When a Warrior Woos a Lass

by Johnstone, Julie

  She found him on the other side of the birlinn, asleep under the stars with his arms crossed over his bare chest, head resting on his plaid. He was lying well away from the other men and Marsaili. The only person near him was the older man, Donald, who she knew now was Alex’s right hand. He wasn’t asleep but rather crouched near Alex, seeming almost as if he were on watch. She smiled tentatively when his gaze fastened on her, and he cocked his silver eyebrows.

  “Are ye on watch duty?” she asked in a hushed tone so as not to wake Alex. By the deep, slow breaths he inhaled, she thought his sleep to be deep.

  “Ye could say that,” the man replied in an oddly evasive tone.

  She motioned toward Alex. “Does he sleep here every night?”

  “Aye, when he sleeps.”

  She nodded. It was as she’d expected. Alex kept a close eye on the birlinn and the ship. She was glad to know his not sleeping beside her had nothing to do with her. “I awoke, and he was nae there,” she said when all Donald did was stare at her.

  “I suspect,” he said slowly, “ye should get used to that.”

  “What do ye mean?” she asked with a frown.

  Alex moaned, drawing her attention, but Donald stood abruptly, moved in front of Alex, and blocked her view of him. “That’s something ye’ll have to ask Alex, lass. But nae now.”

  Alex’s moans had turned to mutterings, which veered shockingly to the blackest curses she’d ever heard. When she tried to step around Donald to see her husband, Donald moved with her, continuing to block her view.

  “What are ye doing?” she demanded.

  “Just what I’m told, lass. Just what I’m told.”

  “Ye sodding clot-heid!” Alex swore from behind Donald. A thump on the deck made her jump. Then it came again. Thump, thump, thump.

  She saw Alex’s fist fly through the air, and she realized then that he was hitting the deck in his sleep. “I’ll kill ye!” he hissed, his voice a guttural cry that slashed at her.

  She attempted to move around Donald once more, and again, he stopped her. “Let me pass!” she ordered.

  “I kinnae do that, lass,” he replied, a forlorn look crossing his face.

  “I’m yer mistress,” she sputtered. “Yer laird’s wife. Ye will let me pass.”

  “’Tis the laird that commands me here,” Donald said in an apologetic tone.

  “I’ll rip yer heart out!” Alex spit on a growl.

  “Ye should return to yer pallet, my lady. The laird would nae want ye here.”

  She hissed in a breath but nodded. She doubted Donald had meant to be hurtful, but all the same, Alex was hiding something from her. He had asked her about her past and her pain, but there was something in his past that pained him that he clearly did not want to share with her.

  She went to Marsaili’s pallet, hoping to talk. Marsaili was turned on her side, her back to Lena. Lena crouched beside her and tapped her half sister on the shoulder, glad that she was not sleeping near enough anyone else to worry that they might overhear anything she and Marsaili said. “Marsaili,” Lena whispered.

  “Aye,” Marsaili murmured, turning to face Lena after a long pause.

  “Are ye awake enough to talk?”

  “Nay,” Marsaili responded, surprising Lena. Back at Dunvegan, Marsaili had been one of the people Lena had always been able to rely upon to be awake late at night when Lena could not sleep. They’d had many a good late-night chat. But ever since they’d boarded the birlinn, Marsaili always seemed to be one of the first to lay her head down for the night. Mayhap it was the seasickness, though that seemed to have worn off.

  “Is something amiss, Marsaili?” Lena asked.

  “I’m simply tired,” Marsaili replied, turning away before Lena could even see her face. “Can we talk on the morrow?”

  “Aye.” Lena stayed there, debating whether to press Marsaili. “Are ye vexed with me?” she finally asked.

  “Nay,” Marsaili replied, yet something was in her tone that made Lena wonder. Mayhap it was that Lena was now married, so Marsaili felt especially alone, being the only sibling not married.

  “Marsaili,” she tried once more. “Are ye certain ye’re too tired to chat?”

