Meghan: A Sweet Scottish Medieval Romance (Sweet Scottish Brides Book 2)

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  “So you found the lamb in the meadow?” He mocked her still with his tone.

  “Will you stop, please?”

  “Stop what?” He arched a brow, as though he thought her completely witless. Meghan bristled.

  His gaze unsettled her. Those cool blue eyes focused upon her too intensely. “Repeating everything I say, you ill-bred oaf. I’m no half-wit. Nor am I deaf.”

  “Not mute either—more’s the pity,” his friend answered blithely.

  “Nay,” Meghan agreed, her face heating with indignation, “not mute, either, you contemptible boor.” That he’d professed no more than her brothers had long since lamented was of very little consequence. He was an ill-bred churl to have said such an insulting thing to her, particularly since he didn’t know her.

  Montgomerie smiled darkly. “Now that we’ve established as much... tell me, do you make it a habit to walk and talk with animals?”

  Meghan blinked, a thought suddenly occurring to her. Had he overheard her talking to herself? Did he realize who she was?

  She bit down upon her lip, and fretted. That’s what she got for being so like her grandminnie—walking about talking to herself like a loon.

  He nodded in her direction. “Give her a hand, Baldwin,” he commanded his companion.

  “No thank you,” Meghan declared at once, “I already have two.” She glared up at Baldwin. “Keep yourself away from me, ye boot-licking toad.”

  “Impertinent wench,” Baldwin proclaimed, and came after her anyway. “I’ll show you who’s more the fool.”

  Meghan scrambled to her feet. “I may be a fool, but I vow I will shriek until your ears bleed if you lay a hand on me.” He continued to advance upon her. “Dinna touch me, you... you...” She could think of nothing terrible enough to call him. “Englishman!”

  Montgomerie had the audacity to chuckle. “Leave her be,” he said to his lackey, and the man halted at once.

  Scowling fiercely at both of them, Meghan brushed the dirt from her hands, and made ready to flee if the opportunity arose.

  “Curse it all, Lyon,” Baldwin protested. “I’ll warrant the wench is in need of a good spanking, and I’m in the mood to give her one.”

  Meghan gasped. “Dinna even think it.”

  “She’s in need of something, of a certain,” Montgomerie agreed, ignoring her protest. “But I think I have just the thing.” His eyes fairly gleamed, and Meghan bristled.

  “Och,” she exclaimed, and clenched her fists at her sides. Who did they think they were? These Sassenachs—discussing her as though they had a right to. If they thought themselves unaccountable for their actions simply because they were David’s champions, they were in for a rude awakening, as King David was not well favored in the Highlands. Whatever fear she’d been harboring dissipated in the face of her outrage.

  “Greedy rotten braggarts.”

  Baldwin broke into a wide grin, casting his hands into the air. “She’s all yours.”

  “I am not his,” she informed them both at once.

  The arrogance of men. How dare they discuss her as though she were a wayward child in need of a good strapping. Not even her brothers treated her so disrespectfully. “I belong to no mon,” she assured them both.

  Montgomerie’s brows lifted as he turned once more to face her, and Meghan had the sudden impression that for once, she ought to have held her tongue. Something in the way he regarded her made her grimace at her choice of words.

  Chapter 5

  “Have you no husband?” Lyon’s tone held no small measure of surprise.

  She took a step backward, her delicate brows drawing together into a lovely frown. “Why should you be concerned with that, Sassenach?”

  Lyon tried not to laugh at her sudden show of wariness. Not even when he’d appeared so suddenly to block her path had she regarded him so suspiciously—anxiously, aye, indignantly, certainly, even a bit fearfully, but not so guardedly.

  “Mere curiosity,” he answered truthfully, and watched her expression with keen interest.

  “Aye, well…” She gave him a narrow-eyed glance and an admonishing nod. “…you know what they say about curiosity.”

  “Nay,” Lyon said, unable to keep himself from baiting her, wicked as his mood was. “I’m afraid I don’t. Tell me what they say.”

  He grinned when she glowered at him, but that only seemed to vex her all the more. “Och! I’ve no idea what they say. Who cares anyhow? But no good e’er comes of it, I can assure you that.”

