The Highlander's Bride Trouble (14 page)

Saer didn’t disappoint her. He worked against her until rapture shattered inside her.
It was blindingly bright, ripping through her and sending her spinning into a vortex
of sensation. He growled as she cried out, increasing his speed and driving himself
into her with hard, fierce motions. She opened her eyes when he shouted, the sound
savage but full of satisfaction. Deep inside her passage, she felt the first spurt
of his seed, hot and searing against her insides. His member jerked as it delivered
the last of its offering, and she felt like her body was tightening around him, trying
to milk the last drops.

He buried his face against her neck, his breath coming in soft pants. Every muscle
she had quivered, satisfaction settling over her like a thick cloud. She leaned her
head on his shoulder, the need to quarrel finally at rest. There was only the beating
of his heart against hers.

When he moved, she made a soft sound of protest.

“Aye, but we need to return in case Bastian has set out after us.”

Her skirts fell down to cover her thighs, and she felt her virgin’s blood sticky on
them. Saer walked back to the water’s edge and retrieved the cloth. He plunged it
into the water then brought it back to her.

She snatched the cloth, mortified to know he understood what she needed, and made
her way back to the edge of the stream. But he stood watching her. “Well…”

He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at her. “Well what, woman?”

“Turn around.”

“Ye’re shy now?” he asked incredulously.

She bit her lip because she was afraid her voice would betray just how vulnerable
she felt. It was practically unbearable, and she looked away instead of meeting his
gaze.

He let out a snort and whipped around so fast the longer lengths of wool at the back
of his kilt flared out. Relief surged through her as she made quick work of cleaning
herself.

“Ye make no sense, Nareen.”

He reached for the cloth when she was finished. She turned her back when he lifted
his kilt and ended up twisting her ankle because she wasn’t paying attention to where
she put her feet.

“So at last ye understand we are not well matched,” she said.

She heard him rinsing the rag before he appeared in front of her. He cupped her chin,
raising it so their eyes met.

“I will chase ye down as many times as it takes for ye to admit how perfectly matched
we are.”

She shook off his grip. “I am nae yers.”

She expected him to be annoyed with her. Instead, his lips parted and he stroked the
side of her cheek. She jerked her head away.

“Ye will be, if I have to tie ye around me waist tomorrow to get ye onto me land.”

“Ye wouldn’t.” The words had barely left her mouth when she realized how foolish they
were.

She knew he was not a man to ignore a challenge.

“Never doubt the savage side of me nature. I’m rather fond of it.”

His tone was arrogant, which inflamed her temper.

“Get on yer mare, or I’ll drag ye back across me stallion’s back.” His tone had grown
hard. She would have liked to argue, but there was no disputing the fact that he was
strong enough—and savage enough—to see his threat through. Both thoughts left her
in despair. She took a last look toward Deigh Tower. It was just beyond the edge of
the forest but might as well have been a hundred miles away.

She’d failed, and it was bitter knowledge.

But it was also spurring her on, encouraging her to think of another way to evade
Saer. The pleasure he’d filled her with only intensified her need to escape. If she
stayed, she’d lose herself completely and become another conquest. Once that happened,
he’d grow tired of her lack of submission and grow to hate her. More than one man
had chased a strong-willed woman only to find the attraction dulling after the wedding.
Those women became known as harpies and scorned wives who did not know their place.
She couldn’t live with such a fate.

For seeing hatred in Saer’s eyes was something she was certain would kill her.

***

Dawn was gloomy.

The gray clouds and rain suited her mood. Nareen pulled her arisaid up to cover her
head. It was the fabric of the Highlands for a reason. When it rained, wool could
still be relied upon to keep the wearer warm.

Nareen was sure her shame could do just as well.

The MacLeod retainers had changed. From the moment she awoke, they watched her. When
Saer went to talk with his captains, another retainer planted himself ten paces from
her and did not turn his back on her except for when she sought privacy farther back
in the woods. Even then, he followed her, granting her only twenty feet of separation.

