The Highlander's Accidental Bride (17 page)

Laughing green eyes met his and he blinked, focusing on the long blade of grass dangling from slender fingers above him. The edge of the blade touched his nose again, and he growled in mock displeasure.

He tried to swat the stalk of grass away, but Mary lay across one of his arms, pinning it beneath her. He flexed his free hand, reveling in the sated laxity of his muscles. With closed eyes he gave himself over to the contentment rippling through his body.

“You’re laying on my dress,” Mary whispered in his ear.

Eaden could hear the laughter in her voice and his lips twitched in a smile. “Aye. Are ye cold, love?”

“No. But how long will Ian keep people away?”

“I dinnae think I can rise just yet.” He clenched the hand beneath her, feeling the smooth line of her bottom, remembering well the baring of it. He wanted to tell her
I told ye so
, but even drowsy he was not such a fool.

His smile deepened when the strength ebbing hotly through him had his cock twitching agreeably. He opened his eyes and found Mary staring at him, watching as his manhood swelled larger. Speculation twisted her lips and she touched him with the dangling end of the blade of grass. A startled shout escaped him at the delicate challenge, and he jerked mightily in response.

“Your turn, Mairi,” he said with a wicked grin.

“What?” A look of bewilderment crossed her face.

He grasped her arms and dragged her over him, groaning as she settled herself on his rigid shaft. She bent to him, her hair falling forward as she rocked back and forth, picking up the rhythm at his encouragement.

He watched her through the partial veil of her gold-threaded hair as she reached for her release. His hands cupped her breasts, swaying above him, and her breath caught in a cry. Waves of passion washed over him and he grabbed her waist, yanking her firmly down onto him as he gave one final thrust before he lost all control.

Early morning mists surrounded the castle walls, creating a shimmering faerie land of grey and white. The sun glowed, a faint pink and yellow stain on the shrouded horizon. Mary leaned against the parapet wall, her thoughts as ethereal as the swirling haze of morning.

The soft clop of the sentry’s boots sounded not too far away, but he’d seen her and acknowledged her presence with a short nod before returning to his rounds. Impossible to see him now except as a faint shadow behind the ghostly curtain of mist, Mary pretended she was alone with her thoughts.

The dewy wetness clinging to the stone seeped slowly through her heavy velvet robe. The mist spread, refreshingly chilled against her skin. She inhaled deeply, feeling its cool, moist bite in her chest. An early breeze caught the morning vapor, swirling it between the crenellated stones, twisting it into garish shapes swaying just beyond her reach.

The soft sound of footsteps behind her broke into her fanciful thoughts and she turned at the approach. A form materialized out of the mist and Mary’s lips curved in a slight smile as she recognized Eaden’s brother.

Ranald halted abruptly, obviously surprised to see her. “Wheesht, lass! Dinnae scare me so!” He came closer, turning his head to peer over the parapet wall.

Mary laughed softly. “Don’t worry. I’m not about to jump.”

Ranald nodded. “‘Twould be a fair mess on yon cobblestones, to be sure, seeing as ye are no ghost. What brings ye up here this fine morning? That pirate bothering yer dreams?” Ranald cocked his head toward the stairwell and presumably at Eaden beyond.

“Pirate?” Mary exclaimed, amused at Ranald’s description. “Whatever makes you call him that?”

“Och, our mother hailed from the Kintyre peninsula. Her people were seafarers.” Ranald shrugged. “Pirates.”

“And has he shown any inclination to follow in his ancestors’ footsteps?”

“Nay, but her clan ‘tis no’ so far from King Robert’s castle at Troon. Eaden was but a lad fostering with an uncle there when he first met the king.”

“So he became a herald at a young age?”

“Aye. He’s always had a gift for remembering things. He’d watched his uncle divest a less wary man of his coin in a game, and was able to recall the wager, drunken though it was, in great detail.” Ranald grinned. “He won his first horse and the attention of the king that day.”

He turned back to Mary. “So all yer dreams are good now?”

Mary’s cheeks flushed, thankful for the mist shrouding her, veiling her from Ranald’s astute gaze. “Aye. My dreams are fine.”

