The Reluctant Bride

by Temple Hogan

  The nerve of the man! First he seduced her when she’d but offered kindness, next he claimed they were now man and wife. That was the old common law way used by country folk when a clergyman was not available and they couldn’t wait. Certainly, she would never be that way.

  Her shoulders sagged as she put away her anger and acknowledged it was toward herself more than Logan. She’d started out meaning to offer words of comfort to a man sorely tried in his soul, but when he’d kissed her, all such intentions had disappeared, replaced by a burning need she hadn’t been able to control. As she drew on her garments, she noticed the smear of blood on her thigh and remembered the brief pain at his penetration, quickly forgotten in the height of passion. She pulled on her shirt and felt tenderness in her nipples and was reminded of the thrill of his mouth against her breasts, the consuming desires aroused by his suckling. When she drew on her britches, she remembered him removing them, the way he’d kissed the instep of her foot, the way his large rough hands had smoothed over her calf then her thigh. His touch had seemed to claim every inch of her. She thought of the sensation of his hard cock plunging into her and now she longed for him.

  “Ah, m’lady, you’re awake,” a voice called and she looked up to see Jaimie standing some distance from her, his back turned in an act of granting her privacy still.

  “Aye, I’m dressed and ready,” she said and he turned and walked toward her.

  If she’d needed to be bedded by a man last night, why hadn’t she chosen this man, handsome as any she’d seen, affable and thoughtful.

  “I’ve brought you some bread to break your fast,” he said as if to prove her point. “We’re still not be starting any more fires until we’re closer to MacPherson land.”

  “Thank you,” she said, taking the bread he offered and breaking off pieces to gobble down.

  “Your horse is saddled and ready when you are,” Jaimie said, bending to retrieve the tartan. He straightened, folding the cloth over his arm. His gaze didn’t quite meet hers as he continued. “Logan says you must come at once.”

  “Oh, he does,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Then by all means, let’s not keep him waiting.”

  She stalked past Jaimie and stamped toward the mounted men. Jaimie followed behind.

  Wordlessly, she mounted Balvenie and glared at Logan. Jaimie swung into his saddle and without any words, they moved along the trail. The pace was the same as the day before. No man made a complaint and Cailla vowed neither would she. The sun rose high in the sky and still they made no stops to rest themselves or their animals.

  Cailla wondered where they were now, how far they’d come. They were a day’s ride at least from Tioram. She could still find her way back. She made her plans. When they were breaking camp, everyone would be preoccupied. Then she would mount Balvenie and ride back the way they’d come. No doubt they would pursue her, but Balvenie was a swift little mare and she would slip away from them and hide out until they tired of searching for her. With the least bit of a head start, she could elude them. With a plan in hand, she kept pace with the rest of the men.

  By the time they stopped for supper, she was more determined than ever to escape Logan MacPherson and return to Tioram. Only fear of the Moncrieffe and Lundy invaders had made her relent in her resolve to never abandon her home—that and Logan himself.

  To her shame, she had done some soul-searching during the day’s ride and had finally admitted her susceptibility to his touch. She must put distance between the two of them or she’d be hopelessly under his spell. Even now, if she allowed herself to think of their night together, her bones seemed to melt. He was more dangerous than any mortal enemy she’d faced.

  “Come, m’lady. There’s a seat for you here. There’s no need for you to sit so far from the fire,” Jaimie said, pointing to a fallen log near the flame.

  They had decided they were far enough away from Lundy’s men that they could again risk a fire to cook and warm themselves. Now everyone crowded around it, watching as one of the piglets from Tioram sizzled on a spit. The smell was heavenly.

  Reluctantly, Cailla did as Jaimie suggested, unable to resist the prospect of warmth and food. After she had a bit of supper, she’d leave, she vowed. Who knew when she’d have a chance to eat again, once she left their camp. She perched on the log and glanced across the fire at Logan whose steady gaze seemed to bore into her.

  “M’lady,” he said and held out a narrow stick, impaling a morsel of simmering pork.

