“She’s my sister,” Monty warned.
“If anyone should fear for his arse, it’s Campbell,” Matthew MacDougall sniped. “I don’t even like the mon, but I’d rather he roast in hell than from Lady Laurel.”
Donnan nudged Monty under the table before placing coins on the table. Because of Donnan’s position as Monty’s second, he was able to share a chamber with Monty, rather than sleep in the barracks. The arrangement suited them well. The Rosses made to rise, signaling their men, but Laird Edgar Gunn placed a pouch of coins on the table.
“I didn’t have an opportunity to enter the wager Oliphant placed. But I offer a new one. I wager fifty pounds Campbell doesn’t show up to his wedding,” Edgar announced.
“I shall up that ante,” Daniel said. “To one hundred pounds, just as Oliphant offered.”
“I bet he will,” Magnus replied. “She doesn’t need to speak if he keeps her occupied enough, and she has a fine figure to distract him if she does.”
“You will not wager on my sister,” Monty snapped. “Put your money away, Gunn.”
“Join the wager or not, but you cannot stop me,” Edgar taunted. “Aye, throw your fist at me. I shall just arrange the bet elsewhere.”
“I wager you’re likelier to marry before she does,” Stephen suggested.
“I’m not here to see to my own wedding. I’m here to arrange my sister’s, which I’ve done. It will happen as soon as the banns have been read,” Monty insisted.
“That gives the poor bastard three sennights to get lost among the hills,” Andrew snorted. “He’d do well to ride off tonight.”
“Leave off,” Monty threatened, rising to his feet with his hand raised toward the claymore strapped to his back. At his movement, all the Ross men rose. The newcomers foolishly arrived without guards, presumedly believing they could defend themselves and one another. The Rosses outnumbered them.
“Bah. Dinna get in a twitch, Ross,” Andrew waved at his seat. “I say, rather than betting whether Campbell marries, we save the poor bastard.”
“Have him compromise some other lady?” Edgar snickered.
“Doesn’t he know Lady Laurel is a pauper compared to your other sisters?” Matthew asked. “He must have read the contracts.”
“He’s not interested in her dowry,” Monty stated, his chin raised.
“Then she must be good for a tumble,” Magnus said, and the men roared with laughter.
“Cease,” Monty slammed his hand on the table, making it wobble. “My men and I leave now before there is bloodshed. But I promise you I will kill each of you in your sleep if you continue to disparage my sister. She’s always been my favorite, and I shall always be her brother. Attack her character again, and I will watch you laid in the ground.” Monty didn’t wait for any of the men to respond. Monty, Donnan, and the Ross guards left the tavern with haste.
“His favorite?” Edgar sniffed. “How bad are the rest?” The men roared at the snide comment.
“You heard aboot Lady Myrna and her antics with Padraig Munro. And his brother,” Stephen reminded them. “MacGillivray is miserable, and she still hasn’t bore him a son.”
“Pitiful sod,” Matthew said as he raised his mug in Chieftain MacGillivray’s honor. “I say Andrew has the right of it. Campbell needs rescuing, and since ours isn’t the only wager we’ve each entered, we’d do well to see their marriage doesn’t last.”
The six men raised their mugs and grinned before each of them drained it and bellowed for more.
Sixteen
It had been twelve days since King Robert announced Laurel and Brodie’s betrothal. She’d expected doubt and regret to fill her during the ensuing days, but she’d become spoiled by Brodie’s attentiveness and the taste of freedom he offered her each day. Depending on her commitments, Brodie took Laurel riding every morning or afternoon. Monty joined them the first five days under the auspices of being her chaperone, but he soon tired of watching the couple when he preferred being in the lists. Ross and Campbell guards accompanied them, and Laurel figured with her reputation in shambles, it mattered little if anyone chaperoned them. She understood that even without the banns posted, they could make their betrothal into a binding marriage by coupling.
