by Mary Wine
“The Robertsons do nae have the strength to defeat us,” he growled. “It’s only our mercy that keeps yer land from being overrun and burned. Little wonder ye joined with Morton to lock me into this marriage.”
“I did nae.” She lost control, reaching out to slap him. “Brute.”
The sound popped loudly, bouncing between the walls of the chamber.
“Harpy,” he snarled, capturing her wrist and pinning it to the surface of the bed.
He was strong, holding her wrist down easily. In the dark, he seemed even larger than he had during the day.
“I do nae lie.” Her voice cracked, tears easing from the corners of her eyes. She knew she had no right to expect mercy from him. By divine law, her body was his. Submission and obedience her duty.
He snorted before releasing her wrist. The bed ropes groaned as he landed on his back. “Maybe, maybe no’.”
The icy night air was a balm for her overheated skin, carrying away the heat of his body. She rolled over, scrambling to escape. The chill made her suck in her breath, but she wasn’t staying in the bed with him.
“Come back here… ’Tis too cold, lass.”
He caught a handful of her chemise and pulled her back. The fabric ripped, her body weight too much for the thin cotton.
“We shall have to suffer each other for a few more hours, Ailis.” He dropped her in the center of the bed and tossed the comforter over her. He locked an arm around her waist and settled against her back. She tried to wiggle away, and he snorted next to her ear.
“Be still, woman. Yer flesh entices me, so stop struggling, and we might yet make it to see the sun rise without being stuck with each other.”
As far as compliments went, she had never heard a worse one.
Yet she had never enjoyed one more. For without a doubt, he was sincere.
It completed her humiliation. Tears escaped her eyes.
Bhaic shifted, his touch becoming something very unexpected.
Tender.
Comforting.
But she knew it could so easily change. Despair clawed at her, making her breath catch on a silent sob. Helplessness was a cruel beast that threatened to crush her as the wind howled through the open windows, making her cringe with the cold.
“I owe ye an apology, lass.” He smoothed his hand along her cheek, capturing her tears. “Ye called me brute justly.”
“I did.”
His chest rumbled with a soft chuckle. “Agreement between us. What would our fathers say?”
She choked on a laugh. “Naught civil, I imagine.”
She heard a chuckle behind her. For one insane moment, they laughed together.
He rubbed her arms, and she relaxed. She didn’t plan to; his touch just seemed so enticing.
“I hope yer father might think kindly upon the fact that I have nae enjoyed the treat Morton tried to make of ye.”
Her insides felt as though they were tightening again.
“Yer father as well,” she countered, trying to sound as unconcerned.
He grunted. “Aye.” She was trying to edge away from him again. He released her, and she made it a few inches before the cold became unbearable. She ended up on her back, so very aware of him. It was pure insanity. Her very skin seemed more sensitive than it had been when she awoke that morning.
He chuckled softly. The sound drew her attention.
“I have never been in bed with a virgin.”
She lost her resolve to ignore him. “I should think there are worse fates.”
He laughed softly.
He reached out and picked up a lock of her hair resting near his elbow. “I’ll say this for Morton, he baits his traps well, for ye are a bonny thing.”
His words shouldn’t have pleased her.
Yet they did.
He raised the lock of hair to his face, inhaling the scent of it. Something shifted inside her. A jolt firing off some place deep inside. She looked away from him, uncertain to say the least.
A moment later, he’d captured her hand and lifted it into the air between them, their fingers mingling intimately. Her breath lodged in her throat. His touch was intense, igniting a storm of sensation that flowed through her more freely than French wine.
He was a MacPherson.
He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against it. “Aye, ye’re likely right.”
“I did nae say anything.”
He released her hand when she withdrew it, but her skin continued to tingle where he’d kissed it.
“Yer wide eyes say plenty, Ailis. Intimate conversation is something ye have no practice with.”
“Certainly no’,” she muttered, feeling her cheeks heat. “No unmarried girl is.”
He shrugged. “Do nae be so naive, lass. There are plenty of daughters in the Highlands who have nae kept their innocence for their wedding night. Ye are no meek maid, so it stands to reason that ye might have followed yer passions.”
She shifted, shaking her head before she thought better of letting him know so personal a detail about her.
His grin faded, his expression becoming pensive. “Ye deserve respect for holding on to yer virtue. It means ye have integrity and deep respect for yer father’s name.”
He lay down on his back. For a moment, she couldn’t quite believe he was truly going to leave her in peace.
Respect from a MacPherson. Truly, it had been a day full of surprises.
She was certain she couldn’t take another one.
* * *
Ailis woke to the sound of the door being unlocked. She blinked, still groggy from too little sleep and too many thoughts churning inside her head.
“At last,” Bhaic growled next to her. “Damned night lasted a month.”
“It did,” she agreed and then regretted her words when she witnessed the hard glint that appeared in his eyes. Clearly she wasn’t ready for marriage, for men needed meek words when they woke. Bhaic’s pride was wounded, and no mistake.