She’d been raised under the watchful eye of Grant retainers, but she’d forgotten how
it felt to have them always near. When she returned to the camp, the men who made
eye contact with her reached up to tug on the edges of their knitted bonnets in respect.

For the first time.

In their minds, it was all decided. She belonged to Saer.

Her mare was saddled and waiting for her. Saer pulled away from his captains and moved
toward her to help her mount. With a toss of her head she pulled her mare closer to
a rock and used it to mount instead. The horse sidestepped, getting used to her weight.
Saer calmed her with one sure hand against her neck. He muttered softly to the mare
in Gaelic, but Nareen felt like he was really intending his words for her.

He aimed a hard stare at her, but she refused to meet his gaze. She felt him battling
the urge to force the issue, but his men were mounting all around them, waiting on
their laird. He gave a short snort, then boldly stroked her thigh.

She hissed at him, meeting his eyes as she shot him a glare. Victory sparkled in his
jet eyes as his lips rose into a satisfied curve.

“A challenge I shall be happy to meet tonight, Nareen. Ignore me as long as ye can,
lass. I’m looking forward to our clashes.”

***

The war room of the Ross castle hadn’t seen use in a long time. The servants kept
it clean enough, but the earl had to fight the urge to admit he was unsure as to where
everything was kept. His memory was unclear, but he faced his captains and spoke in
a clear voice.

“Saer MacLeod abandoned me daughter,” the Earl of Ross growled again. But he’d done
it so often, no one really paid him any mind. He frowned as he took in the glazed-over
looks of his men. When had he stopped being respected?

He tried to straighten up and puff out his chest, but his body was lax and too heavy.

“By Christ! I’ll nae have it!”

He flattened his hand on the tabletop, but the only attention it gained was that of
his gillie, who brought his goblet to him. He stared at the dark liquid, feeling the
need to consume it. His lower lip was so dry, he licked it. A movement caught his
eye, and he looked across the table to see two of his captains exchanging a look.
One of revulsion.

He smacked the goblet aside, roaring as the wine went splashing across the floor and
men guarding his back.

Betrayal! He’d betrayed himself by becoming a slave to the wine. For a moment, everything
was clear, every moment since his wife had died until the moment Bastian MacKay had
sent him a ransom note for his daughter.

Saer MacLeod had left his daughter in the hands of his enemy! It wasn’t to be borne.
And it wouldn’t pass without being avenged.

But it meant facing Bastian MacKay. He shied away from that action, focusing his wrath
on Saer.

“Draw up a ransom for the MacKays,” he instructed his secretary. The man sat at a
tiny writing desk behind the main table where the captains were.

“MacKay doesn’t want money.”

“Ha!” The earl snorted. “We’ll send him an offer and see if the greedy man declines
it. I doubt it.”

He stuck his finger out. “And I’ll be making sure Saer MacLeod regrets leaving me
daughter with Bastian MacKay. No one crosses a Ross!”

***

Nareen was sore.

When Saer finally called an end to their travel, she slid off the back of the mare
and winced as her legs took her weight. That wasn’t the only part of her that was
tender.

Her cheeks should have brightened with a blush, but she was honestly too tired to
even be embarrassed. At least the rain had stopped halfway through the day. She’d
taken off her arisaid to make sure it had the chance to dry before the sun set. Only
a few damp places remained in the deeper folds of her skirt.

She dearly wanted to take her boots off.

But Saer had bypassed Deigh Tower and left MacNicols land behind—not that she was
surprised; she’d always known him to be a man who was comfortable in the outdoors.
Her belly was cramped with hunger, but she considered just curling up instead of waiting
for supper to cook. The lack of sleep the night before was taking its toll, along
with the grueling pace Saer set.

“I cry yer pardon, miss.”

Nareen lifted her head, not really sure when she’d sat down. Yet she had, and she’d
lowered her head to rest on her crossed arms that were propped on her raised knees.
One of Saer’s men stood before her. When she looked at him, he grinned and tugged
on his bonnet. He showed off a chunk of soap, held securely in his hand.

“The laird told me to take ye upstream a bit, so ye might have some privacy while
the meat is roasting.”