  Lyon chuckled. He couldn’t seem to help it; her fit of temper amused him. She was strong-willed, like his mother, aye, but with one intriguing exception. His mother had expressed herself with words alone, softly spoken but deadly in earnest. The harridan before him spoke with every inch of her lovely body: her eyes, her face, her hands, her very stance bespoke her every emotion. She was as easily read as was Mother Nature in her change of seasons, and as irrepressible and vivid in her expressions as a burst of spring wildflowers. Mercy, she was a beautiful little termagant.

  And she had no husband.

  Suddenly, Lyon didn’t wish to fight any longer; his fun was spoiled. How could he battle against her brothers when he coveted their lovely sister? He’d much rather be wooing her... kissing those delectable lips.

  The problem was... how was he supposed to get her brothers to leave off now that they’d come so far in the feuding? He wasn’t naive enough to think it would cease simply now because he wished it to be so.

  Unless he married the lass.

  His gaze settled upon the long-legged harridan standing before him. With arms akimbo she stood watching him warily, her beautiful face a testament to God’s artistry. Even scowling she was exquisite. It made him yearn to coax a smile from those sweet lips. He could do it, he was certain. How many pouty mouths had he cajoled into smiles? More than he could count.

  She had no husband.

  The thought reared once more, and he suddenly knew what he needed to do to end the feud. David had given him a piece of Scot soil in hopes that his skill at arms would provide unity and peace for Scotland, but Lyon had a far more useful talent to apply toward David’s cause. ’Twould be a sin to leave his experience to waste.

  He grinned.

  Seeing his smile, she took a step backward, seizing her skirt in her hand as though she would flee. “Why are you looking at me so strangely?”

  “Because,” he answered, grinning still, “I believe I have the perfect solution to end this feud.”

  He turned to Baldwin, nodding in her direction, commanding him without words to seize her. Baldwin lifted his brows, understanding at once, and then smirked at the girl. Lyon felt a sudden unreasonable stab of protectiveness toward her.

  She took another step backward, seeming to sense the exchange between them. He and Baldwin had been together so long words were seldom necessary between them.

  “Solution?” She cocked her head adorably. “What sort of solution? What are you talking about, Sassenach?”

  Lyon didn’t answer at once, and she continued to move backward, instinctively placing the lamb between herself and any imminent threat.

  It wasn’t going to do her any good, because Lyon was suddenly determined. Knowing her gaze was focused primarily upon him, he spurred his mount to the left of her, blocking escape in that direction. He hoped Baldwin had his wits about him just now, because he’d need to be quick to catch her unawares. The woman was shrewd; he recognized the canny gleam in her deep green eyes. Careful not to glance in Baldwin’s direction—the last thing he wished was to remind the nymph of his presence—he drove her toward Baldwin. He didn’t give her time to think, because she would doubtless realize his intent. He feigned an advance to the left, forcing her toward Baldwin—only Baldwin was no longer there. Baldwin had dropped back to remove himself from her field of vision. Lyon waited to spy Baldwin’s face behind her now, not daring to give her time to look about, and then charged after her. She turned instinctively and fled into B
aldwin’s waiting arms, shrieking in outrage.

  “Insolent wench,” Baldwin exclaimed. “Who’s more the fool now, eh?” He dragged her toward the bushes behind which he’d tethered his mount.

  “Nay! She rides with me,” Lyon announced.

  Baldwin made the mistake of turning to question him. “Are you certain, Lyon? She’s a wild one.”

  Lyon didn’t have time to respond.

  “I’ll not ride with either of ye,” she swore vehemently, and to Lyon’s surprise and Baldwin’s misfortune, she twisted like a snake within his friend’s embrace, catching his wrist firmly between her teeth. She bit down. Hard. Lyon could almost hear the crunch of Baldwin’s flesh and bones and he cringed, though was too awed by her mettle to do anything but watch the scuffle.

  Baldwin howled in pain, and spat a few of his favorite expletives, but she didn’t let go.

  “Wench!” he yelped, sounding distressed now. “Take her, Lyon! Arggghhh! Take her! Aaaeeeeyyahhh!”

  If he didn’t stop her, Lyon realized, she was going to kill the poor fool.