She had rolled onto her belly sometime during the night and had to push herself up. The door opened, and the Earl of Morton appeared in the doorway. He was wearing a fur-lined half coat and a thick, felted wool hat. She glared at the warm clothing.
“Chilly night,” he remarked as he strode boldly into the room.
“It was warm enough,” Bhaic remarked before standing up.
Two other men entered the room, and she realized one was her father. His lips were white from being pressed together so tightly. The other man was Shamus MacPherson, and he went toward his son with his kilt.
Her father held out a dressing robe for her. Ailis sat up and eagerly left the bed behind. But her father froze, his gaze on her. She looked down to see her chemise gaping open where the sleeve had been torn. One cuff was secured around her wrist, while the edges of the sleeve fluttered loose.
“Ye bloody bastard,” her father accused.
Ailis reached for the dressing robe and wrapped it around herself.
“There is nae a mark on the lass,” Bhaic responded. He was pleating his kilt on the edge of the bed, folding it with a practiced hand before slipping a belt beneath it and buckling it around his lean waist.
“I am fine, Father.”
“And wed,” the earl announced.
With both of them out of the bed, the earl had pulled down the comforter to expose the sheet. The blood had dried, turning a dark brown that stood out plainly.
“You are free to return to your land, Laird Robertson,” Morton informed him before he looked at Bhaic. “You’ll be expected to take your new bride home.”
Bhaic brushed past the earl and captured Ailis’s upper arm. He swept her from the chamber without a word. She squelched the impulse to protest.
What w
as she going to do? Stay in the chamber? Admit she was a maiden still?
No. Every fiber of her being rebelled against that idea. The morning sun was bright, and she itched to get into it. Escape filled her thoughts as she spied the Head of House.
“I’m off to find me dress,” Ailis said.
Bhaic made no protest. She felt an odd little twinge of regret, but it wasn’t enough to stop her from following the servant to a chamber where her dress was hung up neatly. There were times she didn’t care for the long stays in fashion, but today, she enjoyed feeling the laces closing the stiff undergarment tightly against her body.
She felt buffered against the harsher facts of reality.
But when she emerged, the Head of House led her to the high table once more. This time her father sat there, and so did Shamus MacPherson. The two spaces between the lairds were for her and Bhaic. There was something symbolic about the scene at the high table, and she would be lying if she said she didn’t think it was attractive.
Never once in her life would she have even jested about seeing her father and his enemy sitting down at the same table.
That was a sad thing to admit, a lack on her part not to see the merit of peace.
She should have thought about it, should have longed for it. The feud claimed lives every year, staining the fresh season of spring with death. Thinking of a way to end the feud should have crossed her mind and stayed as something she could not dismiss.
Perhaps she should have continued kissing Bhaic last night.
It was a strange, alien idea, but not without its merits. The earl was right about alliances ending feuds.
The regret was hard to ignore, leaving guilt to chew on her as she entered the hall and felt everyone watching her. She lifted her chin and forced her lips into a sweet curve. At least she might make sure there would be no reason for Bhaic to accuse her of blackening his name by appearing abused.
It was a beginning. A step away from the hatred she’d always accepted as the only way to think about MacPhersons.
The Earl of Morton watched them throughout the meal, his keen stare soaking up details. Ailis took the broken bread from Bhaic’s hands, once he’d blessed the meal and passed it to his father and then her own. The men watching stroked their beards and grinned. She witnessed the mood in the hall lightening, astonished by how much her actions influenced her father’s men.
“Well done, Ailis,” Bhaic whispered beside her. “Ye have shamed me with yer show of unity, and I thank ye for showing me the error of me ways.”
There was a note of appreciation in his tone that warmed her on a deep level, but she shied away from acknowledging it completely.
He wasn’t her husband, not truly.
And she was pleased. Yes. Very pleased.
Unless she thought upon the matter too long.
* * *
The Earl of Morton watched them all mount. Ailis felt a lump form in her throat again when the MacPherson retainers surrounded her. But she kept her expression serene and her thoughts on riding out of the yard.
One step at a time.
She wouldn’t think about dealing with Bhaic tonight. No. She’d focus on escaping the earl first. Bhaic was no more interested in being her husband than she was in becoming his true wife. There was no other reason for him to have left her a virgin.
She held that thought tightly, using it to fend off the panic trying to claim her.
They rode off toward MacPherson land. Her father followed them for a time before heading inland. She fought not to look after him longingly.
“I think I might accuse ye of being a skilled actress, Ailis.” Bhaic had come up beside her, looking powerful on his stallion. He didn’t linger inside the ranks of his father’s men but rode along the sides, keeping his eyes on the horizon for trouble.
“Is that because ye wish to find a new insult?” she questioned.
His eyes narrowed. “I have the right to be suspicious of ye.”
“As do I, of ye,” she countered, feeling bone tired of their clashes. “Yet that leaves us trading barbs.”
