The Highlander's Accidental Bride (5 page)

Gusting wind whipped Mary’s hair about her as she stood along the parapet, gazing silently at the clouds roiling darkly in the distance. Her hand absently stroked the silken head on level with her waist, and Sorcha whimpered softly at her side.

“Oh, Sorcha.” Mary sank to her knees and hugged the dog tightly, feeling the strong, muscled body wriggle against her. The dog’s pink tongue licked her cheek and Mary gave a slight laugh as she averted her face. Sitting on the rough stone floor, she leaned against the big hound, her arms still wrapped firmly around Sorcha’s warm, furry body.

“You’re the only one here who likes me.” She sighed. “Well, Ranald isn’t too bad, and Ina thinks, since the laird married me, I must be acceptable.” She gave another sigh. “I wish I could fly away from here like a bird. No barriers to keep me so far from home.” She stared into the mountains, imagining the distant walls of Bellecourt Castle. Sorcha sat perfectly still beside her, poised as though listening to her mistress’s unhappy words.

“Ye are the most fascinating young woman I have ever encountered.”

Mary gasped and snapped her head around at the unexpected sound. Sorcha crooned softly, looking anxiously between her master and her new mistress. Laird Scott leaned a shoulder negligently against the doorway at the head of the stairs, his arms crossed over his chest, an inscrutable look on his face.

“What do you mean?” Mary inadvertently tightened her grip on Sorcha who licked her arm in response. She relaxed her hand and stroked the dog’s head, grateful to have a reason to turn from Eaden’s gaze.

“Ye argued with me this morning like a fallen angel, and this afternoon I find ye looking like a homeless waif with yer arms wrapped around
my
dog.”

Sorcha thumped her tail on the ground. Mary buried her face against the dog’s furry neck.

He sighed. “At least ye don’t appear to be about to leap from the parapet.”

Intrigued, she glanced back at Eaden. “Do many Scott brides jump?”

“Och, so ye’ve heard the ghost stories?”

Mary nodded. “The castle seems to have a rather sinister reputation.”

“Aye. The worst.”

“And what of its laird?” she dared to ask. “What is his reputation?”

Eaden looked surprised, but not angry at her question. “Until ye, lass? Sterling.”

She stiffened. “What have I done?”

“Och, not specifically ye, lass. The king is the main cause of my disreputable downfall.”

“I’d have thought a king’s herald . . .” She paused, biting back the retort.

“Ye thought I’d have the patience of a saint?” He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Even a saint grows weary if the provocation is great enough.”

“So, why did the king think marrying you to Laird Barde’s daughter would bring peace between the clans?”

“Apparently King Robert has a malicious sense of humor,” Eaden quipped. He sighed and pushed away from the wall, rubbing the back of his neck wearily. “There was one too many complaints from Laird Barde against Clan Scott. All untrue, unless ye count defending yer people a crime. The king decided an alliance between the clans was long overdue, so he bade me wed Barde’s daughter.”

“That isn’t me,” Mary said quietly.

“So ye’ve stressed.”

They were silent for a few moments. Mary could plainly tell Laird Scott still did not believe she was not Miriam, and she grew weary of trying to convince him otherwise.

“Does the view please ye?”

“Yes,” Mary replied, a bit off-balance at the change in conversation. She rose to her feet and leaned over the chest-high stone wall. “It is beautiful from up here. It’s as though I can see forever, almost all the way to Bellecourt.”

Eaden ignored the jibe and left the doorway to join her at the wall. “What did ye see from the parapet at Bellecourt?”

“Miriam and I were not allowed on the walls. ‘Twas for our safety. We spent our time in the beautiful gardens beyond the kitchen. I’ve never seen a view like this before.”

“If ye promise to no’ jump, I’ll instruct the men to allow ye up here whenever ye wish—provided we aren’t at war, of course,” he added dryly.

Mary looked at him in surprise. “You’d prevent me from coming here?”

Eaden shrugged. “As Lady Scott, ye have the complete run of the place. But I’ll no’ have ye taking advantage of my men and trying to slip past them. ‘Twould put them in a verra bad light.”

Mary dropped her gaze. “As I do not know where Bellecourt lies, beyond somewhere south of here, I have nowhere to go until you release me.” She spoke with quiet dignity.

“Ah, Mairi, lass, yer home is here, now.”

Mary shivered when he called her ‘Mairi.’ To her ears it seemed a softened version of her name, a kind of Scottish compromise between ‘Mary’ and ‘Miriam,’ full of secret longing the way it fell from his lips.

