Stolen Vows

by Sterling, Stephanie

  “Well of course I dinna!”

  “Well maybe ye should have thought of that before?” Roan snarled. He was hurt by Isla’s positive loathing of the thought of Castle Cameron, even though he understood that, if their positions had been reversed, he wouldn’t be jumping over the moon about it.

  “That’s nae fair, Roan!” Isla argued. She turned away from him, and walked a few paces outside the little clearing where they’d spent the night, into a denser patch of woodlands.

  Roan felt a twinge of guilt; it hadn’t been an easy twenty-four hours on his wife. Apart from their imminent arrival at Erchlochy Castle to worry about, Isla had been forced to cope with sleeping in the cold. Just because he was also tired and hungry didn’t mean that he should forget that Isla had been suffering.

  He glanced at the driver. The old man was making a very obvious effort not to listen to what was going on between the couple, clanking the horse brasses, muttering under his breath and generally being conspicuous. After a disparaging shake of his head in his direction, Roan went after Isla.

  “Go away,” she whimpered, when she heard his approach.

  “And leave ye out here all on yer own? I dinna think so, lass,” Roan said, his tone returning to its typical gentle drawl.

  “I want to be left out here all my own!” she snapped.

  She was standing stubbornly with her back to him, and when Roan moved around to look at her face she deliberately avoided his eye. “Isla,” he sighed wearily, catching her hold gently by the arms, though she still refused to meet his gaze.

  “Roan, I said -” she began furiously, and in her anger she finally did raise her head.

  Isla’s breath caught in her throat and Roan could instantly feel why. There was something simmering in the air between them, sizzling between their bodies, drawing him towards her. For a second, as he listed into her enticing heat, he thought she was going to slap him, and he knew he wouldn’t have stopped her, because the only thing he could think about was feeling her mouth moving underneath his own.

  He groaned, unable to tell who had closed the last hairsbreadth of distance between their lips, knowing only that it was closed, and that he never wanted it to be opening again. He kissed her, hard and deep, his anger having turned, in a flash, to a fierce passion that was fuelling his actions.

  Isla seemed to be similarly entranced. Roan grunted as she answered his advances with an intensity that she hadn’t dared before. She was hungry and needy, and Roan wondered if there was any possible way he could have her here, in the woods, against a tree, with her clansman only a few feet away.

  Not yet…It might take every ounce of self-control he had, but he was not going to claim his wife like an animal in the woods…although, at the moment, he couldn’t explain why not. Damned honor…

  Roan couldn’t help himself from rocking his hips against his wife. He heard Isla gasp when the urgent hardness of his body pressed against her soft belly. The small, sharp sound sizzled through his body, fanning his need into a frenzy. He ground against her. One hand slipped behind her pert bottom, holding her flush against him while the other groped her ample breasts.

  Isla whimpered as Roan cupped the curves of her bosom. His rough fingers rooted into the neck of her bodice, ferreting out her pink nipples and pinching them until she gasped again.

  “Roan!”

  To his ears, the word sounded like a plea. He dropped his hand to her side, bunching up the hem of her skirt and pushing her legs apart. He rolled against her again, and was shocked when she bucked away.

  “Nae!”

  Roan blinked and dropped his hands. Isla’s skirts fell around her ankles again. She stared down at them, unwilling to meet his gaze.

  “Isla?” he asked his voice thick with a mixture of lust and confusion.

  “I’m sorry!” she whispered, finally peeking up at him. “I dinna ken what happened, I -”

  Roan realized that he had pushed her too far. “I should nae -” he began, but Isla laid her finger across his lips.

  “Ye should have,” she insisted. “I wanted it, only…” she bit her lip. “When Tavish -”

  This time it was Roan who forced the silence. He kissed Isla very gently on the lips, unable to bear the thought of hearing himself compared to the other man. Caught up in the passion of the moment, he forgot what Isla had been through. “I’m sorry,” he said, ashamed of himself.

  Isla surprised him with her response. “Oh, nae!” she said quickly. “Dinna be sorry. I just…maybe we could go...slower next time?”

  The shy gaze she gave him was irresistible, but this time when he kissed her, his touch was soft and tender. Relief flooded his aching body when Isla twined her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss again.

  “Are ye ready to go back?” Roan asked when he reluctantly pulled away.

  Isla’s rebellion had been subdued by their passion. She gave her head a reluctant nod, and let her husband lead her back towards the camp.

  Everything went out of her mind as she sank back against the hard wooden rails of the wagon. They felt like the softest feather bed after a night of sleeping on the hard ground. Isla dozed off before the cart even started rolling.

  ..ooOOoo..

  It was the sound of angry, raised voices that woke Isla several hours later. She sat up with a start, trying to make out what was being said.

  “…and I’m telling ye, nae mangy Cameron wagon is getting past these gates! I’d as soon -”

  The wave of abuse stopped. Isla couldn’t hear what had been said to silence the furious man, but she did recognize the soft, rich tone of her husband’s deep voice.

