The Highlander's Reward (16 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Magnus rolled onto his back, his arm coming up to lie over his forehead.

What the hell just happened?

He recollected the anguished look on Arbella’s eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw. He remembered grasping her arm, trying to pull her into a kiss, feeling her body melt against his. She’d licked her lips, closed her eyes and then a sharp pain had radiated through his neck and head.

She’d hit him.
With what?

He reached toward his neck
, afraid of what he’d find. There was nothing. He was a little sore, but no blood.

How the hell had she done that?

He recalled watching her fight valiantly against the rebels who sought to pull her from her horse. Recalled vividly her playing-acting with the sword at the abbey. There was more than met the eye with his little wife. She’d just knocked him out cold.

The clarity of the situation hit Magnus like a bolt of lightning. If she’d hit him, made him fall to the ground in sleep, then she’d done it on purpose.

And he was going to find out why.

He pushed himself up to his knees and then his feet, grasping the bed post for purchase. His vision swam for a moment, and his legs felt weak, but he willed himself to be strong to stand firm. A few minutes later he felt comfortable enough to walk to the door, where he had to steady himself against the wall for a moment to let the dizziness pass.

He felt…he couldn’t describe it. He’d never felt this way before. For certes, he’d been bested in combat before. But never by a woman. Never by someone he trusted. But she’d… He shook his head.

Arbella had
betrayed his trust. Used his desire against him and struck out when he was weakest. He supposed he should be grateful she hadn’t done more. She could have taken the dagger he’d given her and used it to slice him through after she’d taken away his consciousness.

Fueled by anger and
his need to seek her out, Magnus stormed through the corridor, down the stairs and into the great hall.

She was not there.

“What’s happened?” Heather asked, setting down the herbs she was stringing to dry on the table and rushing toward him.

“Nothing.
Where is Arbella?”

“Nothing?
Ye look dreadful. Your neck has a bruise.” She narrowed her eyes on him, her hands coming to her hips. “Did ye hit her?”

“What?” he bellowed, then immediately regretted it.

“Well, surely she wouldna hit ye if ye hadn’t hit her first.”

Magnus rolled his eyes. Arbella had deceived them all. “I assure
ye, my meek little wife is anything but.”

“Humph.” Heather grunted and crossed her arms over her chest. “Ye did treat her mightily bad not telling her about Ina.
Worse so that you didn’t make sure not to have Ina show up here.”

“I did
treat her badly, I’ll not deny it. Do ye know where she is?”

“I’ll not tell
ye.”

“For heaven’s sake, Heather, tell me.”

Heather grumbled under her breath and waved toward the great doors. “She went outside, and I dinna blame her. I’ll be telling Ronan and Blane about this and ye best not raise a hand to me or ye’ll have the both of them beating ye to a pulp.”

Magnus’ arms went out to his sides in exasperation. “I dinna hit her! She hit
me
.” He wasn’t about to tell her that by hitting him he’d fallen into a deep sleep like a babe.

He stormed toward the doors, not able to take another bit of nonsensical conversation with his sister. He should have been offended by her loyalty to Arbella, and a part of him was, but a bigger part of him, the part who recalled his wife’s passion, was only proud that she’d garnered the allegiance of his sister.

And that irritated him even more.

He marched outside and looked around
, seeing no blonde haired vixen in sight.

“Where the hell is she?” he growled to no one, and then noticed several small children running away.

Mo creach
, the woman was having him act like a total devil. He fisted his hands and set them on his hips. She’d truly messed him up in the head. Mayhap ’twas a good thing he couldn’t find her. Perhaps he should go and find Ronan, see if he was up for a bit of sparring to get his mind off his wife. But Ronan, who seemed to be able to sense when things were wrong would most likely just laugh at him.

“My laird?”

Magnus tilted his head toward his stable master who stood wringing his hands.

“Aye?”

“’Tis the Lady Sutherland.”

“What about her?”

“She was in the stables a bit ago.”

“And?”

“She wanted a horse, my laird.” Incredible. Everyone was doing what the lass wanted. He wanted to throttle the wench. “Which way did she head?”

“Well, my laird, I didna give it to her.”

Magnus raised a brow, actually surprised to hear it. He waited for the rest of the man’s explanation.

“She was mightily displeased with me and walked out of the gates. Would ye see that she does not harbor any ill will toward me? I meant her no offense
. I was only following your orders.”

Magnus grunted. “I shall speak with her.”

The stable master looked relieved and any pride he’d had in the man’s ability to not give his wife a horse dissipated. Magnus was extremely peeved that the man would be so concerned with her feelings toward him. Had she swept everyone up into the maelstrom that was her charm?

With disgust he stalked toward the gates in search of his
angelic
wife.

