When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1) (10 page)

As the three of them moved toward
the place where Rory Mac and Neil should have been waiting, Iain watched her
hips sway in the moonlight, but when he turned to meet Angus’s angry glare, he
pulled his gaze away. The man may think of her as a daughter, but Marion was
now Iain’s wife, and he was getting tired of the Scot glaring at him.

“What are ye worried about?” he
questioned to her back as she marched ahead of him.

“If you don’t know, then it’s not
worth my breath to explain,” she snapped without breaking her
stride
.

Iain let her leave, as he suspected
her worry lay with his telling her he would never love her, and there was
nothing he could say to ease that worry. Angus coughed, none too discreetly,
until Iain finally looked at the man. “What?” he barked.

“Let me ken when ye need my
advice,” the Scot offered with a chuckle.

Iain frowned. “I’ll nae need yer
advice on how to deal with my wife,” Iain bit out and stalked ahead, each step
making him wonder why he felt like there was a possibility he could rue that
statement.

Several hours later, Marion clenched her teeth as
the horses drove relentlessly forward over the rocky terrain of Scotland. To
her right, Rory Mac glared at her, still clearly angry over her taking his
horse. She understood, but it seemed to her he could forgive her. After all, he
had
gotten his destrier back when two of her father’s knights had ridden
out of the castle and Rory Mac had apparently overtaken them. He had retrieved
not only his horse but one more. She’d said as much to the man after she, Iain,
and Angus had escaped her father’s castle and met up with Rory Mac and Neil. Rory
Mac had only growled at her as she’d spoken. Apparently, Scots were
very
attached to their horses.

She looked away from Rory Mac with
a sigh. Every time she was jarred, her bottom and back cried out. Iain MacLeod
was the devil himself. She started to turn around on the horse to tell him so,
but his big hand came to her shoulder and stayed her movement. “Dunnae move. Ye
risk losing yer balance and falling off.”

Angry, she blew at a strand of hair
dangling in her face. The man may never intend to give his heart to her, but he
could at least give her his respect. All he’d done since they’d escaped her
father’s castle was order her about. “I’m not one of your men you can constantly
command.”

“True enough,” he agreed. His tone
was so soft and pleasant that a bit of her anger slipped away. “Ye’re my wife.”
The implication that she was also to be ordered about was clear in his now-flat
tone.

Her anger spiked to near eruption.
“I’m not your wife fully yet,” she snapped.

“By the time the sun sets again ye
will be,” he replied. His easy banter irritated her even more. It was as if her
anger amused him. She ground her teeth against saying another word to the man
until he treated her with respect.

As the horse galloped forward, the
clopping of his hooves drummed in her ears and her mind returned to Iain
telling her that he’d buried his love, and his heart, with his late wife. Even
if Marion had wanted to be hurt that he’d so bluntly told her that he’d never
love her, she could not be, not really. They barely knew each other. What she
did know of him, besides the fact that he was brave—fiercely so—and honorable,
was that he was in grave pain from his loss. He’d not said it in words, yet
when he’d spoken of his late wife his tone had been raw, as if simply thinking
of her pained him. She’d felt it like an enormous wave washing over her.

She clenched her hands and pressed
her lips together at the memory. She was married to a man in love with a ghost.
In spite of his declaration that he’d never love again, she could not help but
wonder if it was truly so. She didn’t even know if she would ever want this
man’s love, but she wanted the possibility of it. Not a lifetime of being
forsaken.

When the sun started to rise, she
was sure they would pull over to hide and rest, and relief poured through her.
Her body ached all over, her head pounded, and her stomach growled. The desire
to beg him to stop strummed through her, but she held off until she thought she
might fall off the horse. That’s when she realized her idea not to talk to him
until he showed her respect was foolish. She had to talk to him, but she vowed
she would make him see she deserved respect and not to be ordered about.

Her mouth was so dry that she had
to swallow several times before speaking. “Will we stop now that the sun is up?”

“Nay.”