She expected him to take insult, but he surprised her by reaching down and catching her mare’s bridle. He had her reins in his grasp before she realized what he was doing. He dug his heels into his stallion’s sides and led her mare away from the MacPherson retainers. The road was surrounded by thick forest, the trees hiding them within moments of their exit from the road.
“What are ye doing?” Ailis asked.
She ordered herself to remain calm, but the idea that he might murder her still rose up to horrify her.
He turned and faced her. Ailis tried to gather her courage as she waited for him to answer her. The afternoon sunlight shone off the pommel of his sword where it rose above his left shoulder. She couldn’t help but stare at it. The earl’s men had worn swords on their hips, but Bhaic clung to the Highland ways.
“Do nae insult me by thinking I’ve brought ye out here to kill ye, Ailis.”
She jerked her gaze away from the sword to find him glaring at her.
“I am a Highlander. I do nae fight me wars through women.” There was truth edging his words.
“Then what are ye about?” she asked.
He closed his mouth and contemplated her. She could see him considering something, the look in his eyes serious.
“I witnessed something this morning I never thought to in me lifetime,” Bhaic began.
She nodded, still unsure as to how to accept the idea of seeing MacPherson and Robertson retainers breaking bread together. Truly, it might have been easier to grasp seeing a true fairy.
“I should have thought of it, and that is my shame,” Bhaic said gravely. “As the next laird, I should have considered leading me clan away from constant bloodshed. Morton spoke a solid truth: ’twas three generations ago and certainly no’ the first time a bride was stolen away in the Highlands.”
“True, as much as I detest his methods,” she admitted. “We’ll all be better for having been made to see it.”
“Aye,” Bhaic agreed.
“But I did nae plot to help him,” she added quickly. “I knew naught of his schemes.”
Bhaic wasn’t sure he believed her. She saw him considering her with doubt in his eyes. Such amazing blue eyes. They seemed full of life in a way she’d never noticed a man’s eyes might be.
“What I’m thinking about most is the fact that I saw me clansmen breaking bread with Robertsons. Something ye did much to encourage by smiling sweetly and sitting by me side with grace.”
Now he was complimenting her again, and she warmed beneath his praise.
“It was the right thing to do,” she whispered. “Since ye…treated me gently.”
He drew in a stiff breath. “It disturbs me to see ye grateful for such a thing. I am nae a monster. I do nae rape.”
“Ye’re a MacPherson.” The words were out of her mouth before she thought on them. His face darkened. “Sorry. It’s just… I do nae know any other way to think of ye. Is nae that why ye called me a liar? Because I am a Robertson?”
He nodded, conceding the point. “That brings me back to the shame of nae thinking about ending this feud. Ye did nae expect me to behave honorably.”
“Ye did.” A surprise, but a pleasant one. A dear one. Truly. She offered him a smile of gratitude.
He leaned forward. “I want ye to come home with me, Ailis.”
She recoiled, pulling on the reins out of reflex. Her mare stepped back in response. Bhaic eased his stallion forward.
“Ye did nae have to bring me out here to tell me yer will.” Disappointment edged her words and twisted cruelly through her.
He spoke slowly. “I’m asking ye.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “That did nae sound like a question.”
&
nbsp; He shrugged, unrepentant. “I did nae have to bring ye out here and give ye a choice. So do nae quibble over the wording. I’m as shocked as ye are that I’m saying the words. Yet I would prove meself the brute ye’ve labeled me if I gave ye no choice.”
Shock held her silent for a long moment. By rights, she belonged to him. His retainers would make sure she arrived on MacPherson land even if she went bound and gagged.
But the memory of the past night rose up to torment her with how volatile their reaction to each other was. It was like some sort of combustion; when together, they lost their wits and all sense of control.
She shook her head. “We are nae good together.”
“Perhaps it was a mistake to leave ye a maiden, lass.” He eased his stallion up beside her, setting off a ripple of awareness that traveled down her body. “There is passion between us, and ye are too innocent to realize it is no’ a common thing. Ye kissed me sweetly, lass.”
“’Twas lust.”
He reached out and cupped her chin, his eyes bright with hunger. It made her breathless, when she knew it was wrong.
“Aye, but there is something more.” He leaned closer, until his breath teased the surface of her lips. “There is something deeper.”
She shivered, turning her head to avoid his lips. “Something wicked.”
He chuckled, the sound low and menacing. A warning bell went off inside her mind, but it was too late. He’d leaned over and scooped her off her mare before she could react.
She gasped and grabbed for the only solid thing she could reach. Which was Bhaic. It was instinct, the need to feel something solid instead of being suspended in midair.
When she landed in his lap, his stallion sidestepped nervously.
“Nae wicked if we’re wed, lass.”
“Well… I suppose…”
He captured her head and tilted his to the side so he might fit their lips together. This time, there was no hold from slumber to interfere in the intensity of the kiss.
His kiss.
It was shattering. The connection so hot, she felt her insides melting once again. Her heart began to pound, but she didn’t care. She wanted to kiss him back and mimicked the motions of his lips as she learned the art. He growled softly through the kiss, startling her with the ferocity of his response.