  She reached back to seize a handful of Baldwin’s hair when he didn’t at once release her, and then suddenly seemed to change her mind and reached beneath his mail to catch the unfortunate Baldwin between the legs.

  Lyon’s eyes widened in alarm, but not wider than Baldwin’s.

  Cunning vixen.

  Baldwin’s yelp betrayed shock first, then pain. He went pale as parchment. His wild-eyed gaze met Lyon’s. “Please,’’ he managed to squeal. “Pleeeeeeeze!”

  Lyon shook himself from his stupor and spurred himself to Baldwin’s rescue, plucking the girl’s writhing form up from Baldwin’s limp grasp. It was more than apparent as he lifted her who had hold of whom, and Lyon couldn’t smother a chuckle of disbelief. Poor Baldwin staggered as she released him.

  “How dare you treat me this way,” she railed at Lyon, kicking as he lifted her. She seemed entirely unconcerned over the thud of Baldwin’s burly body as he fell limply onto the ground.

  “Judas, woman. You’ve killed him.”

  Deciding that he couldn’t afford to attend Baldwin until his own private matters were safely guarded, Lyon scooted backward and settled her before him upon his mount. As a matter of self-preservation, he forced her arms to her sides and lifted his thighs over her legs, allowing his weight to pinion her.

  Baldwin groaned, but didn’t stir.

  “Let me go, ye rotten Sassenach. He’s not dead, can’t you hear him weeping? Serves him right!”

  Lyon was certainly relieved to see it was true, but he wasn’t stupid enough to release her.

  Peering up with glazed eyes, Baldwin announced, “Aye, then… she’s riding with you.”

  Lyon answered with a hearty chuckle. He still wasn’t quite certain what his plan was, but he wasn’t about to let her know that. He wouldn’t mind waking up to a heavenly face like hers every morning, though, at the very least, perhaps her brothers could be coerced into returning his livestock at the prospect of seeing their sister safely at home once more.

  “She’s a menace,” Baldwin said, his voice yet to return to normal.

  Lyon couldn’t disagree.

  He grinned down at his old friend, holding her more firmly when she twisted before him, and said, “I rather noticed.”

  His grin widened when Baldwin scowled up at him.

  Meghan watched both men incredulously.

  How dare they simply sit there conversing so blithely—as though he weren’t ripping her arm in two with the force of his grip. “You’ll let me go if you ken what’s good for you,” she warned.

  Montgomerie loosened his grip, but he didn’t release her. He slipped one arm firmly about her waist and leaned to speak low into her ear. The warmth of his breath made her cheek tingle and sent a quiver down her spine. “Mayhap I don’t know what’s good for me,” he suggested, his voice much too whispery to be soothing.

  Meghan reared back and slapped his face for taking such liberties, and resisted the urge to yelp when she managed to push his face against her own in turn.

  He glared down at her, looking more startled by her slap than angered.

  Meghan was startled by her reaction as well, if the truth be known, though she certainly wasn’t going to show it. She rubbed at her own cheek in dismay. Her temper was surely going to be the death of her one of these days. She peered at Montgomerie with narrowed eyes. “Trust me when I tell you that it hurt me more than it did you, Sassenach.”

  “That woman’s mad,” Baldwin declared, staring openmouthed from the ground below.

  “Hurt you more?” Lyon sounded bemused. He raised a hand to his face, stroking where she’d slapped him. “That’s precisely what my mother used to claim when she would rap me on my head.” Even as Meghan watched, her handprint manifested itself upon his cheek. Guilt pricked at her, but she ignored it. There was no way she was going to feel remorseful for defending herself against these mercenaries. “Somehow,” he went on, “I cannot think so.”

  “Of course it hurt me more,” Meghan persisted. “I managed to strike myself as well, didn’t ye see?”

  His brows twitched. “What a pity,” he said, his mouth quirking, and Meghan was no longer certain whether he was angry or amused.

  Surely not amused?

  “I say we let her go,” Baldwin announced. “For her own sake,” he explained. “If you don’t strangle the insolence out of her, Lyon, I surely will.”

  “Nay, you’ll not,” Lyon proclaimed in deadly earnest. “You’ll accord her the respect due her as your mistress.”