“Good. I hoped ‘twas ye helping keep his temper in check. He’s come close to losing it several times these past weeks.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s been sore wanting ye and making no apology for it. And he can be a right bear when he cannae have something he wants.” Ranald rested his elbow against the stone. “Ye’ve softened him, and I’ll be the first to thank ye for it.”

Mary laughed. “Well, perhaps we can all get on with our lives now.”

“Ye’ll be stayin’ at Scott Castle, then?”

Ducking her head to hide the heat rushing to her cheeks anew, Mary nodded. “Yes. I’ll stay.”

The companionable silence between them lingered. Mary watched the mists ebb and flow, only to shred apart as the heat of the sun at last defeated them.

“So what
does
bring ye out here this morning?”

Mary sighed. “It’s difficult to explain. I’m quite contented now as Eaden’s wife, and I suppose I should still be asleep . . .” She heard Ranald’s startled cough and chuckled. “I only meant I am not usually such an early riser. But I wanted to be by myself for a while and think, and it is difficult to think with Eaden and Sorcha snoring.”

“D’ye want me to leave ye?”

Mary made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “Oh, no. I’m all thought out. I was simply admiring the mists when you arrived.”

Ranald turned back to the view from the parapet, the smoke rising from the cooking fires, twining darkly with the lingering morning mist.

“I do need to thank you, though.”

“Aye? For what?”

“For reminding me I should accept what I cannot change and make good use of what I have.”

Ranald nodded. “I couldnae bear to see ye so sad. I knew Eaden could make ye happy if the two of ye would put aside what brought ye here and focus on each other. ‘Twas easy to see ye suited each other.”

“Suited each other? Are you mad?”

“Nay. I’ve been called an
amadan
on occasion, but never blind.”

Mary laughed. “An
amadan
?”

“Aye, a fool.”

“Who would call you such?” Mary bristled in sisterly outrage.

“Mostly my kind brother—when he couldnae think of anything else to say. An’ he’s a fair hand with words. I’ve been cursed in as many as four different languages, forbye.”

Mary shook her head. “‘Tis amazing the two of you get along sometimes.”

“Och, ye just need to realize he’s not the perfect man our father raised him to be. Eaden knows this, but tries to hide it. Our da wouldnae let him be anything but the best at whatever he did. Eaden had to be the best swordsman, the best scholar, the best sailor . . .”

“Sailor? Why a sailor?”

Ranald shrugged. “He had an opportunity to train with our uncle, so Da sent him to learn to sail. Sometimes I think Eaden became the king’s herald to stay out of Da’s reach. It was mayhap a way for Da to be proud of him without being under his thumb all the time. Smart man, my brother.”

“And how was life growing up for you?”

“Fine. Living in my perfect older brother’s shadow gave me plenty of freedom. Sometimes I wonder if he resented me for it.” Ranald stared off into the distance. After a moment he shook himself as though clearing a particularly unpleasant memory.

He turned to face Mary again. “Enough about me. Are ye still leaving to visit King Robert today?”

“Yes. Kirsty packed most of my things yesterday. We only wait for yon pirate to wake and break his fast.”

Ranald motioned Mary from the wall. “Away then. I’ll walk ye to yer room and help ye roust the blackguard. Daylight is here.”

“You’re right. I suppose it is time.”

“Not nervous at meeting the king, are ye, lass?”

“Oh, no. Just a little overwhelmed, ‘tis all.”

Ranald made a satisfied sound in his throat as he paused to let Mary go ahead of him down the stairs. “I suspected ye had a bit o’ steel in ye.”

“You did?” Mary glanced over her shoulder at the bottom of the steps. “And why is that?”

“‘Tis no but a rumor, but I hope ‘tis true.”

Mary narrowed her eyes. “A rumor?”

“Aye. ‘Tis said ye’ve sent the sloe-eyed witch, Isobel, away from the castle.” Ranald gave a nod of approval. “And ‘tis about time, too, I say.”

Silently Mary crossed the great hall, Ranald beside her. When they were at last in the privacy of the upper hall, she ventured, “What do you know of Isobel?”

“Enough to ken she was up to no good. I told Eaden yesterday she could easily have pushed ye from the parapet the other night.”

