened her hands, palms upward. “Until I came here, my first thought every morning was, ‘I must survive.'” She beat a fist against her chest, emphasizing her words. “And sometimes to survive, I must cast aside caution and risk everything—even my life. When I win, excitement rushes through me, and I feel gloriously alive. For a short while, I forget all my fears and sadness. The first time I awoke in your bed, I thought, You are safe, Angelaspera. The wolves cannot harm you here. But I still need to know I can win."
Hope bowed her head and let her hands fall limply by her sides. “I cannot explain if you do not understand from what I have said. ‘Tis the truth. I do not half understand myself."
Every protective urge within Leonce arose. He wanted to comfort her and save her from this consuming desire for reckless self-abandon, knowing it somehow sprang from all the abuses and fears of her entire life. More than anything, she needed a sense of security and belief in her heart that she could trust him not to discard her. And damn, he didn't need any more of her memories today.
"Come to me, Hope."
She didn't appear to hear. The stallion nudged her back, and she stumbled forward. Leonce caught her in his arms and pulled her close. He kissed the top of her head and rested his chin upon it. “I think I understand, Hope, and I do not like it. Your father will pay for making you feel this way. You must promise me you'll not play wolf-bait again. Nor boar-bait either."
She sniffed and mumbled, “You weren't supposed to hear that."
"I have very good ears, Lady Sass, and I'm not daft either.” He lifted her chin and smiled. “Now you will give me your promise."
"I promise not to play unless there is a need."
Leonce frowned. “You're not to play it at all."
Her brows drew together in irritation. “You would demand a promise I might not be able to keep?"
He narrowed his eyes. “You will keep it."
"I might not."
The spasm jumped under the scar in his cheek.
"I will not play for the thrill of it. But if that had been our son in danger"—she gestured toward the wolf—"I would do whatever I had to do, and the promise would mean that to me.” She s
napped her fingers under his nose, crossed her arms, and thrust her chin forward, every bit as stubborn as a nanny goat. “I'll not give you a promise I might not keep."
The words “our son” falling from her lips expanded Leonce's pride. Her protective instincts for their children would be as strong as his for her. She wouldn't be swayed on this, and he wouldn't have her argue in front of witnesses again. He drew her back against his chest and sighed. “I don't want you playing at all, but if ‘tis for our son, I'll make myself understand."
"And if you are ever in danger, I will play for you."
Leonce rolled his eyes. The woman was daft. “I will not be in danger."
"But if you are, I will play. Cassie. I would play for her...and The Fraser too, because he is hers."
"She is his."
Hope nodded. “And Bertie. I have already played for him, but ‘twas really baron-bait, and the game is not over. Then there are all the MacPhersons, even though they hate me, because we are responsible for them."
"I am responsible for them.” Chuckles from the warriors behind him let him know they would roast him over this for decades.
"Freya is not really a MacPherson, but she has been nice to me, so I would play for her."
Exasperated, Leonce set Hope back and looked at her. “Woman, is there anyone in the Highlands you're willing to exclude from this list?"
Her brow furrowed as she pondered her answer. Then she raised a serious gaze to his. “I promise not to play for the thrill of it, only if there is a need."
Leonce wiped a hand over his face and cocked a rueful brow. “Let's go home. You're riding with me."
"You mean you're keeping me?” She gawked at him.
"Forever, wife.” He slipped a finger under her chin and closed her mouth. “Unhitch your skirts. I'm to be the only MacPherson enjoying your legs from now on."
She tugged down her skirts and smoothed them into place. A toe peeked out from under her hem.
"Where are your slippers?"
Hope blushed bright red and pulled the toe back from view. “I keep forgetting I'm supposed to wear them."
Leonce didn't know whether to laugh over the whole situation or curse because she'd been so deprived that shoes were a novelty to her. Slipping an arm around her waist, he hauled her against his side and cleared her feet from the ground. He carried her to where Aonghus held the reins of his horse, lifted her upon the white stallion, and mounted behind her.
Hope swung her left leg across his lap and faced him astride the base of the horse's neck, maintaining a good eight inches of space between them. Her gaze fixed on his chest, and she fidgeted with the shoulder drape of his plaid.
Why was she so anxious? The woman had felled a snarling beast in one of the most fearless feats of stupidity he had ever witnessed. He heard a snort and glanced up. Aonghus's eyes sparkled with mirth. Leonce urged his mount back onto the trail. The elder would never let him live this down.
A short while later, the faintest whisper reached him. “Leonce, may I speak?"
His name sounded like a caress coming from her lips, and he smiled, realizing ‘twas the first time she had uttered it. “Aye."
"I'm sorry I disgusted you and drove you away."
He peered down at the top of her bowed head. “You believe this nonsense?"
"My father told me I had the nature of a Highlander whore. I didn't know he was right until the night after we wed, and I got curious.” Her somber gaze finally met his. “I liked what we did, so ‘twill be bloody hard, but if you'll come back and sleep with me and rub my back, then I promise not to act wanton anymore."