She gulped a breath against the unexpected heat sliding through her and considered a more pressing problem: her unwillingness to admit no one from Bellecourt seemed to care what had happened to her. It had to have occurred to someone—Miriam, at least—that something dreadful had befallen her. How was it possible she could disappear without someone noticing?

Her heart had leapt to hear Laird Barde had ridden toward Craigievar, and it had eaten at her ever since to know he’d turned back. What had happened? Where was Miriam? Surely her friend missed her.

Mary settled a direct gaze on Eaden. “I don’t want to live here.”

“I know ye dinnae,” he replied evenly. “But we’ve a good bit to sort out before we decide what’s to be done. I’d ask yer promise to no’ leave the castle without an escort.”

Mary thought about his request. Not knowing Scott Castle’s location meant she would have difficulty simply starting down the road for Bellecourt. Add her fear of horses and the fact she’d never learned to ride, and thoughts of escape were hopelessly impossible.

Surely the wait wouldn’t be so bad if he allowed her to come here. The high stone walls of the castle closed in like a prison, the parapet her only chance to breathe the crisp, clean air. It wasn’t as though she would be here forever.

She nodded. “I promise to keep to the castle grounds except with an escort.” She looked at Eaden, the smallest hint of a smile on her lips for the first time.

For the next few days, Mary managed to keep out of Eaden’s way during her waking hours. She maintained at least the appearance of domestic civility by joining him at mealtimes. But she didn’t act like a new wife, or a wife of any kind, for that matter, and the servants’ quick eyes missed nothing.

Mary’s cheeks heated to see furtive looks as she seated herself at the table. She watched other men and women greet each other with quick kisses or a touch of easy familiarity. She shared no visible warmth with Laird Scott, but a part of her longed for the little intimacies. Yet she shuddered to consider such with the formidable man whom she now called husband.

Uneasy still in his company, Mary barely endured his presence in her bed at night, Sorcha between them, and tried not to flinch when his hand touched hers as he passed her a dish at the table.

A stir rose among the diners as the door to the hall opened and Ian and two other soldiers hurried in. Sending his two companions to the far table with a nod, Ian approached the head table. Ranald, seated at Eaden’s side, scooted his chair enough for Ian to sidle close to his laird. Mary, on Eaden’s other side, strained to hear the low-pitched voice of the laird’s trusted soldier.

“It is said Laird Barde’s daughter has married du Melville’s youngest son. Barde realized the morning after your, er, wedding, his daughter went missing.” Ian cut his eyes to Mary, who placed a piece of meat into her mouth with a calmness she certainly did not feel. “He assumed you had kidnapped her, and mustered his soldiers to ride on Scott Castle. But before he crossed the border, he received word his daughter was no’ here, but at Melville Manor, and he withdrew to Bellecourt.”

Eaden said nothing. He listened to Ian’s report and finally nodded his head. Ian took his leave and settled at the table with his men as dinner concluded in a leisurely fashion, but Mary’s hands trembled as she set her goblet down, her appetite a thing of the past. Her eyes met the steady gaze of her husband, wondering how this would end. She had news of her own she’d yet to share with him, and she quaked with anticipation.

“Take my hand.” He spoke quietly as he rose to his feet. Caught unawares, Mary lifted her hand, but stopped, afraid to touch him, remembering only too clearly how she’d succumbed to his kiss just days before. Noticing her hesitation, Eaden smoothly covered her lapse by catching her fingers and bringing them to his lips before tucking her cold hand into the bend of his elbow. He laid one of his own hands over hers, trapping it firmly when she would have pulled away.

With a hooded look he urged, “Please, come with me.” He stepped away, all but pulling Mary to her feet. Aghast to realize she’d almost refused his politely worded invitation in front of everyone in the room, Mary stood and meekly followed him to a small room upstairs with Ranald and Ian close on their heels.

The men entered the room, Mary in their midst. Ranald closed the door behind them with a soft snick of the latch. With exaggerated politeness, Eaden motioned for his wife to be seated in one of the chairs. He took his place next to the window, his face in shadows, his expression carefully blank.

He wondered what Mary would say about Ian’s information. Since she’d first denied being Lady Miriam, she’d surprised him with the strength she’d shown these past few days. He doubted a lady’s companion had much reason to use her brain or backbone, and even less opportunity to form her own opinions.