  Cailla hesitated, wishing she had the fortitude to refuse, but she had eaten nothing the day of the battle and only bread while they’d traveled. Her stomach clenched painfully.

  Amusement brightened his dark eyes as she reached for the stick and began to chew on the succulent, roasted meat, but he said nothing, only settled back to efficiently down his own portion. Everyone fell silent as they devoured the food.

  “Tomorrow, we should reached MacPherson land,” Jaimie ventured, smiling across the fire at his chief.

  “Aye,” Logan nodded, tossing his stick into the fire. “We’ll rally what men we can from the countryside to protect Cluny Castle. Lundy can’t be far behind us.”

  “So you had no men or time to try and regain Tioram, but you have both to protect your precious Cluny?” Cailla accused.

  Jaimie looked at her in some surprise.

  “You can’t blame us for seeing to our own home first, m’lady,” he said with a trace of rebuke. “You have no men to hold Tioram, even if we were to regain it for you. It would have been time and men wasted for a hopeless cause. We might yet save Cluny and if we do, we’ll gain strength enough to help you retake Tioram. Is that not true, Logan?”

  “Aye, I’ve explained that to m’lady, but she has no wish to accept her fate.”

  “Nor will I ever,” she cried passionately, leaping to her feet. “Why do you think I care less for my home than you do yours?”

  “I’ve no doubt that’s true and you’re brave enough and foolish enough to do all you can, but you have no resources, save mine. You must learn to be patient.”

  “I have resources of my own. Many of my people got away. They’re hiding in the woods and glades. They’ll return once the danger is passed.”

  “That’s well that they do. But the danger is not yet passed, nor will it be until the king of Scotland reverses his order that our castles be seized. Until then we must do what we can and be cautious.”

  “I am not one who calls himself cautious when it’s clear he has no courage,” she retorted.

  Logan leaped to his feet. His men fell silent at her words, seemingly holding their breath at such an insult hurled at their chief.

  “Wife, be still,” Logan roared. His words left her speechless, then she drew a breath and screeched at him.

  “I am not your wife, you foul pig.”

  The men gasped.

  “Madam, you shame yourself before my men. If you are not my wife, then what passed between us last night makes you something I would not put a name to. Now silence your tongue and go to bed.”

  He turned away, dismissing her. The men around the campfire averted their gaze from her. Even Jaimie stared into the flames with studious concentration. There was nothing for her to do but retire as Logan had commanded. She stalked away from the light and into the welcoming cover of darkness, her cheeks aflame with shame and defiance. She was not his bride no matter what he claimed. It was best she’d made her plans to return to Tioram.

  She made her way to the horses, quietly saddled the little mare and led it away from the rest. When she was some distance from the camp, she used a stump to hoist herself into the saddle. Just as she took up the reins and prepared to ride away, an outcry came from behind her. They’d found she was gone. She nudged Balvenie who responded immediately, leaping away with mud flying from beneath its hooves. Suddenly a shrill whistle sounded and Balvenie came to such an abrupt halt, Cailla nearly flew over her head. Frantically she slashed at her sides with a whip. Another shrill w
histle rent the air and Balvenie trotted back to the campfire. Cailla sawed at the reins, trying to turn her back to the trail, but the mare would not obey her command. The MacPherson men wore huge grins, obviously well aware of the pony’s responses.

  “Good girl.” One of the men stepped forward and ran a rough hand over Balvenie’s nose, then offered a treat of oats. He glanced at Cailla reproachfully and examined the mount’s sides for any slash made by her whip.

  Cailla sat fuming, her lips compressed into a thin straight line, filled with guilt.

  “She’s a good mare, m’lady. You shouldn’t have used the whip on her.”

  “How did you make her do that?” Cailla demanded.

  “Near as I can, she always has. She came to me the first time I whistled at her.”

  Logan rode up, his mouth twisted in a humorous grin. “Did the docile little mare bolt with you, m’lady? Had I realized you were less than an experienced horseman, I’d not have given you such a spirited mount.”