  “Roan! Hell! Dinna recognize ye there for a moment!” The voice boomed again.

  Isla sank down in her seat. They’d arrived. She looked bedraggled and she still had no idea what Roan was going to tell the Laird to explain the matter of her being his wife. Her face must have reflected her feelings, because Roan shot her a glance of concern.

  “Ye all right, lass?” he asked.

  “Aye,” Isla said.

  “Tis going to be all right,” he said, hopping back inside the wagon as it started to move again. “Tis going to be fine,” he reiterated, which did nothing to settle Isla’s nerves. If he could have feigned a look of confidence to accompany the affirmation it might have helped a little.

  The cart had barely started rolling when it stopped again. Isla was so tense she thought something might snap if she moved.

  “Here we are then,” Roan murmured. He leaned forward and dabbed a kiss against her lips, at least managing to bring a splash of color to her pale cheeks. “Ready?”

  Isla didn’t answer aloud, but she did manage to nod her head. Roan squeezed her hand as he helped her down, in front of an imposing set of stone steps, which led up to an even more imposing stone castle.

  “Uncle Roan! Uncle Roan!”

  Isla gasped as a pack of children came running across the courtyard towards her husband. The boys and girls ranged in age from about three to ten years, and all looked positively delighted to clap eyes on their uncle. Roan turned and gave Isla a sheepish smile just before they were engulfed.

  “Some of my sisters’ children,” he explained.

  “Some of them?” Isla repeated. She raised her eyebrows in surprise, watching as one little girl clambered into Roan’s arms.

  Roan chuckled. “Aye, we MacRaes like large families,” he grinned, inspiring a fresh splash of color in Isla’s cheeks.

  “Uncle Roan why did ye come home in that wagon?” “Why were ye gone so long, Uncle Roan?” “Did ye bring us anything?” “Who’s she, Uncle Roan?” “Aye, who is she?”

  In just a few moments the jumble of hardly distinguishable questions had settled on one topic. Isla. Isla held her breath and waited to see how her husband would answer. However, the voice that spoke next was not Roan’s. It was hard, and female, and it came from the top of the stone steps.

  “Aye, Roan, who is this?”

  A glanc
e at the green-eyed, gray-haired woman standing just outside the castle doors confirmed that the speaker could only possibly be one person: Roan’s mother. Isla felt any chance she had of ever fitting in at Erchlochy Castle wither and die in a heartbeat. The woman was tall and striking. She still had a fine figure despite her advancing age, but her face was cold and pinched.

  The woman walked down the steps toward them, eyeing Isla as if she were a dangerous disease.

  “Mother,” Roan nodded, confirming Isla’s worst fears. “This is Isla MacRae,” he said without hesitation. “My wife.”

  The first true emotion that Isla had seen light the woman’s hard face flashed in her pale eyes. The expression was something between disbelief and sheer horror.

  “Yer wife, Uncle Roan?” “But her skirt’s all muddied and torn.” “And just look at her hair!” “She canna be yer wife, can she, Uncle Roan?” “Uncle Roan?” The children made a number of confused murmurs and objections, before being shooed away by their grandmother.

  Isla felt even worse when they had gone. The children certainly hadn’t been on her side, but she had gained a sense of safety from their youth. Nothing too terrible could happen with the presence of a little three-year-old girl clinging to Roan’s shirt. Now she wasn’t sure what was about to happen.

  “Do be serious, Roan,” Lady MacRae said, in a tone of voice that Isla imagined usually brooked no argument. “This girl,” she said, shooting a sneering glance down at Isla, “is a Cameron. Is she nae?”

  “She was a Cameron,” Roan said firmly, reaching for his wife’s hand and pulling her a step closer to him.

  “Good God, Roan! What have ye done? This will ruin ye!” Lady MacRae gasped. “What in the world possessed ye?”

  Isla shrank back against her husband as Lady MacRae’s words lashed over her like the crack of a whip. She raised her eyes to look at Roan’s face. He was wearing a rather harsh scowl.

  “I hardly think ye need to be quite so dramatic about it, mother,” Roan said evenly. “Ye have been pressing me to find a wife ever since Bridghe got married.”

  “A suitable wife, Roan,” Lady MacRae hissed, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. She let her narrowed eyes fall on Isla, looking over the disheveled appearance of the young woman with a barely concealed sneer.

  “Isla is Laird Cameron’s niece,” Roan frowned. “As our own Laird is attempting to settle a peace between our two clans I can see nothing unsuitable about our marriage.”

  “Ye can see nothing unsuitable about marrying a girl ye only just met? Especially when there were so many bonnie lasses here vying for yer attentions!” Lady MacRae demanded furiously.

  Her eyes fell accusingly on Isla, who stiffened, and felt very keenly that her mother-in-law was silently wondering what she had done to trick Roan into marrying her. She also felt a pang of jealously at the mention of the other women who had shown an interest in her husband before his journey to Castle Cameron.

  “Mother, I will explain everything to ye later,” Roan sighed wearily. He hadn’t slept for at least thirty-six hours. “We’ve had a terrible journey. I would like to speak briefly with the Laird so I can present Isla to him, and then retire to my rooms and rest.”