He’d been fully prepared for a fight and tearful accusations from Lady Miriam. Marriage to a lady’s companion didn’t appeal to him, either, for he couldn’t imagine himself bound for life with such a mousy creature. But Mary’s bouts of spirit intrigued and pleased him. He almost looked forward to this.

As the silence lengthened, Mary glanced at each of his men in turn, but he knew they waited for him to speak. He observed how his wife studiously avoided his eyes, her bottom perched on the edge of the chair as if ready to flee.

“So.” Eaden spoke conversationally, noting the way Mary jumped at the sound of his voice. “Miriam Barde has married du Melville’s youngest son.” He shifted his weight and crossed his arms. “What do ye suppose her da thinks of the union?”

“I’m guessing he’d rather she’d married ye,” Ranald offered. The men in the room nodded, knowing only too well what the prospects were for du Melville’s fourth son. The boy and his lavishly spoiled new wife would be hard-pressed for money unless Barde took pity on them and offered his home or at least a generous dowry for his daughter.

Eaden shot his brother a quelling glare. “How do ye think Lady Miriam managed to marry a penniless younger son?” He turned back to his wife, noting her pale face. Her green eyes shone with apprehension, and he almost reached to smooth the worry lines from her forehead, stopping himself just in time.

“I would suppose,” Mary began, taking a deep breath. “I would suppose she met him about six months ago when she and Laird Barde visited with the king at Edinburgh. I did not attend, so I cannot be sure.”

“Ye cannae be sure?” Eaden mocked. Mary scowled and he quickly hid a grin at her show of temper.

“Several months ago Miriam and her father attended King Robert at Edinburgh.” Mary’s words slowed as realization dawned. Her mouth opened in an ‘O’ of surprise before she caught herself. Eaden tore his gaze from his wife’s soft lips and spotted the look of astonishment on Ian’s face.

“And when you kidnapped me from Miriam’s bed—she must have planned to run away with him that night! There is the proof you require, am I correct?”

“
If
Lady Miriam is where Ian says she is, and
if
she has married du Melville’s youngest son, then, perhaps there is some proof to what ye say,” Eaden allowed.

Mary bounced on her seat, clenching her hands in her lap. “You know there is!”

Eaden shrugged and turned to Ian. “Well,” he drawled, “what d’ ye think? If yer information is true, it seems my lady wife is no’ Lady Miriam Barde, but Mary Marsh, milady’s companion.”

With a glance from Eaden to his anxious bride, then to Ranald who merely raised his eyebrows and offered no help, Ian’s face flushed. “What is it ye ask, Laird? My information is accurate.”

Eaden pushed away from his stance by the window and crossed to Mary’s chair, casually resting a hand along the wooden back. “My king bade me marry Lady Miriam in order to keep my lands.” He stared at his captain, not bothering to hide the sour look on his face. “What would ye say aboot it?”

Ian struggled for the right words, but his innate honesty won out. He blurted, “I think I’d say ye’ve married the wrong lass.”

They were alone in the room. Mary watched uneasily as Eaden paced the floor. Ian’s words, true though they were, had echoed endlessly in the room until she wanted to scream. The tension nearly unbearable, it had taken a mere nod of his head to send both Ranald and Ian bolting for the door. His chilling glare kept Mary rooted to her seat.

She fidgeted as the walls seemed to close in on her. Eaden’s slow, booted footsteps on the stone floor were the only sound in the room, except for the dizzying tattoo of her racing heart. Fear and relief washed headily through her. She wanted the man to stop his pacing and tell her he would put the actions in motion for a divorce, but the dark frown on his face dried her mouth and she was afraid to speak.

“So, what do ye propose I do with ye now?” Eaden asked, his voice deceptively soft. With a start, Mary realized he stared broodingly at her. Which was better than snarling at her in anger, but it gave her little insight into his thinking.

“Allow me to return to Bellecourt.” Thankfully, her voice held only a faint tremble.

Eaden snorted his opinion on her suggested course of action, and Mary bristled. “I am of no further use to you.” Growing anger gave her strength. “You brought me here under false pretenses, and now you’ve been found out. You should have the grace to at least admit you were wrong and send me home!”

“Send ye home? Any man would argue ye are home now, milady.” Bitter mockery colored his voice. “What would yer prospects be at Bellecourt? Is there some smitten young swain who would take ye now, another man’s woman?”

“You twice-cursed idiot!” Mary raged, bolting from her chair. “‘Tis not as if I had willingly taken a lover! I know other men have divorced their wives! And it’s not as though I carried your child . . .”