So polite, and yet it was a clear order for her to stay awake until she ate. He was
right, but it still chafed.

Saer MacLeod was driving her insane. Before long, she’d be ready for Bedlam or the
back room of a convent where the devoted brides of Christ could see to her.

“Miss?” the retainer urged.

“Aye.” She rose and looked at him. The man stood confused for a moment before Nareen
opened her hands and gestured for him to show her the way.

“Aye,” he chirped. “Just this way.”

At least her toes were no longer numb.

***

Saer looked upstream where Nareen had gone. His man stood just at the top of the rise,
so Saer could see him looking back toward camp and not at his future mistress.

Baruch interrupted Saer’s fascination with Nareen. “I do nae know why ye set someone
else to dealing with her if all ye were going to do was watch her.”

Saer turned back to consider Baruch, but his captain didn’t even blink in the face
of his displeasure.

“Sure ye do nae want to reconsider Bastian MacKay’s offer of the Ross girl? I’m guessing
ye’ll have an easier time of dismissing her.”

“Aye,” Saer agreed. “And it will be ye who will have to deal with her whining when
I’ve had enough.”

Baruch tilted his head to one side. “Now that ye mention it, I’m rather sure the Ross
lass is nae to yer taste.”

“Thank ye for making sure I know that.”

Baruch sniffed and nodded. “Well now, I’d be a poor captain if I did nae speak up
when I notice important matters.”

Saer offered him a half grin before turning and following Nareen. For certain, there
would be plenty who would tell him to ignore her, but he didn’t care. Something pulled
him toward her, and bedding her hadn’t dimmed it.

Was he spellbound?

Perhaps.

But he had to admit he wasn’t wholly dismayed by the idea. Part of being laird would
be making sure he had a strong son to follow him. The MacLeods had had enough of lairds
who left the clan in uncertainty when they died. He had to wed, and soon. Better it
be to a woman he was interested in than a stranger who arrived with nothing but duty
warming her eyes.

He saw many things in Nareen’s eyes, and none of them were the sedate flames of duty.

He made his way along the river’s edge. The retainer he’d sent with Nareen saw him,
pleasing Saer. The lad was young but not unworthy of the position he held. With a
jerk of his head, Saer sent the lad back toward the fire. But the retainer shook his
head and held his position.

Saer stopped in front of him, but the man only reached up and tugged on the corner
of his bonnet. “I cannae take me ease while yer back is exposed, Laird.”

“I can see to meself.”

“Aye, in many cases I would agree, but here ye will be distracted.”

The retainer didn’t wait for Saer to answer. He moved a little farther away, just
enough so the sound of the flowing water would mask any conversation Nareen and Saer
had.

It chafed, but not nearly as much as it pleased him to know Nareen was protected.
There was a satisfaction in that knowledge that rivaled everything he’d ever enjoyed
before. A sense of rightness that swept away any misgivings he had. She belonged to
him.

She had to, because he was certain he’d never feel whole without her.

***

At least she’d gotten her wish to wash her feet.

It was amazing how much relief came with the action. The water was cold, and the night
air was too. Her toes were chilled, but she smiled and left her boots off. Just another
few moments before returning to the confinement of reality. Boots or Saer and his
retainers, both represented the end of her freedom.

She’d been raised to expect no less, and still she rebelled. Perhaps she was unnatural,
as the Church preached might happen when a woman took charge of her own fate. But
she couldn’t bring herself to regret not obeying her cousin.

With a sigh, she began to put her boots back on, working a length of leather through
the antler-horn buttons that were sewn on the side from the top to the sole.

“I imagine Abigail wrinkled her fine nose at those boots.”

Nareen jerked, the sound of Saer’s voice startling her. Of course, everything about
the man roused her.

He stood nearby, watching her with his midnight eyes. Sensation rippled across her
skin, making her aware of the power in his body. It radiated off him, even when her
toes were chilled.

“Abigail and I had an understanding that I would nae be changing meself to please
her.”

Nareen finished and started to stand. Saer offered her a hand. She stared at it for
a long moment.