Mary gasped. “What are you saying?”

“Dinnae worry about it. If ye hadnae sent her away, Eaden would.” Ranald scowled before he added, “Neither of us realized how far she would go to be rid of ye. She wants Eaden badly, ye know.”

“She told me she and Eaden were still . . .” Mary dropped her gaze to her hands, twisting them together in agitation as she remembered Isobel’s spiteful words.

“I hate we dinnae do something about her sooner. She seemed to be trying to make amends by befriending ye, and I was wont to let it lie.”

“‘Tis what Eaden told me, too.” Mary sighed. She stopped outside the laird’s chamber, her hand on the door latch. “Perhaps Isobel only tried to hurt me with her lies.”

“Whatever ye’ve been told, Eaden has no’ lied to ye.”

“But . . . No, never mind.” Mary’s lips thinned. She would not repeat the words that had cut her so deeply. Just thinking of Isobel in Eaden’s arms made her stomach clench painfully.

She squared her shoulders, shoving the image from her mind. “She is gone and cannot hurt me any more. Whatever happened between them is past, and I know Eaden would never betray me.”

Her eyes softened and she smiled a secret smile, thinking of the night just past and the words of endearment that fell so easily from Eaden’s clever lips. “I think he is in love with me.”

Turning the latch, Mary opened the door, and her world came crashing down.

Eaden awoke, heat spreading through his groin. Warm fingers fondled him, stirring his flesh. Eyes still closed, he let his legs sprawl open, giving the fine-boned, nimble fingers room to work their magic. This was an excellent way to awaken, he decided, lazy and amorous at the same time. Married life was definitely improving.

He felt himself fill within the spread of her hands. A few minutes ago he’d have sworn he was too sated to consider making love to his wife again, but thankfully she hadn’t stopped to ask. Eaden cracked one eye open and dimly saw the top of her dark head and the pale gleam of her naked shoulders, partly hidden by the early morning shadows and the bed sheet flowing from her waist to the floor. He moaned, closing his eyes as her warm hands closed over him. Gripping the mattress, he gave himself up to his wife’s unexpected innovation. Who’d have thought she’d be so bold?

“Och, Mairi,” he groaned, ignoring the feeble warning in his head. He didn’t want to question the fire of his response streaking through him. Thinking was not on his list of priorities at the moment. He arched his back, closing his eyes tight against the heavy pulse beating strongly at the base of his spine, straining to make the sensation last. His blood pounded in his ears and fire flashed through him with quicksilver heat.

Dimly he heard the snick of the door latch, and a noise somewhere between a shriek and a gasp intruded on his concentration. He grunted in protest. Who dared enter his bedroom without permission? He opened one eye, murderous thoughts bouncing nonsensically in his mush-filled brain, all his attention focused on a much firmer part of his body.

Ranald? Eaden gritted his teeth as he fought to stall the passion threatening to burst from him. Ranald grabbed the person standing at his side and slung her bodily behind him, her chestnut hair swinging through the air with streaks of gold.

Mary
?

Eaden rose to his elbows, sliding away from the grasp of the woman in his bed.

Isobel
!

Across the room, Ranald fought to keep his grip on Mary as she pounded him with clenched fists, sounds of fury escaping her in shrieks and hisses. With a roar, Eaden heaved himself from the bed, snatching the sheet around his hips, uncovering Isobel’s naked body. She slid along the mattress until she lay fully stretched on her belly, resting her chin on her hands. A sly, satisfied smile spread across her face as she eyed him from beneath lowered lashes, obviously aware of the havoc she’d wrought.

“Witch!” Eaden snarled at the raven-haired seductress. He wrenched his gaze to the doorway, but Mary was gone. The door stood open with Ranald at the threshold, staring into the chamber. Disgust twisted his brother’s lips as he glared from Isobel to Eaden.

“Ye
amadan
!” Ranald shook his head in disbelief. “Ye cannae be such a fool ye thought ye’d no get caught?”

“I dinnae think such a thing.” Eaden cast an evil look at Isobel. “I dinnae know she was in the bed.”

Ranald blinked, glancing from his brother to the empty doorway and back. “Who’d ye think . . ? Nay, spare me the details. There’s no way of fixing
this
.”