  The only response was a sudden snore that Lena felt certain was fake. Sighing, Lena rose and made her way back to her pallet. She lay down, but she could not find sleep. Instead, she stared up at the stars, trying to imagine what was wrong with Marsaili and what caused Alex such nightmares. On the morrow, she would try to speak with Marsaili again, and she intended to demand Alex tell her what plagued him. She’d asked before, and he’d refused to share his secrets, but perhaps if she pressed him harder… She twisted her fingers together with worry. If there was not complete trust between them, she feared destroying all the demons of her past might be impossible.

  Eight

  Alex had been awoken hours earlier by a hand roughly shaking him. He knew he’d been in the midst of another nightmare because of his bloody fist and Donald’s bloody nose. He didn’t recall striking Donald, who damn well should have known by now to stay an arm’s length away when Alex was having a bad dream, but attack the man, he had. As Alex worked with his men to ready the birlinn to take to shore, each time he saw Donald’s swollen, black nose, it was a painful reminder that he could never chance falling asleep by Lena. The knowledge caused a sharp ache in his gut. He wanted to give her everything she needed, and she deserved to sleep peacefully, knowing he was there to protect her. Yet he could not do so, nor could he explain why not. To do so would mean revealing how Gillis had broken him, taken his control, and made him ask for vile, unspeakable things. To reveal what he hid, the control he’d always needed in the bedchamber, the blurred lines between pleasure and pain, would horrify her, he was certain. He feared keeping his secrets, his shame hidden, would cause strife between him and Lena when they were just seeming to find their way, which was why he had avoided her so far this day.

  The few times he had seen her approaching him, he had hurried to involve himself in another task and surround himself with his men. With the determined jut of her chin and fire that lit her gaze, he did not doubt she wanted to ask him about his dream. And if he had doubted it, Donald had told him she’d awoken last night and had sought him out; unfortunately, she had approached exactly when the nightmare had overcome him. Luckily, she’d not seen just how vicious he could become when awoken from his haunted dreams.

  He glanced down at his fist. There was a cloth wrapped around it because he had ripped open the skin when banging his knuckles against the wood repeatedly. That was why Donald had dared to get close to him: the man had been trying to stop Alex from hurting himself. Alex sighed as he watched his home come into view. He recalled the nightmare vividly, and in it, he had pummeled Gillis’s face to a bloody mess.

  “Devil take the past!” he swore under his breath, garnering a startled look from his young apprentice, Baldwin. Alex glared at the lad until he turned away, which made the heaviness pressing down on him feel even greater.

  “Dunnae mind me, Baldwin. I did nae sleep well and am out of sorts.”

  The lad grinned. “If I may speak bluntly, Laird?”

  Alex nodded and tried to relax his stance, seeing the eager expression on Baldwin’s face.

  “I imagine yer sleep will be like a bairn’s tonight when ye finally get yer bonny bride alone in yer bedchamber.”

  A flash of anger cut through Alex, but at Baldwin’s silly grin, Alex reminded himself that the boy was but ten summers and pushed his anger aside. “I imagine that will help,” he replied, as expected, then turned his face toward his home once more. Baldwin meant no harm or disrespect. All the lad knew was that his laird had yet to join with his wife, and he likely thought that was causing Alex’s surly mood. It may have been part of it. He ached for Lena something fierce. He’d never experienced the likes of it in his life. The moments of holding her in his arms so innocently this past fortnight had been eye-opening, sweet torture.

&nb
sp; Never had he held a lass as he had Lena. The pull he felt toward her and the need to care for her was unlike anything he had ever known. None of his dark yearnings had surfaced with her yet; it was almost as if she had washed him anew. Except for the dreams, of course. When she fell asleep, he would lie by her and watch her as long as he dared, hungry to learn all he could about her. He had never wanted to be close to anyone, but Lena had unleashed a desire in him he’d not known was there. Mayhap it was because of what she had suffered in her own past. He craved a connection, an understanding he would never ask for, yet he could give her that understanding. When he kissed her, he felt as if they were two ropes tying into an unbreakable knot. He now knew the pattern of her breath when she slept, her favorite side to lie on, how a smile would sometimes pull at her lips in her sleep, and how throwing her arm and leg over him was the signal that the deepest sleep had overcome her.