Laurel and Brodie fought the temptation to do just that, since neither wanted to begin their marriage under a darker cloud than they already would. The rides offered them an opportunity to become better acquainted, and Laurel discovered Brodie had been correct from the beginning. Their minds worked in remarkably similar ways. When he told her about his clan, he often asked what she would do if she was laird and faced the challenges he did. He chided himself for ever being surprised at her astute observations and sound solutions, but she impressed him over and over. In turn, Laurel felt validated, her self-confidence genuine rather than feigned.
Their time together wasn’t entirely without disagreement, most often about Laurel’s penchant for speed and jumps Brodie was certain would break her neck. It wasn’t until he articulated his fears that she ceased goading and rebuking him for being old and staid. Laurel balked when Brodie insisted she ride within the center of the men the first few days. She kept her most scathing comments for when they rested their horses, and Brodie dragged her out of earshot. But each of their spats ended with compromises they were both willing to accept. And a kiss. A passionate, explosive, earth-shaking kiss that would leave them clinging to one another as they tested their resolve to do nothing more than that.
Laurel sat beside Brodie each morning and at each midday meal, but the queen refused to allow Laurel to join Brodie for every evening meal. Laurel understood the queen was already indulging her by allowing her to ride out with Brodie every day. But the two days that filled her with the most satisfaction were the Sundays they sat together as the priest read the banns, then posted it on the kirk door. Brodie held her hand beneath the folds of her skirts. He’d gifted her a bolt of honey-colored satin after the first week’s Mass. Laurel had been speechless, and tears brimmed at her eyes when he presented matching slippers. He’d grown self-conscious when she said nothing at first. He assured her that if she didn’t care for the color or if it didn’t suit her, he would take her to exchange it. She launched herself at him and nearly knocked them both over with the force of her exuberant thanks.
Brodie’s chest felt as though it would burst when he saw the excitement and gratitude on Laurel’s face. While it was costly fabric, the gesture hadn’t seemed as significant to him as it was to her. He’d wanted to give her something as a token of their engagement that she would appreciate. But he realized after years of receiving so little from her family, the mere fact that it was a gift overwhelmed her. When they rode out that afternoon, she’d confided in him the extent to which she’d gone to hide her dire financial circumstances. She told him of how she’d pawned her jewelry, hoping to earn enough sewing to buy her jewelry back and still have enough coin for what she needed. But she explained that the window of time she had expired before she could claim her finery. She shared the nights she’d stayed awake to remake her gowns, and how her disdain grew for the people not astute enough to realize that it was the same kirtle over and over but merely with different embellishments. She admitted the pleasure she derived from seeing so many women wearing her creations, none the wiser that the woman they disdained provided the couture in which they preened.
Brodie had listened with alternating waves of amazement, sadness, and anger as she described how life changed over the eleven years she lived at court. She held little back from Brodie as she admitted her sins like he was her confessor. The Laurel he’d witnessed in the brief time he knew her only lashed out when she felt cornered. Her tongue was sharp, but he didn’t understand how she’d earned her reputation until she admitted how she’d behaved when she was more newly arrived.
“I was horrible to many of the other ladies. I was so angry all the time. I didn’t want to see others happy around me when I believed I could never feel that way again. It was easy to follow the
others’ lead. When I think back to what I said to and aboot Maude, I make myself sick. I remember one evening in particular. Maude stood beside Arabella Johnstone, the most beautiful lady-in-waiting in decades. They were friends, but I said Maude looked like a sow standing next to a dove. I claimed that her endowments made her look more like a tavern wench than a lady. The worst part is I leaned she overheard everything Cairstine, Madeline, and I said, and I didn’t feel a moment’s remorse.”
The only time she grew evasive was when she mentioned Madeline MacLeod—now Madeline Grant—discovered something she wished she hadn’t let slip, and that was how her former companion manipulated her. Brodie attempted to glean more from her, but she was too astute to give away more. She’d cast him a warning glance before moving onto another story. But Brodie already suspected what the secret was.