Marion didn’t consider herself a
weak, helpless woman, but she was on the verge of collapsing or crying. She
couldn’t decide which would be worse. Crying, she concluded, would be worse,
shameful even. One could help weeping, but collapsing really was quite
involuntary. “I’m going to slide off the horse from exhaustion,” she protested.

“Ye will nae. I command ye to stay
upright.”

Her face burned with anger. He’d
done it again! She curled her hands into fists with the desire to hit him. “You
cannot simply demand a person not collapse,” she grumbled.

“I can.”

“You cannot! You rude beast,” she
snapped. She was normally so sweet tempered, but he really was bringing out the
worst in her.

“Who’s rude?” he replied with a
chuckle.

That did it! It was simply the last
thing she could handle. “Did you command your first wife around so? Did you
demand she ride a horse until she was so exhausted she could hardly keep her eyes
open?”

“Nay,” he said quietly. “She was a
gentle creature. Ye are different.”

“Is that praise or condemnation?”
she asked, utterly perplexed and angry with herself for bringing up the subject
of his deceased wife when she knew it pained him.

“Praise, Sassenach,” he replied,
his tone soothing.

All the anger rushed out of her
with the air she blew from her lungs. An absurd sense of happiness filled her,
and she decided to somehow keep herself on the horse, upright and silent, to
prove to him she was worthy of his admiration. Admiration was a stepping-stone
to respect, and from there, who knew what the future could hold for them.

Hours later, as night was falling, they crossed into
MacLean territory and Iain finally relaxed. He was good friends with the
MacLean laird, Alex, and their clans were at peace. Iain slowed his horse to a
walk as they climbed a steep path, and he inhaled deeply and appreciatively of
the fresh air. He silently signaled to Rory Mac and Angus to stop. Angus
glowered in return. Iain didn’t know if it was because the older MacLeod had
been squashed on his horse with Neil for most the day or if it was because the
man had been listening to Iain’s exchange with Marion.

It wasn’t long before he found out,
though. After he carefully gathered a snoring Marion into his arms and
dismounted Olaf, he caught Rory Mac’s eye and then inclined his head toward
Angus and Neil, the latter of whom was awake but had a stark-white face and
sweat-dampened brow.

“Gather wood and ready a place to
rest. I’ll be back to help in a bit,” Iain said as he gazed off toward the
river in the distance and the thick trees where Marion could have some privacy.

Rory Mac nodded, but Angus
dismounted faster than Iain would have thought the man capable of moving. The
surly old Scot stalked toward Iain, and agitation rippled through him. He was
too damn tired to exchange words, but it appeared unavoidable.

“Ye dunnae deserve her,” the Scot
accused.

Iain refused to take offense. Angus
clearly thought of Marion as his own kin.

“Maybe I dunnae,” Iain said, “but
she’s mine now.”

Angus shook his head. “Ye’re a
young fool if ye think that. She may be yers by marriage, but ye’ll never
possess her body and soul until ye open yer heart te her.”

Iain clenched his teeth. “I dunnae
want a lesson from ye on these matters. Ye forget I’m yer laird.”

“I dunnae forget at all,” the man
whispered fiercely. “I ken ye’re the laird and that ye are due my respect
because of it, and I ken I risk chastisement talking to ye so.”

“I chastise no man for his opinion,
Angus. But dunnae lecture me. Now if ye’ll excuse me.” Iain didn’t wait for an
answer. He turned away, taking care not to let Marion’s head flop back. He
leaned her cheek against his chest and walked over to the stream in the
distance. He didn’t look back to see if Rory Mac and Angus were seeing to the
horses and gathering wood.

They knew what to do, and in truth,
he could not look away from Marion’s face. Her beauty took his breath. Awake,
she was a fiery fairy. A force, to be sure. One minute angry and the next
smiling. Defiant. Belligerent. Brave. And possessing a kind heart. He lowered
them both carefully to the grass, setting her in his lap as he leaned against
the tree. She stirred a bit but didn’t wake. Her hand came to rest by her cheek,
over his heart.