  Thinking back on his time with the women before Lena, most especially Euphemia, he felt nothing but shame. There had been nothing gentle or loving with any lass he had ever joined with, yet he honestly did not think he could have offered any of them anything more or allowed them to share more with him. And none had asked for it, except for Euphemia, who had once asked him to sleep the night with her. Falling asleep beside her had taught him his limitations.

  “Ye’re made of stone, Laird,” Baldwin said. “If I’m ever so lucky as to have a wife that looks as yers, I think I would nae be able to help myself from ravishing her, even on a birlinn full of curious men.”

  A feminine gasp from behind them had Alex gritting his teeth at the bad timing and the lad’s foolish tongue. Baldwin’s face turned white as he glanced behind Alex to Lena. “My lady,” Baldwin stammered.

  Alex turned to her, not shocked to see her eyes shining like twin daggers. “Lad,” he said gravely to Baldwin, “apologize to my wife.”

  “I’m sorry, my lady,” Baldwin blurted. “Truly.”

  “Aye. I can see that,” she said in a surprisingly gentle and understanding tone. Alex had half expected that she might rant at the clot-heid lad for his unthinking words. “From now on—” She paused mid-sentence, a thoughtful look coming to her face. “What’s yer name?”

  “Baldwin, my lady.”

  She smiled. “’Tis a fine name. From now on, Baldwin, be sure to taste yer words before ye spit them out.”

  Baldwin nodded. He was staring at Lena with a look of utter adoration. Alex scrubbed a hand over his face, fighting his smile. Lena was changing. The gentleness that used to define her as a young girl, the openness that always drew people in, was returning. He liked to think he had something to do with that. He may not be able to banish his own darkness, but he was going to banish hers.

  He waved Baldwin away, wanting to prepare her before his entire clan descended upon her and demanded her attention and time.

  He could clearly see his people awaiting them on the shores of the Isle of Mull.

  “Yer home is verra beautiful,” Lena said, shifting her gaze from Duart Castle to his bandaged hand. He moved it from the rail he was leaning on to his side, though he could feel her unanswered questions about his nightmare heavy in the air between them like a thick mist.

  He stared at his castle, trying to see it as she might. The castle stood atop a tall hill and rose high in the sky, appearing almost to touch the heavens above. It was surrounded by sharp rocks toward the top of the hill, but there was thick green grass lower near the shore, which covered the ground more than halfway up to the castle. It beckoned to one to lie down on its plush blades. His home was intimidating and had been built that way purposely. The thick walls of gray stone looked impenetrable, and they very nearly were.

  “’Tis nae beautiful,” he murmured, sure she’d only said it to be polite. “It looks threatening, as if anyone who dares to approach that is nae a MacLean or an ally will be risking their lives.”

  “Aye,” she said softly. “It’s in the looming ferocity of yer home that I find beauty. “’Tis a castle that I can feel safe in, I think.”

  A moment of perfect clarity settled upon him. She was finally feeling secure. All she’d done in the past, her rages, not washing herself for weeks on end so that she looked like a dirty hound, was so that no one—no man—would want to look at her or touch her. A lump hardened in his throat as he took in her appearance. Her rosy cheeks and sun-kissed skin made her look particularly fetching and healthy. Her beauty, coupled with the lovely green gown she wore, was certain to make many men in his clan besotted with his wife.

  Hellfire. He was besotted with her. He wasn’t sure when it had happened or how, but his wife had his full desire and attention, and he wished to protect and shelter her always. Other emotions simmered below the surface, and when he prodded them with his mind, a dull ache burst in his chest. He caught Lena’s fingers with his own, pleased when she did not flinch or tug away. She’d grown accustomed to this sort of touch and his soft kisses, and he looked forward to helping her grow accustomed to the rest of him.

  “What happened to yer hand?” she demanded. He had unthinkingly taken her hand with his injured one.

  “Och,” he replied with as much nonchalance as he could. “I dreamed I was beating an enemy.”

  She regarded him with probing eyes. “And when Donald tried to wake ye, ye thought him to be the enemy?”

  “Aye,” he said. “Sometimes I dream of foes,” he continued slowly, understanding that now would be the perfect time to tell her that he could never sleep the night with her. “If I’m awakened, sometimes I strike out at whomever is near.”