He noticed slight gestures and mannerisms between Monty and Donnan that struck him as odd. As he watched the pair more and more, he noticed they were in sync with one another like an old married couple. He and his second had been friends since they were weans, and he was close with his brother Dominic, but the dynamic between Monty and Donnan was notably different. It reminded him more of Dominic and his wife Colina or his cousin Kennon and his wife Fenella. He’d puzzled over why the men’s relationship didn’t bother him more. He knew he should have recoiled in disgust, thought it unnatural and against God’s will, even named them as sodomites. But he found he cared little once he noticed how much Donnan cared for Laurel. And Monty even redeemed himself when Brodie learned there’d been a disagreement the night of his betrothal, and Monty defended Laurel against a group of men. Monty and Donnan avoided explaining what caused the argument, and Brodie decided it was for the best he didn’t know, or he would have sought the men himself.
As the couple charged across a meadow that twelfth day, Laurel inhaled the unfettered air that only came from riding an hour north of Stirling. She looked at the mountains in the distance, seeing the Highlands nearly within reach. She laid low over Teine’s back as she raced Brodie toward the foothills. The ground had few obstacles, so she allowed her steed to have his head as they charged on. The couple raced across the field many times during their outings, and both were competitive, just like their mounts. Neither consistently won, taking turns in victory and challenging the other to a rematch.
Laurel’s tinkling laughter filled Brodie’s ears as they galloped neck and neck. He glanced at her, caught speechless once more by her beauty and the happiness that radiated from her. He’d assumed she exaggerated the significance of the rides. He thought it would be a nice outing, but she’d blossomed with fresh air and exhilaration.
“Yer wee beastie shall be embarrassed once more when Teine thrashes him,” Laurel teased as she spurred her chestnut gelding to go faster. She’d surprised all the Campbell men when her horse soon outpaced half of them. He was faster than every gelding Brodie’s men rode and at least half of the stallions. Riding at the front of their group, Brodie’s horse was the best within the pack, but Laurel’s expertise as a jockey ensured she won their races as often as he did. She and Teine won that day by a nostril. The climate had shifted in the fortnight and a half Brodie was at court, and the early autumn air pinkened Laurel’s cheeks and ears.
“You look like you belong among the fae,” Brodie mused. “You charm the animals into doing your bidding, for surely you must have tricked Lann into letting you win.”
“Letting me win? If your steed were as sharp as the blade he’s named for, perhaps he would cut through the wind faster,” Laurel teased as Brodie helped her from her horse. After nearly two weeks of riding out with the couple, the guards knew to look away. Brodie cupped Laurel’s backside as she rose onto her toes to meet his lips halfway. Their rides were the only time they dared indulge except for a brief kiss before they retired alone each night. Laurel reached between them and pushed Brodie’s sporran away, sighing as she felt his length rest against her mons.
“You shred my resolve, Laurie. I watch the joy you get from riding your horse and wish you were riding me,” Brodie murmured beside her ear. His provocative words made the ache between Laurel’s thighs become a low burn. She shifted restlessly as she looked into his soulful gray eyes. Kisses alone hadn’t nearly satisfied her curiosity. The first time she grasped his backside, Brodie had lifted her off her feet and nearly ran into the nearby woods with her. He’d growled as he kissed a blazing trail along her neck to behind her ear, making her shiver with arousal and the unknown. Her knees had buckled when his hand slid beneath her skirts, and his fingers slid along her seam. When his pressed his finger into her entrance, she’d gripped his leine and rested her head against his shoulders. But when a second finger entered her, and he worked the satiny skin within her sheath, she’d fought and failed to stifle her moans. Her hips rocked against his hand as he brought her to the brink and then pushed her over. The passion that simmered between them was rivaled by the affection they shared in the aftermath.
“And if no one were to know?” Laurel whispered. Brodie groaned as he fought against considering Laurel’s implications. He struggled each night that he left her on the landing to her floor, finding relief alone in his chamber. His men playfully jested that he should ease his bollocks at a tavern, but he’d pummeled one after another in the lists that day. His men discovered he found nothing humorous about their suggestion, nor would he entertain it. Instead, he remained in lust-filled longing, knowing Laurel suffered as he did. But he suspected she didn’t know how to ease the torment like he did. He eagerly anticipated teaching her, knowing there would be nights when duty forced him away from their home and their bed.