“Ye are no’ with child?” Eaden demanded, speaking over her indignation.

“No,” she replied shortly. “I have not had time to speak privately with you yet. I knew this morning I . . .” Her voice trailed off in embarrassment. She looked away from him, but not before she thought she saw a look of disappointment cross his face.
How could that be
?

She dared to turn back to him. “Were you hoping I was?”

Eaden did not answer her, but his glower told her she hit closer to the truth than he would admit. When did she become adept at reading his scowls?

“Why? Why would you want a child from me?”

Eaden turned away. “I need a son,” he stated bluntly.

“Would it be so hard to find someone else who would make you a good wife?”

“What qualities would make me a good wife?” Eaden turned and took a step toward her, but Mary swallowed hard and held her ground. “Tell me, lass. What makes a good wife?”

She grabbed at the first thing that came to her mind. “You need someone of your social status. And someone who knows how to run the castle and deal with the servants.” She stared boldly at him. “And what will the king say?”

“King Robert will be fashed,” Eaden admitted with a tight shrug. “But we are wed now and so is Miriam.” He frowned. “Ye were raised with her. Surely ye know about running a household.”

“You know nothing of me.” Quiet dignity colored her reply. “Nothing at all.”

Eaden advanced on her, slowly. Mary’s breathing quickened but she dared not flinch or back away. She couldn’t bear to show her cowardice, not when she stood to gain her release from this marriage if she remained strong. She would let nothing stop her bid for freedom from a life she’d never asked for. Nothing.

He touched an errant curl against her cheek, cupping it in his hand as though weighing the silken heaviness. Warring with her intent to stand and force the issue, every instinct now told her to run. But a strange lassitude came over her, holding her in place, and she swayed slightly into his caress.

“Ye are beautiful,” he breathed into her ear as he stroked her hair. His other hand cupped her chin and he eased her face up.

Mary blinked. “I am not beautiful,” she corrected him with firm assurance.

“Ye need look in the mirror, milady. Ye have the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen, and yer hair has strands of gold running through it.”

“I do?” she stammered. “It does?”

Eaden’s lips curved and a slow smile creased his face. “Aye. And there’s this intriguing little cleft in yer chin.” He ran a thumb across the spot under discussion. Her head jerked as she tried to see what he was talking about, but he held her firm. “And yer lips are soft and full,” he whispered, moving his thumb to rub gently across her mouth.

Heat slid through her body. Her lips parted, tingled with sensation. She found herself mesmerized by the expression on his face, so close to hers, the way his eyes darkened and his nostrils flared as though drinking in her scent. The instinct, which a moment ago urged her to flee, now kept her rooted to the spot.

To her surprise, she found she wanted to touch him, wanted him to touch her. The muscles in her arms trembled as she fought the unfamiliar desire to twine herself around him. The same instinct urged her to press against him, to open her mouth further, to receive his kiss . . .

No!
Her mind protested as his lips touched hers and stole the very breath from her. She did not want to fall under his spell, for she knew full well where his kisses could lead, and the memory of her wedding night echoed ever fresh in her mind. Though she’d become used to his presence and his occasional, casual touch, this was so much more dangerous.

His hands slid around her to pull her close against him, and she gasped as she made contact with the length of his hard body. He deepened the kiss, demanding she respond to him, and for a moment she did. Her hands slid between them, over his shoulders, slipping her fingers through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. But as he splayed his palms over her bottom, pulling her tightly against him, she stiffened at the intimate touch and pushed away.

“No!” Her eyes widened with fright as she dodged his grasp. “I cannot do this again!”

“Do what?” Eaden clutched her arm as she tried to break away.

“I cannot wait another month to see if I am with child.”

“Then, stand still for a moment, damnit!” he ground out between clenched teeth.

Still reeling from the shock of her response to his caresses, Mary ceased her struggling and stood quietly. She released a shuddering breath as she mustered her flagging resources and stepped back. Glancing up, she caught Eaden staring at her heaving bosom.

“Stop looking at me like that!” she snapped in irritation. Eaden ignored her and closed the gap between them reaching to sweep a tumbled lock of her hair from her shoulder. Mary jerked sideways at the contact and his hand brushed across the tops of her breasts. His fingers caught in the delicate links of the chain she wore around her neck. Scowling, he tugged on the necklace, pulling a pendant from the depths of her gown. He gave her a wry look as the piece of jewelry cleared the top of her bodice.