  Her mouth parted.

  He nodded. “’Tis why I’ll nae be sleeping the nights with ye, but I’ll sleep just across the hall from ye in a bedchamber.”

  “Ye kinnae stay away from our bed because of nightmares,” she said, her tone wounded.

  He gritted his teeth. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, but if he slept the night with her and was gripped in one of his dreams, he could very well try to kill her. He had to make her understand that it was not her. Tugging his good hand though his hair, he watched for a moment as his men scampered about the birlinn, bringing it to shore. There was not much time to explain, and he’d not even prepared her for his boisterous clan yet.

  “I dunnae trust myself when I am in the grips of a dream, Lena.”

  “I’ve nae had a bad dream since I spoke of Findlay to ye.” She cocked her head and stared at him expectantly, and he knew with certainty that she was suggesting that he speak to her about his dreams. That, he could not, would not, do. Ever.

  “They are my demons to conquer alone,” he said.

  “I thought we were moving beyond that stubborn view,” she snapped, setting her hands on her hips. “When ye asked me to lay my soul bare for ye, but refused to do the same, I did nae like it, but I detest it now! Have we nae learned each other a great deal better on board this ship? I thought we had! Mayhap I’m a clot-heid! Or mayhap ye are the clot-heid, demanding my secrets while keeping yers!”

  He clenched his teeth, knowing how unfair it sounded, but if she knew what haunted him, she’d not look at him the same, perchance not even feel protected by him. “I am sorry. I will give ye anything else ye ask but the darkest secrets I shield.”

  “I would ask for yer heart,” she blurted, “as I think ye would want mine. But a heart given full of secrets is nae a heart given at all.”

  She turned from him, but he caught her by the arms and tugged her back against his chest, even as he felt her stiffen. The wind caught her hair and blew it around his face as he brought his cheek closer to hers. “Let us not fight,” he said. “Tonight, there will be a feast in yer honor, and hopefully—” he turned her to face him, so he could see her eyes “—I will make ye my wife in truth tonight, if ye are ready?” He was ever aware that he’d likely receive word back from the Steward in no more than a fortnight, and Lena needed to be his wife fully before then. He would not demand it ever, though, in spite of the fact
that it left her vulnerable and him yearning.

  She sucked in her lower lip but nodded. “I believe I am, but I kinnae make any promises.” She turned in his arms once more toward his home.

  “I will take that,” he replied, brushing back her hair and pressing a tender kiss to her neck. When she shivered, he wrapped his arms around her, and fit his body to her backside. Her bottom curved enticingly into his hard flesh, and he feared it would frighten her, but she did not attempt to move. “I must warn ye that my councilmen have been pestering me to take a wife for some time now. They are eager for me to have an heir. I fear they will start pestering ye immediately.”

  A rosy blush spread up the side of her neck and stained the cheek that he could see. “What if I kinnae have bairns?” she blurted.

  He frowned and turned her in his arms once more to see her expression. He glanced around, ensuring they were still alone. None of the men, nor her sister, were close enough to hear their conversation. “What makes ye fear ye kinnae have bairns?”

  She shifted from foot to foot but held his gaze as she’d promised to do. “It’s just that—” She paused, her blush growing a deeper shade of red. “I have nae ever gotten with bairn, though I have, well, ye ken.”

  “I ken,” he said, his voice husky from anger at Findlay and something else. Some strong emotion that plucked at the strings that bound his heart into a functioning thing. “I believe we will have a bairn,” he said, the words catching with the emotions of how much he wanted a family with her. A child of her image would be a splendid thing.

  A troubled look settled over her face. “But if I kinnae?”

  “Then ye kinnae,” he immediately replied. “That dunnae make ye less in my eyes, nor make me nae want ye as my wife.”

  “Do ye want me as yer wife?” she said shyly.

  “Aye, lass,” he said, placing a chaste kiss on her lips as a cheer went up from his clan, who clearly had seen their kiss. It was a frightening thing just how much he had grown to want her as his wife, to please her, in such a short amount of time. He was lucky he was not easily scared.