“Laurie, we have five days until they post the banns for the third time. We could marry that Monday,” Brodie suggested, then held his breath. They’d spoken of their desire for one another and how they might relieve it, but Laurel had yet to assure Brodie that she wished to marry him once they could. He hadn’t pressed her, standing by his pledge to give her time for him to court her. He was more convinced than ever that he’d been blessed with the right woman, but he wasn’t certain that she felt he was the right man for her. He would be heartbroken if she rejected him, but he would see her to wherever she wanted to make her life and check on her regularly once she was there.
Laurel glanced down at the Campbell plaids that draped over both of their shoulders. She’d taken to wearing Brodie’s clan pattern, even though she was yet to become Lady Campbell. From the uncertainty in Brodie’s voice, she realized he didn’t understand that the reason she wore it was because she’d already decided she would marry him.
“You sound worried that I won’t agree,” Laurel said as she ran her hand over the wool across his chest.
“I haven’t wanted to press you,” Brodie admitted.
“Brodie, I’m sorry I wasn’t clearer.” Laurel offered an encouraging smile when Brodie’s face fell. She cupped his jaw. “I’ve worn your plaid since the day you gave it to me. I thought you understood that meant I’d already agreed. Why would I dress like Lady Campbell if I never intended to be her? Why would I suggest we couple if I didn’t want our betrothal to be a binding marriage?”
Laurel sucked in a deep breath that made her ribs expand as she watched Brodie’s handsome face turn into the most attractive sight she’d ever beheld. She was awestruck once again that he’d chosen her as his wife. He was both braw and kind, and she marveled that a man so wonderful accepted a risk like her. It made her want to try harder to be gracious and kind in return. She squeaked when he picked her up and twirled her around, his booming laughter eliciting another giggle from her. She’d laughed more in the days she’d known Brodie than all the years at Stirling Castle. When he lowered Laurel so that her arms could wrap around his neck rather than her hands resting on his shoulders, she snagged his mouth in a kiss that made Brodie groan.
She’d grown more confident and more eager to lead their exchanges as she grew more comfortable with Brodie. She pressed her tongue agai
nst his lips and sighed when it slid past his teeth. She twirled hers against his, before luring his tongue into her mouth. The first time she’d lightly sucked on it had been a kiss goodnight. It was the one time Brodie returned to her chamber. He’d nearly torn her arm from her shoulder as he dragged her into the room, then kicked the door shut, and came within a hair’s breadth of ravaging her.
As Laurel tempted him this time, Brodie maintained control by his fingernails. He wanted to sink to the ground and lay with Laurel beneath him. He’d encouraged her to speak aloud what she wished to know, what she wished to try, and after a few prompts, she’d whispered the things she imagined doing with Brodie. He wanted to fulfill each of those dreams in the very meadow where they stood. Eventually, the kiss calmed to soft pecks until Laurel rested her head against Brodie’s chest.
“I never imagined I would find a happier place than being outside in the Highlands, but I have,” Laurel said as she leaned back. “Can you guess where it is?”
“Is it with me?” Brodie smiled wolfishly.
“You were supposed to say you couldn’t,” Laurel huffed as she playfully tapped his chest. “I was supposed to tell you.”
“I’ll happily listen if you did.” Brodie cocked a teasing eyebrow before waggling both of them.
Laurel fingered the hem of Brodie’s plaid as an idea stuck her. “Brodie, being out here with you is the happiest I’ve ever been. I know there is still much for us to learn aboot one another, and I hope it brings us closer together. I also know that most people would say six days is but a moment in time to wait. But I really don’t want to.” Laurel reached down to where the two ends of her plaid overlapped with a brooch pinning them together. “We’re in the Highlands now, even if it’s not Campbell territory and still dreadfully close to Stirling. But we are both Highlanders.” Laurel paused to look up at Brodie, praying he wouldn’t reject her idea or her. “We could handfast. I want to handfast.”
A Hellion at the Highland Court: A Rags to Riches Highlander Romance (The Highland Ladies Book 9) Page 13