“I dinnae know ‘twas such a long chain,” he quipped, though no smile touched his lips. He held the pendant aloft, turning it this way and that. It caught the light with a warmth having nothing to do with heat and everything to do with mystery.

Four green stones, smooth to the touch, were each set in gold filigree to form the shape of a cross. A modest, but still impressive diamond mounted at the juncture of the four stones, sparkled cold and brilliant in the light.

“I am no’ familiar with this green stone. Do ye know what it is?”

“It belonged to my mother,” Mary replied in a hushed voice. “It is called ‘jade.’ She told me it is a stone found only in the courts of emperors.”

“And how would ye come to have a stone of the emperors?”

Mary snatched the pendant from his grasp, plucked at the front of her bodice, and dropped it back inside. “As I said, it was my mother’s. It became mine after she died.”

“I thought ye said yer ma was the chatelaine at Bellecourt.”

“And I told you, you know nothing about me.”

“Then, who was yer father?” he countered.

“I did not know him.”

“Dinnae know him, or dinnae know who he was?”

“My mother would not speak of him.”

“Was he from Bellecourt?”

“No. My mother and I arrived at Bellecourt when I was less than a year old. Lady Barde was confined to her bed after a difficult birth. Mother took her duties as chatelaine and when Lady Barde died, she also took over the rearing of Lady Barde’s daughter.”

“Miriam.”

“Yes. Miriam.”

“So yer past is as mysterious as this stone cross ye wear,” Eaden stated, not making it a question.

“It makes no difference to me, but if you’d rather not be wed to someone who is possibly illegitimate . . .”

Eaden frowned. “Half the English court is illegitimate,” he scoffed. He waved away her protest and gave her a thoughtful look. “Did yer ma always keep the cross hidden away on such a long chain?”

“Yes, though she laid it on her dressing table when she bathed.” Mary’s lips curved in a slight smile. “I can remember playing with it when I was quite small. The chain hung almost to my knees.”

“Do ye suppose ‘twas a gift to her from yer da?” Eaden asked.

“Yes. But ’twas all she would say on the subject. She threatened to forbid me to play with it should I ask more questions. For a child growing up amid wealthy splendor, and none of it mine, it was an effective threat. It was the only thing I did not have to share with Miriam.”

“Did the two of ye no’ get along?”

“Oh, we were raised as sisters, and acted like sisters as well,” Mary replied. “But I was the unfavored one, except when I was alone with my mother in the evenings. She told me stories of court, and hugged me tightly and cautioned never to take my circumstances for granted.” Mary shrugged. “I assumed she meant we were fortunate to have a protector such as Laird Barde.”

“I’m sure that’s what she meant.” Eaden absently fingered the chain at her neck. He smoothed the thin metal over her skin, and Mary felt the heat begin to rise in her again.

“Don’t do that,” she whispered through lips growing soft, begging for his touch.

Eaden sent her an unreadable look. For a moment Mary thought he would kiss her again. But he slowly drew his hand away as though unsure what to do, then turned on his heel and left the room.

Mary sank slowly onto the chair. How could her body betray her so? Why did she fear this man, yet melt at his touch?

She shuddered to remember the one occasion Eaden had lain with her. Since her mother died, she had longed for a family of her own with children to love. But if repetition of her wedding night was the price she’d pay to get them, perhaps she was better off without children!

But what of the kisses that stirred her so? Were they merely a ploy to sway her into letting the man invade her body? Eaden’s kisses certainly made her lose her senses and self-control. She sighed. Since she was about to be divorced, she’d see to it he didn’t kiss her again.

Now that she knew what to do, she felt better, and rose to her feet. Walking to the fireplace and the oval mirror hanging above it, Mary stared at herself with Eaden’s words in her head. Were her eyes a pretty green? She studied them, opening her lids wide to judge their true color. They were nice enough, she supposed, a bright, clear green rimmed in black.

She tossed her head, watching as her hair bounced about her shoulders. The color seemed pretty, and if the sun struck it just right, a bit of gold did flash within it. Her curls, however, had always been a trial. If she wore her hair up, it quickly worked its way loose. And if she left it unbound, it tangled and snarled in a most aggravating manner. She’d kept it braided for the past few days, covering it with a scarf or veil, the unruly strands somewhat under control. With a shudder, she remembered the way sparks had shot along her scalp when Eaden ran his fingers through her loose tresses. Perhaps she should keep it better confined.

Her eyes filled with tears.
I want to go home.