  “What?” The outcry came at once from both Meghan and Baldwin together. Their gazes collided, and then each turned to stare in disbelief at Lyon. He smiled at her, and she knew he must be mocking her. “What did you say?” she and Baldwin asked again in unison, and then turned again to glare at one another.

  “Will you stop?” Baldwin snapped. “I’ve no need of an echo!”

  “I have a right to speak, you graceless oaf,” Meghan replied, wholly undone now. Surely she hadn’t heard him correctly. She narrowed her eyes at Baldwin. “By the by,” she added, “I think you look like a quivering fish flopping about in that silly mail. Why dinna ye worry yourself about gettin’ up, and mind your own affairs while you’re at it.”

  His ears turned bright-red, Meghan noticed, and she smiled with satisfaction. He turned to Lyon. “She’s mad, I tell you. No woman I’ve ever known speaks to a man so disrespectfully. She’s no lady!”

  Meghan would have cast herself at him to slap his face had Lyon not restrained her. “Mayhap because you Sassenachs dinna ken a true lady when ye see one. Ye like your women bloodless as cadavers with all that paint on their milksop faces. And spineless as slithering slimy worms.”

  “Judas! She’s not only mad, but she’s bloodthirsty,” Baldwin declared. “And a thieving Scot, to boot.”

  Meghan gritted her teeth. Och, she was going to murder the rotten Sassenach. “Why, you!” She tried to kick out at him, but couldn’t move her legs with Montgomerie’s blasted ten-stone thigh draped over her limbs. “I’m no thief. You’re the thieves. You’re the ones who’ve robbed everything but the teeth from my brothers’ mouths.”

  He had nothing to say in his own defense, Meghan noticed. Instead he turned to Montgomerie.

  “Whatever are you thinking, Lyon?”

  Montgomerie had remained entirely too silent during their furious exchange, Meghan realized suddenly, and she turned to face him, only to find him grinning at her.

  “I’m thinking the two of you are going to need keepers, is what I’m thinking.” His blue eyes twinkled with mirth.

  Meghan blinked at their brilliance. Up close, they were bluer, even, than her brother Colin’s, and as luminous as sapphires.

  “You cannot be serious?”

  “Why not?” he answered, grinning still.

  Meghan couldn’t begin to conceive what he could possibly find so amusing. “Ye canna simply wed with some
one against her will,” she apprised him as calmly as she was able. He was making sport of her now, she realized.

  “Of course I can,” he teased. “’Tis quite commonly done.”

  Meghan stared at him in utter disbelief.

  “’Tis the perfect solution, as I’ve said.”

  “Solution to what?” Meghan replied, only to find herself with an echo once more.

  Baldwin, the idiot, was still lying upon the ground, staring up at his lord as though he thought he’d gone utterly mad. “Solution to what?”

  “To end the feud, of course,” Montgomerie replied. “I grow tired of sparring with children.”

  Meghan screwed her face in disbelief as she turned toward him. “You canna believe forcing me to wed with you will end the feud, ye daft mon. My brothers would sooner see me a widow!”

  “You want to end the feud, Lyon?” Baldwin sounded nonplussed by the notion. “But I thought—”

  “I’ve changed my mind,” Montgomerie said. “Get up, Baldwin.”

  “You’ve changed your mind?” Meghan repeated, apprehension rearing.

  She peered from one man to the other, not liking what it was she was hearing. “What do you mean you’ve changed your mind?” She narrowed her gaze at Lyon.

  “Nothing less, nothing more. Simply that... I’ve changed my mind.”

  Meghan went wholly still before him.

  The wretch.

  “You mean to tell me you only now have suddenly decided you no longer wish to feud with my brothers?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Why?”

  He had the decency at least to appear a little chagrined by her question.

  He might have said she looked like a cow, and she wouldn’t have taken such offense. He could have told her she was mad as a loon, and she might have agreed. He should have admitted to anything but this, because Meghan was suddenly insanely furious. She inhaled a breath, and said when her temper was restrained enough to speak, “Let me be certain I have this right, Sassenach.”

  He tightened his hold upon her waist, seeming to sense her rising fury, but answered calmly. “Certainly.”