As the cold from the ground seeped
into his skin, he worried she might get a chill. As carefully as he could
manage, he moved her forward with one hand, and with the other, he took off his
plaid, now dry from the day’s ride, and laid it over her. Then he tucked it
around her legs and under her chin until only her lovely pale face showed. Then
slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his head to hers and listened to her deep,
measured breaths.

Her breaths held the ease of good
health. Relief made him sag a bit. He was a fool. He’d told himself he’d not
care for her at all, but the moment he’d said his vows in the chapel and she’d
said hers, he’d felt an undeniable connection to her, as if an invisible rope
bound them to each other.

He stared down at her dark lashes,
which fanned her pale cheeks, and he traced a finger over the slope of one
delicate cheekbone. She shivered in her sleep but did not awaken. He’d not
wanted another wife but now he had one. The only way to move forward was with
care. He’d seen the distressed look in her eyes when he’d told her that he’d
never love her. She was his wife now and he didn’t want to hurt her, yet he was
afraid he would. His past had left scars on him.

Tiredness made his thoughts
unclear, and he closed his eyes to rest.

Dreams haunted his sleep as always,
but this time, Marion joined Catriona in his dreams. He was in a thick forest,
searching for someone who was calling to him in desperation, as he often did.
The woman turned out to be Marion instead of Catriona, though, and he awoke
with a jolt.

When he opened his eyes, Marion’s
face was inches from his and she was studying him. He shifted his weight, and
she wiggled her bottom. His reaction to his wife was instant and painful. He
wanted her so.

Her eyes grew wide, and she
scrambled off his lap and to her knees beside him. She looked beguiling as she
pulled his plaid around her and her wild hair tumbled around her face.

A sharp yearning to feel her
beneath him grew stronger. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he
needed to be slow and gentle. She would likely be afraid at first, never having
been with a man, and he would likely be a bit crazed, as it had been a very
long time
since
he’d touched a woman.
The year before Catriona had died, their joining had stopped when she’d become
so weak. The idea of taking another woman had repelled him—until Marion.

He cleared his throat, realizing
she was still staring at him. “Why are ye studying me?”

She pressed her small hands to her
knees. “I am trying to understand you.”

“And have ye succeeded?”

She shook her head. “No. You
confuse me. You’ve ordered me about since I met you, and not once did you
consider my needs on the road, but when you did stop, you apparently held me in
your arms so I could sleep and wrapped me in your plaid to keep me warm. So I
know you
are
capable of being mindful of me.”

He frowned. “How did I nae consider
yer needs?”

“You refused to stop even when I
told you how tired I was.”

“That was for yer safety, Marion.
Had I stopped before we reached MacLean land, it would have been verra
dangerous. We had to travel quickly so Froste and yer father would nae have
time to overtake us before I arrived in allied clan territory.”

She nodded. “I suppose, but now
that we are married, and they do not know if you’ve”—she cast her gaze down—“you’ve
joined with me. I’m not so certain they’ll follow, especially Froste. I’m sure
my father will strive to keep the man as an ally. He’ll likely offer him money,
which he was no doubt trying to avoid by using me and the land I’d bring, for
his aid instead.”

Iain gaped at her. His wife thought
her only appeal was the land that had been attached to her. It made him angry
that her father had obviously never praised her one bit. “Marion,” he started,
intent on correcting how she perceived herself, “even if there were no land
attached to ye, I imagine Froste would still come for ye.”

Her brow wrinkled. “Because he does
not like losing, I suppose.”

“Well, aye,” Iain agreed. “But also
because ye’re beautiful and bold, and ye’re the sort of woman that, well—” He
stopped. He could not tell her she was the sort of woman to stir desire with a
mere look. And the sort of desire a man could not easily forget. With her
moonbeam hair hanging in heavy waves down her back and her large grassy eyes
sparkling with laughter—and alternately burning with her ire—she was a woman no
man would want to lose, especially a man like Froste who, as she’d said, did
not like to lose.