Charming the Chieftain

by Deanie Roman

  “I am sorry if I k-kept you and the men awake. I c-c-cannot seem to grow w-warm enough t-t-to nod off.”

  The meager firelight showed the poor lass’s lips had turned blue. She looked wrung out. Without a word, he bent down and plucked her from the ground. She weighed no more than a sack of dandelion fluff.

  The wind caught the edge of the plaid and exposed her legs.

  “Well, that helped,” she muttered.

  He ignored her biting comment, and continued moving further into the shelter of an ancient hawthorn grove.

  “I’m p-perfectly able to w-walk.”

  He ignored her.

  “You s-shall tear your st-stitches,” she remarked.

  “I heal fast.”

  Desperation laced her voice. “For g-g-goodness sake, put me down. I must be taxing your wound.”

  Incredulous, he stared down at her. “You canna weigh no more than a bag of goose feathers.”

  Satisfied they were far enough under the cover of tree to keep the brunt of the wind at bay, he set her back on her feet.

  Her expression of gratitude died on her lips when he ripped the blanket from her body. “Wh-what are you doing?”

  “I am only taking your plaid and spreading it on the ground, lass.”

  Next, he settled his large frame against the substantial trunk of a Rannoch crab tree, wrapped his plaid around his shoulders, and then opened his arms to her. By her expression, she wanted to raise a fuss over the impropriety. Nonetheless, the lateness of the hour coupled with the brisk evening air halted any protest she might have made.

  True, he could have warmed her with any number of extra plaids carried by his men, thereby protecting her modesty, and his sanity, but he was tired of fighting his desires. He wanted to hold her, press her against him, just this once.

  “Come, before you freeze on your feet. I promise I will no’ bite.”

  • • •

  The damp chill had long ago seeped deep in her bones, and she wanted nothing more than to sink into the comfort he offered. Conversely, the notion of such familiarity chafed. Really, she should protest the suggestion. However, her willpower froze with the rest of her limbs. In the end, she conceded there were very few situations in which a female had the opportunity to fling propriety aside.

  Her mind made up, she pitched herself at him. Immediately the heat of his embrace surrounded her, and a hearty moan pulled itself from her throat. As she laid her head on his chest, she allowed herself a soft sigh of contentment, and took immense pleasure in the quickening of his heartbeat. He cocooned them within the Maxwell plaid and for the first time in a very long time, she experienced the protective side of a man.

  Just before she drifted into a deep sleep, she thought she heard him whisper, “Ah, lass, what are you doin’ to me?”

  Gently, he shifted her to her back, insinuated a warm thigh in-between hers, and bestowed a light kiss upon her slightly parted lips. He tangled her tongue with his, and the raw craving kept leashed roared to life. He averted his face and dragged in a lungful of fresh air. As if branded by her touch, he reclined backwards and the look of disbelief reflected back in her eyes. After a long moment, he gently guided her head back down to his shoulder. On his life, he believed his desire nothing more than a natural response for being deprived of bed sport. With one stolen kiss, he set out to prove nothing special existed between them, only to discover that a kiss from the right woman could resonate throughout his mind and body.

  “What am I to do with you?” he murmured.

  Whether he liked it or not, a bond had formed — a connection beyond anything he bore for another woman. He expelled his breath and gathered her close and lay there for a time stroking her hair, listening to her even breaths. Rolling onto his back, he tucked her into his side and studied the multitude of stars spilled across the clear night sky to wait for sleep that would never come.

  Chapter Twelve

  “It has been over one full week since he pulled me from the river. The man scarce speaks to me, yet, each night shames me by taking me in his arms. What must his men think?”

  Elisande threw her hands in the air. She was near the breaking point. Each day dragged into another and another until she had to stuff her fist in her mouth to keep from screaming aloud. After that first night he took her into the hawthorn grove, she tried making her bed away from him, only to awaken the next morning entwined like a vine around his muscular form. Desperate to save her sanity, she fought to maintain a physical distance, if not a mental one, but the contrary man never permitted her even that small dignity. Oh, he presented the appearance of being put upon and threw out a sigh or two for the benefit of his men. Still, when it was time to settle in for the night, he would scoop her up, blankets and all, and drag her off to their private coppice. She always ended up unyielding as a brick, until the tantalizing heat from his inner thighs warmed her bottom. Once that happened, the will to extract her person from his body vanished. If she were honest, she supposed she didn’t really put up much of a struggle. Not that it signified, he did seem determined to have his way.