Without slowing his mount, Leonce grasped the base of her head and gave her a hot, wet kiss. As soon as his tongue dipped into her mouth, she moaned and closed the distance separating them. Her hips moved forward as her arms slid around his waist, and her thighs draped over his. Her scent intoxicated him, arousing desire. With the core of her heat resting intimately above his groin, fire blazed through his veins. He became acutely aware of his recent self-enforced abstinence. Breaking the kiss, he pressed her face against his chest. “Do not make promises you cannot keep, and I don't want."
She tilted her head back and gaped. “You want me to be wanton?"
"For me, wife. Only for me,” he ordered between clenched teeth.
Hope snorted and pressed her cheek against his chest. “Well of course only for you. I have never been curious about anyone else."
"Keep it that way."
Her body soon went limp. He knew she slept. Though ‘twas only early dusk, his wife had experienced an emotionally draining day and needed rest. And he wasn't about to last till nightfall with her in his lap.
Parting from Ian, Leonce sent all but ten MacPhersons home and headed for a secluded glen nearby. Hopefully, the task of guarding his wife would make a few of his more trusted warriors soften their animosity and help her feel more comfortable around people.
Arriving at the clearing, he slid from his stallion with Hope in his arms. Aonghus spread an extra plaid on the ground. Leonce couched her upon the blanket without waking her. He set out with four men, looking for fresh meat to add to their evening meal, and left six of his men guarding Hope.
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Chapter Twenty-One
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"Did you see the look on The MacCallister's face when she said she would rather play boar-bait?” a brown-headed warrior said while chortling.
"Nay, Marc. ‘Twas better when she told him that she couldn't show him her scar,” a warrior named Hulon replied, scratching his chest.
"You're forgetting her telling The MacCallister he is a nice man,” Daniel called from across the fire where he was laying out oatcakes, dried salt pork, apples and pears.
"I'm thinking my favorite was her saying his son's mind might not grow.” Darach crossed his eyes and contorted his face.
Gales of laughter followed each boast. Aonghus was heartened the warriors appeared ready to accept the lass as they sat about the campfire in the small forest glen. He decided joining their merriment would help move them along. “You're all wrong, laddies. The best was the look on our own chief's face when the lass spoke of The MacCallister's beautiful stormy-blue eyes."
Guffaws and hoots broke out among the clansmen as their enjoyment of the day and their lady's accomplishments increased.
"I'm still not believing how she brought down that wolf. Never seen anything like it.” Marc's eyes filled with wonder over their lady's deftness.
"Aye, and I'm wondering which took more grit,” Hulon said. “Bringing down the beast or looking Malicious MacDougall in the eye and telling him that she would put him through a slow, cursed and excruciating torture."
"The likes of you are just figuring out our lady's value.” Darach gloated. “I have known since she took her whip to Mildread and killed the rogue with a single arrow."
"Then it took you too long to discover it, Darach,” Bowyn admonished, standing with his fists on his hips.
"Aye, Bowyn is right,” Aonghus agreed. “The lass proved her worth when she brought Justice and Bertie back to the Highlands."
The warriors nodded and grunted, sobering at their callous attitudes toward the lady.
Bowyn scowled. “None of you saw her back when she arrived, so none of you know what she suffered. Even after the clan treated her so terribly, she went to Rob's and healed his son. Her presence is an honor to Clan MacPherson."
Bowyn's words further shamed the clansmen.
"Think she'll be forgiving us, Aonghus?” Marc asked contritely.
The elder rubbed his jaw ponderously. “I'm thinking the lass must have an awful lot of love and caring stored up in that heart of hers that nobody ever wanted afore. ‘Tis a funny thing about hearts. They always feel better when they get rid of their own love and caring and let somebody else's fill them back up. You lads let the lass know you're glad to have her here. She'll come around. I'm thinking our Lady MacPherson will be the best t
hing to happen to this clan since that damn slaughter shadowed our mountain two years ago."
Bowyn glanced around, and his frown sharpened. “Where is she?"
Aonghus cocked a brow. “What is that, lad?"
"She was to be gone but a moment, and she isn't back."
The warriors were instantly alert and stood with hands on weapons. Aonghus went to where Hope had entered the woods. “Bowyn, you and Daniel stay here in case she returns. The rest of us will follow her tracks, and heaven help us if The MacPherson returns afore she is found."
The four warriors soon came upon a stream that branched off from the river Spey. Hope stood in the water with her skirt hitched up. Her arms were submerged above her elbows, and her long, flowing mane fanned out in the water behind her. Aonghus held up an arm, signaling the others to halt.
"What is she doing?"
"Hush, Darach, and do not make a sound,” Aonghus whispered. “'Tis obvious the lass is fishing."
A breeze floated a thin strand of hair around, tickling Hope's face. She remained immobile, gazing into the water. A short time passed. She suddenly raised both arms from the water and tossed a huge speckled trout onto the grassy bank.
Rubbing one hand against her skirt, she tucked the errant strand behind her ear. “Are you MacPhersons wanting me to get fish for you too?"
"Nay, Lady MacPh—” Marc began.
"Then have you naught better to do than watch me fish?"
"We are supposed to watch you, milady,” Darach replied. “'Tis a matter of protection."
Hope turned furiously toward them and fisted her hands. “Are you saying you think I need your protection?"
"'Tis our own hides we're guarding, lass,” Aonghus said. “The chief would have us drawn and quartered if he thought we weren't with you."