  “You…you did that on purpose,” she accused him.

  “Aye,” he acknowledged. “And the next time you make such an attempt at escape, I’ll have you tied into the saddle and led by the reins.”

  “You are a vile, braying jackass,” she cried and, in a fit of frustration, lashed him across the face with her rawhide quirk. A thin line of blood welled along one chiseled cheekbone.

  “Give me a sword and fight me fairly. I would take your life this day for the scoundrel you are,” she demanded haughtily and the men standing about looked at her apprehensively.

  Suddenly she became aware of the undercurrents of their responses. She’d long since guessed they were impressed by her beauty and courage, yet now they stood disapproving of her insolent manner toward their chief. It was obvious that no man there would raise a hand against him. Their loyalty was untouchable. For some inexplicable reason, a sense of shame washed over her. She would never have disrespected her father in such a way. Yet, she’d done so to a man who was the leader of his clan and had done all he could to save her from her own foolishness. She turned away from them, unable to meet their condemning gazes.

  Logan’s eyes darkened, but he kept his voice level.

  “Nay, m’lady,” he said calmly. “You have little say in this. You are my bride and I wish but to take you to safety at Cluny Castle.”

  “How do I know I’ll be safe once I’m confined within your castle walls?” Despite her earlier embarrassment, she rushed on. “How do I know you won’t have your way with me?”

  Sheepishly the men turned away, seemingly shocked to hear a woman speak so bluntly about such things.

  “The way I did last night?” he asked. “You have the word of a MacPherson chief that I’ll not have my way with you without your consent. After last night, I have little fear that it will be given.”

  “Such is the word of a MacPherson, that he would insult and lie about a lady,” she raged and slid from Balvenie’s back. She didn’t even glance back at the mare who had betrayed her.

  “If it will ease your mind, you’ll be turned over into the keeping of my mother. Perhaps she can teach you the way of a wife.”

  “Your mother? Is that supposed to reassure me?” she demanded. She would offer no apology for her accusations.

  Logan glanced around the campsite.

  “I care not, m’lady. We’ve wasted enough time on your defiant behavior. Jaimie set a guard. The rest of you get some sleep. We’ll ride hard tomorrow.”

  Silently, his men banked the fire and found places for themselves. Soon they were wrapped in their tartans and were resting. Twilight lay on the distant hills. Logan brought his tartan to Cailla.

  “You’ll need this again.”

  “I’ll manage without it,” she said stonily. “It comes with too high a price that I’m not willing to pay.”

  “You didn’t hesitate last night,” he reminded her.

  She jerked her head around to glare at him. “A claim you were all too willing to regale your men with. Have you no shame to besmirch a lady’s reputation in such a manner?”

  “I but made clear my claim on you, Cailla. You’re my wife. That’s what your father wanted and you made that commitment last night. You can’t undo what’s been done. Find your peace with it.”

  He stalked away and took up a place nearby. This time when he rolled himself into a ball, she made no offer to share his tartan with him. That offer had brought further conflicts into her life and she wanted no more. But during the night, when she woke to a cold damp mist that chilled her to the bone, she thought of Logan and the warmth of his body next to her. She raised her head and looked for him, but he’d left the place he’d occupied before. Finally, she spotted him near the makeshift corral. He was standing guard and his dark eyes seem to burn a path right to her. She turned away and tried to fall sleep again.

  Everyone rose before the sun had burned away the mist. They ate some of the cold pork and quickly cleared away the campsite, erasing all signs they’d been there. In scant minutes they were well down the trail. They traveled all day and Cailla fared better than before, strengthened by her restless sleep and the food. The mist had returned, nearly blotting out the sun, when Logan signaled them to a halt.

  “Someone’s approaching,” he informed Jaimie in a low voice.

  Riding close behind them, Cailla heard and turned her horse to peer back up the trail from whence they’d come.

  “Aye, I heard,” Jaimie answered uneasily.