  The next morning the sky glowed in various shades of oranges and yellows when Elisande awoke from a fitful night’s slumber. An indecent dream centered on Aeden, or more specifically, Aeden’s muscled hard chest. For the only time in days, she thrilled to his inattention since she woke up sprawled across the man like a human blanket with her hands and feet nestled in the region of his manly bits. Her cheeks flamed in heat at the memory.

  Of course, he just had to choose that moment to break his vow of self-imposed silence.

  “You did no’ rest easy last eve, lass? You seemed a wee fitful.”

  “I slept fine,” she assured him, ignoring the devilish sparkle in his eyes.

  The man seemed to go out of his way to vex her.

  Maddened, she gained her feet and walked into the cover of trees combing stiff fingers through her snarled locks. A moment of privacy would set her to rights. She didn’t bother to inform him of her sudden desire for solitude; he was nothing if not perceptive.

  • • •

  Shoulders slumped, and an air of defeat hanging about her, Aeden watched her leave. He knew his actions confused and frustrated her, but, damn it all, he had become far too dependent on the comfort of her presence for his own sanity. Erecting an emotional barrier between them remained the one thing he could contribute to his peace of mind. The stratagem worked like a charm throughout the day, until nightfall and he sabotaged himself by taking her in his arms, strengthening his connection to her even more. He stifled a yawn. He had barely slept the previous evening, finding it damned difficult with an erection. He cursed himself for a fool, as he savored the memory of the sweet torment she unwittingly exacted and wondered when he acquired a taste for self-inflicted punishment. The question crossed his mind just as the answer emerged from between the trees.

  • • •

  “Good morn, milady,” Kiernan called out.

  “A good morn to you, Kiernan,” Elisande returned the greeting.

  “Oatcakes to break your fast, milady?” offered Fergal.

  Determined not to insult the soldier, especially since he went to the trouble of cooking, she cloaked her distaste behind a bright smile.

  “Lovely, Fergal, I thank you.”

  Perched on the same flat rock, she placed the meager fare on her skirt and thought back to the lavish meals at Cadby Hall. Warmed honey on crusty bread, a bowl of cream porridge always accompanied by a silver pitcher of fresh goat’s milk. She sighed, broke off a piece of the dense, dry cake and forced it past her lips.

  Ugh.

  Curious to where everyone went, she lifted her head and Aeden caught her eye. A faint smile touched his lips, and she offered a rueful smile at being found out. His grin deepened, he shook his head and turned away. Well, at least he thinks me humorous, she thought.

  “Fergal, damp the fire and stay with Lady Elisande. Kiernan, water the horses, we ride at mid-morning.”r />
  She noticed he motioned Ronan to join him further from the men. She studied the pair engaged in deep conversation as she pretended to eat. Aeden’s hands were clasped loosely behind his back, and Ronan leaned in, his head down listening intently. Ronan’s incredulous expression piqued her curiosity and she jumped when Aeden slammed his fist into his palm. Although she could not make out the words, she decided Aeden seemed resolute. She heard snatches of their conversation when the wind shifted direction.

  “ — Fergal boasts relations in the Damfries area. — Send him ahead to seal the bargain. The scheme must go to plan before we reach — ”

  “ — Will charge — to leave immediately,” Ronan replied.

  “Aye, the sooner ’tis done, the sooner harmony will be restored.”

  Ronan shook his head. “If saying it aloud — you to deceive — than do no mind me if I — ”

  He skewered Ronan with a ferocious glare. Dismissed, Ronan took one direction and Aeden paused at the edge of the clearing. Uncertain what caused two dissimilar reactions she glanced over at Aeden, who subjected her to a lengthy, direct stare. Unused to being the object of such intense scrutiny, she dropped her eyes, and busied herself by brushing stray crumbs from her lap. When she gathered enough nerve to glance in his direction he was nowhere to be seen. She expelled a shaky breath as an unfamiliar emotion seized her heart.