“Get out of my way,” Eaden snarled, brushing past Ranald and through the door. He was back in a moment, shredding the sheet from his hips, disregarding both his brother and his former mistress as he snatched up his breeches and pulled them on, taking only a moment longer to shrug into his shirt. He turned abruptly to Isobel as he finished dressing.

“Get out.” Eaden’s voice rumbled low in anger, causing Isobel to scramble to her feet, her shining black hair swinging like a curtain about her.

“No. You are mine, now,” she declared with a triumphant smile. “She will not return after this.”

Eaden strode to the door, tossing Ranald a brusque command. “Bind her and leave her tethered in the great hall. I will deal with her later.”

Without another glance at either Isobel or Ranald, Eaden chased after Mary.

Isobel stared at the open doorway, her skin pale with shock. Suddenly, her cheeks pinked vividly as fury shot through her. Clenching her fists, she stormed across the floor, stopping only a few inches from Ranald. He gave her a wary glance.

“
Amadan!
” she hissed. “I warned him no one would ever love him as much as I. He thought himself bound by honor to that little bitch. But I took care to be sure she feared his touch.”

She paused, chest heaving, her black hair tossed wildly about her shoulders. Ranald stared dispassionately at her, unmoved by her nakedness. She snarled, “I convinced her Eaden would think her a whore if she responded to his lovemaking. But he couldnae see beyond her pretty face.” Spite twisted Isobel’s lips. She turned and paced a few steps away. “I fired the stables to entice him from her bed, knowing he would blame the Barde’s soldiers. A piece of white silk was all it took to convince her the ghost of Lady Fenella called her to leap from the walls. She nearly went over the edge when she saw Eaden fall. It would have been simple to give her a shove.”

As Ranald clenched his fists in sudden fury, Isobel’s eyes blazed with hatred and she spat, “But you showed up! You saw me and I had to save her instead.”

Filled with disgust for the woman before him, Ranald took up the sheet lying discarded on the floor and rent a long strip from its length. He twisted the fabric into a thin rope and motioned for Isobel to turn around.

She tossed her head defiantly and Ranald glimpsed the first signs of fear in her eyes as she glanced furtively about, seeking escape from the room. The open door lay behind him. He stood between her and the portal, determined she’d not slip past him.

With a grim set to his lips, he advanced on the woman, his makeshift rope dangling loose and ready in his hand. “Dinnae make this hard on yerself, lass,” he cautioned, edging closer.

She stared at him with the feral eyes of a trapped animal, darting to one side, but Ranald countered the expected move with ease, hands spread low at his side, the rope swaying gently in his hand. She whirled and leapt onto the bed, her hands flat against one of the massive bed posts.

Ranald considered it a perfectly secure place to tie her, but discarded the notion, not relishing the thought of Mary entering the room and finding her rival thus bound.

“Wheesht, lass,” he sighed, motioning for her to come to him. “Let us be done with it.”

Isobel ran two paces to her right, her bare feet sinking into the mattress. Ranald feinted to his left. She turned and jumped to the floor, angling past him to the open door. With a sigh, he countered her move. Isobel threw him an anguished look, and for the first time, Ranald glimpsed the madness in her eyes.

“Stop yer runnin’, Isobel. I willnae leave ye tied naked before the others. Ye will have to accept yer punishment, but I willnae humiliate ye.”

Isobel choked on a sob. “I cannae have him, can I?” Her voice sounded curiously thin and childlike.

Ranald shook his head, letting his hands fall to his sides. “Nay, lass. He doesnae belong to ye.”

She dropped her gaze, nodding as her shoulders drooped in defeat. Suddenly, she whirled to the narrow, open window and Ranald gave a shout as he realized her intent.

With the casing ajar, it took only a slight twist to fit her slender body through the narrow opening. She crouched for an instant, her feet balanced on the ledge, toes gripping the ancient stone. Rising to her full height, she stared at the courtyard below. The morning sun pierced her translucent skin, outlining her with a blinding radiance.

“No!” Released from his momentary shock, Ranald lunged toward her. Isobel spread her arms wide and fell forward, her body a graceful arc as it toppled from the ledge to the ground below.