He found himself grateful it wasn’t dark yet. But if he didn’t find her before nightfall, she would be in grave danger. Wolves roamed the Highlands—both the animals and those in human form. With Ina back on Ross lands soon, and no doubt telling horrid tales of her treatment by Magnus, there was the possibility of an ambush.

The Sutherland and Ross clans had been allies for as long as Magnus could remember. But often times it only took something like the blunder he’d made to put two clans at war.

He curse
d himself anew for not having taken care of it sooner, but he’d been distracted by his allegiance to William Wallace, the war between the English and Scots and the potential danger that would soon face his people should Longshanks make it into the Highlands. He’d been distracted by Arbella’s innocence and beauty, by her fire. He’d wanted to help her, to save her—and to have her for himself.

He’d not wanted to marry Ina.

Arbella had been the perfect excuse not to marry the spoiled wench.

That was before.

Now, despite her having struck him, he still harbored strong feelings for her. These feelings made him uneasy. His pace quickened as he reached the gate. He should have asked how long it had been since she left, but with his strong strides, he was sure to find her soon.

He looked from left to right, not entirely sure which direction she would have taken. Then he spied the road straight ahead. The one that led up into the mountains she would have to cross if she were indeed headed back to England.

A smirk creased his lips. She had threatened to do just that. He was learning that his wife was a lot more stubborn than she had first appeared—or rather how he’d first chosen to see her. Every time he thought she’d taken him by storm he recalled the vision of her fighting the Scots at Stirling and he was humbled.

She was truly his match and he was going to prove it to her.

“My laird?” The groom walked up beside him, his warhorse saddled and ready. “Thought ye might want Beast. She left about half an hour ago. Took off at a steady pace.”

“Thank
ye.” Magnus took the horse’s reins and quickly mounted. “Any idea which way she went?”

The groom pointed down the road. Just as he’d suspected, she was headed back to England.

Magnus nodded to the boy and urged his horse into a trot. He would take his time following her. Let her think she’d almost made it.

Arbella yanked on her gown which had somehow gotten caught on a bunch of thistles. Luckily, the little purple weeds were not strong enough to tear through the thick wool of her gown.

She plucked up one of the flowers, avoiding the stem, and carried it with her, wondering why there were so many of these little flowers everywhere. A slow mist fell, turning eventually into a light sprinkle of rain. Arbella wasn’t bothered by the rain, it only made her more aware of her new found freedom.

Mountains loomed in the backdrop, brushing against the grey sky, and dotted with both old and new green trees. Hills rolled beneath the mountains and she could make out the moving shapes of small figures—sheep, cows and farmers—atop the blankets of green plains beyond. To her left was the ocean, a vast mass of frothy waves and gently rocking dark water. It was breathtaking, peaceful. Arbella took a moment to close her eyes and breathe in the faintly salty air.

She hadn’t the chance on her way to Dunrobin to really admire the scenery, she’d been too busy worrying over her new marriage and the large Scotsmen whose lap she’d occupied. She hoped he’d awakened already, that his headache hadn’t lasted overly long.

As soon as she’d gotten out of the gates, Arbella walked along the walls to the cliff, hoping that the guardsmen weren’t watching her. She pretended to pick flowers while staring out at the choppy waters as they crashed up against the rocks. The salty sea air had given her energy, and also made her reluctant to leave. She’d never seen the ocean before. Hadn’t realized in the days that she’d been at Dunrobin how close it really was.

Luckily a commotion with a merchant distracted the one guard who did spy on her every so often, and so Arbella made sure to lose herself among a crowd of clansmen and women heading to the fields. As soon as she was out of sight, she ran into the woods and walked along the edge of the road, hidden by trees.

To her frustration, she recalled none of the area from her arrival. Not a single landmark.
’Twas all dense trees, shrubs and these dreaded ugly thistles.

Forgetting she held a thistle in her hand, she clenched her fists, only to be reminded when a little pricker slid under
the skin. She tossed the crumpled weed to the ground, her frustration renewed. She could have been walking in circles for all she knew. Everything looked the same.

At the rate she was going, she’d never make it back to England, but would instead be doomed to walk the Scottish forests for eternity—i
f she was lucky not to be attacked by some savage beast in a plaid. Or even a wild animal.

When she’d first started walking
, the sun had been hidden behind clouds, high in the late afternoon sky. Now it was beginning to dip slightly. The rain had stopped and the shadows in the forest grew longer. If she didn’t pick up her pace, she’d not get far enough away from Dunrobin and Magnus before dark. Then there was the possibility he would find her.

If he chose to come after her.

She was banking on him remaining well behind, grateful that she’d left in fact, so he could go and seduce another maiden.

Heather’s words came back to her.
Ina has always been a spoiled little brat. Magnus was loathe to marry her.