  • • •

  With a sense of wonder, she surveyed the wealth of heather, thistle, pink slips, and various wildflowers burgeoning in the midst of rolling fields of green. The higher into the mountains she climbed, the more dramatic the landscape. The untamed beauty of the Lowlands was a glorious sight to behold.

  “’Tis magnificent,” Elisande remarked and twisted sideways to grin at Aeden.

  His ice-blue eyes impaled her. For a long moment, she stared back at him. Her entire presence seemed to throb with anticipation. The lurch of excitement that blossomed when she noticed his pulse quicken made her wonder if he experienced the same sensations.

  In one swift motion, he pulled her across his lap into his strong arms and crushed her to his chest. Breathless, she watched his head lower, and then his mouth covered hers hungrily. The caress of his lips sent the pit of her stomach in a wild spin. She returned his kiss with innocent abandon, not daring to think, but only sought to feel. She allowed herself to succumb to his domination and in turn, her passions reeled out of control. With no idea how long they were locked in each other’s arms the outer world slipped away.

  “Chief?”

  At the sound of Kieran’s voice, Aeden broke the kiss and turned her face into his neck giving her time to gain composure.

  “Aye, Kiernan, what is it?”

  Elisande was pleased to note he sounded breathless. She was determined not to entertain embarrassment even as a hot rush of heat spread across her face and chest.

  “All is in readiness.”

  Aeden rested his chin atop her head for a brief moment and expelled a sigh. Whether in relief, or, frustration, she had no notion. Gently, he dislodged her face from the hollow of his shoulder where she still sought refuge. He would not allow her to evade him and his eyes bore into hers before he spoke.

  “Elisande, I — ”

  Certain regret lurked in his tone, and she held her hand up to halt his words.

  “Please, I do not wish to hear any recriminations.”

  He began to say something more, then thought the better of it. Instead, he cupped the back of her neck and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead before setting her forward. She couldn’t help to think it was a farewell. Well, that is that, she thought, fighting back tears. ’Tis time to lock away your fanciful notions — see to the future. Her shoulders slumped. Who am I deceiving? I long for Aeden to be my future.

  Aeden commanded Honeybush to continue on the narrow path. The overgrown bushes and tangled tree branches were so thick with foliage that she scarcely saw the little cottage coming into view ahead of them.

  “How charming — who does it belong too?”

  Fergal’s unexpected appearance on the path diverted her attention. However, Aeden did not seem wholly surprised. Then she took in the appearance of the other man flanking Kieran’s left, with the unmistakable robe reserved for members of the clergy. How odd. Mayhap, my weary eyes see shadows.

  Momentarily confused, she glanced away, and then back again. Fergal and the priest were staring straight at her, the implications clear and she panicked. Her sharp intake of breath forced an oath from Aeden, which only solidified the line of thought that mushroomed in the darkest corner of her mind.

  “Why was I not prepared for this?” she whispered.

  I should have been prepared for this — it had been a forgone conclusion for months now. So intent upon setting events in motion, she never once thought past the escape.

  “Such a hasty affair. Why now?”

  She never thought she’d be this distraught and tried to subdue a sob.

  Clearly, the stricken expression unnerved Aeden, and he leaned forward.

  “Please believe me when I say I am sorry for your distress. Nonetheless, ’tis done and there is no going back for either of us. You must come to terms with my decision.”

  Tears slid down her cheeks and her lips trembled.

  “Lass — ” he began, and then stopped.