  Lady MacRae looked absolutely outraged by this suggestion. “Ye canna see Graem,” she snapped. “He had one of his turns while ye were away getting married and is in nae state to see anyone.”

  “In that case, we’ll retire immediately,” he nodded, taking a step towards the large castle doors.

  “Would ye like me to find a room for Miss Cameron?” Lady MacRae asked icily.

  Roan turned back to face her. “Mother,” he said. He did not raise his voice but his tone was clearly menacing. “Isla is my wife. I therefore expect ye to treat her as such,” he warned.

  A flush of color appeared on Lady MacRae’s cheeks. She pinched her thin lips together very tightly and refrained from further comment. Roan shook his head and made to walk up the rest of the steps and into the castle.

  Isla bobbed a low curtsy, and murmured: “Please to meet you, Lady MacRae,” which earned her another fierce scowl from her mother-in-law, and was then pulled along after her husband.

  “I am sorry about that,” Roan sighed, once the doors had been opened for them and then were walking through the castle’s grand entrance hall.

  “We knew it would be difficult.”

  “I have a feeling that it may get more difficult before it gets any better,” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair.

  Isla was of the opinion that it would definitely get more difficult before it got better, but wasn’t inclined to say so aloud. She looked around, trying to take in the interior details of the castle, but Roan was walking so swiftly she barely had a chance to turn her head from side to side as she struggled to keep up with his long strides. She almost careened into him when he did stop, throwing open a large oak door and leading Isla into his bedroom.

  “Home sweet home,” he sighed. He walked over to a chair that stood beside the unlit hearth and sat down, groaning audibly as he took the weight off his feet.

  Isla felt a tender smile tug at her lips. “Poor thing,” she breathed softly, shutting the door and then walking over to her husband. His eyes had already dipped close. “Ye need to sleep,” she said gently.

  “I’ll be fine,” he murmured. “I need to see Graem. I dinna care what mother says, tis nae right that he does nae ken about ye being here. And I need make sure one of the servants brings up yer luggage. And I -”

  “Need to rest!” Isla giggled.

  She crossed the room to the bed, drawing back the blankets so Roan could get in, before returning to his side, intent on prodding him into action. He was already so dear to her. Isla’s heart ached with an emotion she was too afraid to examine as she stared down at Roan, studying his handsome face.

  “Come now,” she said gently, kneeling before her husband and going to work on his boots. Isla smiled when Roan dropped a hand to her hair, gently patting her head as she heaved and tugged until both of his boots were off.

  “I can manage,” he yawned, but made no actual move to help himself when Isla’s fingers rooted for the bottom of his shirt.

  “I dinna want ye to manage,” Isla answered, and then surprised herself when she leaned forward and dabbed a kiss against his lips. Roan looked surprised too, his tired eyes flickered open, but he smiled warmly as Isla helped him out of his shirt and pulled him up on his feet.

  “Ye’ll sleep more comfortably without these on,” she murmured, hesitating when he was clad in nothing more than his breeches.

  “Undoubtedly,” Roan chuckled.

  He reached for his laces himself, sensitive to Isla’s embarrassment, but she reached out a hand and stilled him, intent on finishing what she’d started. She was not being ruled by passion, but by a deep desire to help Roan - to take care and look after him like a real wife. A wife bound to her husband by more than just the law.

  Of course, that didn’t stop Isla from drinking in the sight of Roan’s body. She had no point of reference to use as a comparison of course, but she knew instinctively that her husband was as close to physically perfection as a man could hope to be.

  “Sleep now,” she whispered soothingly, taking his hand and leading him towards the bed. He went without a word of protest, which rather impressed upon his wife how exhausted he was really feeling.

  Roan released his breath in a huge, contented sigh as he sank down onto the soft mattress. Isla smiled softly, watching his eyes shut as she straightened the coverings. She was just starting to pull away when a hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

  “Where are ye going?” he sighed, eyes still closed. Roan’s voice was heavy with sleep, but he didn’t let Isla go.

  “Nowhere,” she promised him, brushing his hair off of his forehead.

  “Come to bed,” he murmured, patting the space beside him.

  “In a minute,” she laughed quietly, kissing Roan’s cheek and then sli
pping out of his grasp. He was too tired to resist the lure of slumber any longer, and in a matter of mere seconds his breathing was deep and his chest was rising and falling steadily.

  Isla stood and watched him for a few minutes. She was exhausted herself, but the adrenaline and terror that had flooded her veins on arriving at Erchlochy Castle was acting as a powerful stimulant. She didn’t know if she would be able to sleep even if she did crawl beneath the covers, but then she wondered if it really mattered. Just curling up beside Roan would be heavenly.

  She had nothing to wear to bed though, no nightdress; her cases hadn’t been brought up to Roan’s room yet. She could sleep in her chemise, but she had been wearing it for days, had already slept in it once. Isla thought it better if she changed out of the undergarment… which only really left one option.