  Both men listened intensely. Cailla felt the tension between them as they assessed the danger. What if she’d succeed in riding back the way they’d come? She would surely have run into Lundy and his men. Suddenly she realized Logan had indeed been trying to protect her.

  “I figure one rider,” he was saying.

  Jaimie nodded in agreement.

  Logan turned to his men. “Jaimie, Scotty, come with me. The rest of you wait here and be at the ready.”

  Silently they disappeared down the fog-shrouded trail. The rest of them waited, their weapons at the ready, their ears straining for any sound of battle or ambush. Cailla waited with the others, with her breath held, her hand on the dirk she’d managed to carry with her from Tioram.

  Metal struck stone and a single rider came into view, emerging from the mist like a specter of long forgotten dreams, his features indiscernible, only his breadth and height apparent. He paused when he caught sight of the MacPherson men.

  “Here, lads, do I know you?” he asked nervously, fingering his claymore.

  Logan and Jaimie materialized behind him, menacing hulks and the man swiveled in his saddle to peer through the mist.

  “Who be you?” he demanded, knowing he’d ridden into a trap and fearing the worst.

  “Who be you?” Logan growled.

  His tone was low and menacing. Cailla felt a shiver up her spine.

  “I’m but a traveler passing through,” the man said, his voice quavering although his hands rested more firmly on the hilt of his claymore. “I mean you no harm. Let me pass.”

  “State your name and what you’re about,” Logan ordered, drawing his sword.

  The man was silent and though she couldn’t make out his features in the foggy mist, she sensed he was gathering his courage to answer.

  “‘Tis Duncan MacPherson, I am,” he answered almost defiantly and drew his claymore, deftly turning his mount in the confined space.

  “Nay, Duncan, stay!” Logan cried. “‘Tis your cousin, Logan MacPherson.”

  “Logan!” The man nudged his mount alongside Kermichil on the narrow trail, peering into the face of the man he’d been prepared to attack. The two kinsmen leaned from their saddles to embrace with pounding slaps on shoulders in a masculine show of affection. They were of a like build and Cailla could see the kinship.

  “Aye, ‘tis indeed Logan,” Duncan MacPherson cried, relief evident in his voice.

  “Are you so impatient to see me, cousin, that you ride this far to meet me?�
� Logan demanded.

  “Nay, cousin. Though ‘tis happy I am to lay eyes on you, I came to warn you. Men arrived three days ago from Lundy MacAuley. They reside even now at neighboring Leod castle.”

  “The devil you say,” Logan swore, his face going pale. “My mother is well?”

  Cailla’s ears perked up at the mention of his mother. He was such an entity unto himself, it was hard to imagine him with a mother, as if somehow he’d sprung into being from a specter itself.

  “Aye, m’lord. Lady Jean remains calm and friendly to all, pretending not to know the reason of their mission. She’s a wily lady and safe enough now. ‘Tis you they’re after. She sent me to warn you to have a care. They’re watching the trails for you and Lundy’s expected any day.”

  “Aye, he can’t be far behind us,” Logan said. “We slipped away from him at Tioram castle but a two-day ride from here.”

  “Why did you go there?” Duncan’s tone was filled with censure.

  “It’s a long story and best not gone into now,” Logan answered absently.

  Cailla was aware he didn’t want to reveal her identity at the moment and wondered why. If he considered her his wife, why would he not want to introduce her? Her lips tightened in anger.

  “We’ll take the mountain paths and approach Cluny from the bens,” Logan said.

  “Your lady mother advises you best not to come. The castle is surrounded and even if you made it into the castle, food and water are scarce and there are few men to fight with you.”

  Cailla heard his words with a sense of dread. There would be no help from the MacPhersons despite Logan’s promise.

  “What of the rest of our clansmen, Duncan?” Logan asked. “Did they receive my message to gather?”

  “Aye and they’re dispersed close around, awaiting your command. Your lady mother’s right. You’d be best off now to rally the clan then push for the castle.”