  It all made sense now, Aeden’s distant manner, Fergal’s disappearance only to reappear with a priest in tow. Disconsolate, she needed to put distance between them and slipped from the horse’s back. Thankfully, she dismounted with her dignity intact. She swiped at her eyes with the back of a hand, and willed the blasted tears gone. An acute sense of loss assailed her. Her anguish peaked, threatening the last shreds of self-control. She inhaled great gulps of air in a bid to calm her tattered emotions. She refused to disgrace herself in front of Aeden and his men. Her dignity was the one thing she had left. She’d known this day would come. She must wed one of Aeden’s clansmen to secure a place within the Maxwell clan, and keep well beyond Warford’s reach. At least she was acquainted with Fergal, who proved himself an affable man. She blinked hard, wishing she had more time to adjust to her future husband. Not long ago, she held close the idea she might refuse to marry any Maxwell man. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had once nursed the hope of wedding Aeden. The notion fomented in her brain the first moment he pressed his lips to her. It had been a foolish, reckless hope to harbor. Evidently, the searing kiss they shared meant everything to her, and nothing to him. She could only conclude his opinion of her had been forever compromised the first cold night she willingly shared his heat. Had he not understood she accepted his offer of warmth since she had no other alternative except to freeze to death?

  Tormented, she blinked rapidly to ward off fresh tears. There was nothing she could do to change his opinion — she resolved to think of him no more. She’d rather throw herself off a cliff than reveal the extent of her sorrow. Deeply troubled, she started when he placed a hand on her upper arm and urged her forward. Light-headed, she permitted Aeden to drag her over to the steel-haired priest, prepared to extinguish her dreams. Father Pollock clutched her limp hand in his gnarled, dry grip, and congratulated her with such enthusiasm one would have thought he entered into the marriage state instead of her. Kieran, Fergal, and Ronan beamed with goodwill too. So much so, their cheeks looked ready to split. Everyone regarded her with varying degrees of delight, so she tried to conjure a smile, but felt it more of a grimace and gave up. No one seemed to notice. Inhaling a cleansing breath, she forced herself to speak with Fergal.

  “I shall try to be a good wife,” she intoned dully her eyes wide in an effort to keep the tears at bay.

  Fergal’s brows shot up in surprise and he exchanged a nervous glance with his chief.

  Aeden prompted him with a flick of his head in her direction. She supposed he instructed Fergal to sooth her upset.

  “Aye, well, I am certain you shall be a fine, er, wife.” He added a smile then loo
ked to Aden again, if for approval, or, censure, she knew not.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  She stayed Fergal’s arm when he moved past her. Again his brows shot up; only this time he had the expression of a cornered man with the intention to bolt. She hardly blamed him. She’d bolt too if there was anyone to run too.

  “I shan’t be a moment. I require a private word with your chief.”

  Fergal stammered, “Aye, of course, ah, certainly milady.”

  A lopsided smile lifted her lip. “You know, you shall have to become accustomed to using my given name, Fergal.”

  Horrified, his mouth dropped, he backed away and shook his head so vehemently, she was worried he might throw himself off balance.

  “Would you like to try now?”

  “Nae, I cannot.”

  “No, he can no’,” Aeden confirmed.

  She looked between the two men and noted the confusion on Aeden’s face. Not knowing what to make of their reactions, she erased it from her mind, straightened her spine and faced Aeden determined to express her gratitude.

  Do … not … weep.

  Aeden and Ronan traded loaded expressions. Aeden’s scowl could bend iron, yet, Ronan merely shrugged. Aeden stared hard at Fergal, and then back to her. Abruptly, his visage transformed into a wide grin that creased his lean, scarred cheek. Speechless, she thought he must be exultant to rid himself of his burden. What other reason did he have for the rapid change in his behavior? There was no other explanation for it. Despite his ill-timed joy, she shoved the hurt aside determined to have her say.

  “Elisande — ”

  “Chief — ” she said at the same moment.

  He left eyebrow rose a fraction. “So, are we back to titles then?”

  She dropped her gaze and thrust her hands behind her back to keep from wringing her fingers.

  “Yes, I believe it best to observe the proprieties since the use of your Christian name would be too familiar an address once we arrive at Caeverlark.”

  He tipped his head to the side and met her teary countenance with a mixture of exasperation and compassion. It was almost her undoing. She didn’t want their last moments to be like this. She needed to hang on to her anger to get through the next moment, and the one after that, and the one after that. She needed to put a clear image in her head, and keep it there for her own self-preservation. She drew a blank and then the reason she stood there in such a state crystallized. To keep peace amongst his clan, she was about to be sacrificed on the altar of matrimony. He had done nothing except frown at her the entire week and now he had the gall to act as if someone handed him a fortune in gold.