When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1) (11 page)

Iain shrugged lamely. “He’ll come
after ye, I swear it, but I dunnae think he’s foolish enough to come before he
is certain he can retrieve ye without difficulty. But ye dunnae need to fear.
I’ll defend ye, as is my duty.”

The talk of duties brought to mind
one that would be pleasurable. He needed to truly make her his. Just thinking
of bedding her made his blood heat.

He reached out and ran a finger
across her ankle, which was peeking out from beneath his plaid. “Marion,” he said,
his throat husky with need.

Her eyes went wide, and she stood
abruptly. “I’d like to wash before supper,” she said. Her voice wobbled, and
she pulled the plaid even tighter around her body.

He’d scared her, or rather, she was
scared of the joining. As much as he ached to take her now, he would force
himself to give her as much time as he could to reconcile what was to happen.
Unfortunately, there was not much time. The marriage had to be consummated.

He stood slowly and looked at her.
She was nibbling her lip, clearly ill at ease. He inhaled a deep breath of the
chilly night air, hoping it would cool his lust. “Let me search the river first
and make sure it’s safe.”

“Are you worried?” she asked, her
voice pitching a bit higher.

“Nay,” he assured her. “Just
careful. I’m always careful.”

After they walked down to the
stream, he quickly verified that the area was not dangerous. “Do ye want me to
stay near?” he asked. “Will ye be afraid if I go ready a place for us to bed
down?”

Her eyes widened more than they had
earlier. God’s truth, she looked more afraid of the idea of lying down beside
him than she had at the idea that someone might want to steal her away.

“I don’t frighten easily,” she
replied boldly, though her voice shook. “Go on back to the men.”

“Dunnae wade too deep,” he said,
surveying the river one last time. It was fairly low right now, but that didn’t
mean she could not get injured. “In the dark ye could lose yer footing. If ye
need me, simply call for me.”

“I’ll not need you,” she replied
with a sure tone.

He bit back a grin, wondering what
his wife would think if she knew her walking about in his plaid greatly
undermined her effort to appear brave and unaffected.

The minute Iain walked out of sight, Marion sagged.
There were so many emotions swirling in her that her head ached. She’d felt
disappointed and worried earlier with Iain’s blunt words about love, but then
he’d praised her fortitude and she’d felt a small sliver of hope, which had
blossomed when he’d told her he thought her beautiful and bold, and well—

She laughed aloud. It didn’t even
matter that he’d never finished the sentence. That he thought her bold thrilled
her. Beauty was fleeting, but she supposed she wasn’t unhappy that he found her
pleasing, except she was nervous about consummating their marriage. She had
always thought when it was time, she would know the man and love him. Could she
love this man someday? Perhaps. He certainly was the sort of honorable, brave
man she’d envisioned marrying, except for the part about not ever loving her.
What if she fell in love with him and he never returned her love? The thought
made her slump to the ground with a groan.

Sitting on the cold, thick grass,
she kicked off her shoes. When her feet made contact with the wet ground, she shivered.
She had not realized how cold it was, likely because Iain had held her. She
blushed at the memory of how sinfully good it had felt to be wrapped in his
arms. She wiggled her toes and sighed as she wearily got to her feet to unlace
her gown.

A short time later, she was
muttering to herself and saying every unladylike curse she’d ever heard Angus
and the guards mutter when they’d not known she was listening. Her maid had
helped her lace this gown, and she could not get it undone by herself, no matter
how she contorted her body. Her head began to pound harder as she stared
longingly at the river, which held the promise of removing the grime from her
father’s moat from her skin.

She peered over her shoulder and
saw Iain, Angus, and Rory Mac in the distance. The three of them stood around a
small fire. If she called out to Iain, she knew he’d come directly. She bit her
lip, remembering the desire in his eyes and his thick voice. He may not ever
love her, but he wanted her. And she wanted a bit more time before the joining.

Besides, how was she supposed to
earn his respect if she could not remove her own gown?

Marion squeezed her eyes shut.
Calling him over to help was not an option. A woman who needed aid disrobing
was not a woman a fierce laird like Iain would ever come to rely upon. Her gut
clenched with a sudden realization: she wanted him to rely on her and need her
because, even if he never loved her, a man who relied upon and needed a woman
would never discard her. Not like her father, who had been so callous and eager
to give her to another.

Resolved, she struggled for several
more minutes until frustrated tears stung her eyes and she collapsed onto the
cold grass, drawing her legs up to her chest and pressing her head against her
knees to allow herself a good pitiful cry. Just as she was getting started, a
hand clamped roughly over her mouth. She was pulled off the ground as another
hand slid around her waist and then her back was pressed against the length of
a man’s armored body.

The man who held her breathed
heavily, his stench of sweat and horse making her wrinkle her nose. Fear
tingled across her skin leaving gooseflesh. Was there any way to free herself?

Before she could answer her own
question, another man appeared from the darkness and stepped in front of her.
“Hello, Lady Marion,” the man whispered. “Froste sent us to fetch you.”

She could barely make out the
knight’s features in the dark, but she got a glimpse of the burn scars that
ravaged his face, and her blood ran cold. Malcolm Basset was Froste’s most
trusted, most vicious knight, and his loyalty had been sealed when Froste had
rescued him from the man’s own father, who had set Malcolm on fire.

Malcolm pulled his lips back in a
snarl as he slid his calloused hand around her neck. “Froste says we must bring
you back alive, but he told me how you fled him, Marion. I’d like to kill you,
but he’d not like it.”

Marion’s heart pounded as she
desperately tried to determine how to escape.

“Forget what you’d like, Malcolm,”
the man holding her and covering her mouth hissed near her ear. “Let’s get on
with it. I want to kill the MacLeod and be done with Scotland. We must follow
orders,” the knight added.

“I know,” Malcolm snarled. “But she
does not deserve to be Froste’s wife.” Malcolm squeezed her cheeks so hard that
tears stung her eyes. “You’re likely not even chaste anymore, are you?”

Marion’s skin crawled with the
question, and the knight holding her chuckled as Malcolm stared through the
darkness at her. “On further thought,” he said, his voice taking on a husky
tone that made bile rise in her throat, “let’s enjoy her first. If she’s not
chaste—”

Malcolm’s fist flew by her face so
fast that she screamed, but the clammy hand covering her mouth smothered the
sound. Malcolm’s fist met her captor’s nose with a sickening crunch, the hand
dropped away, and she was shoved aside. The man lunged at Malcolm, and Marion
saw her chance. She dashed past the men who were locked in combat, but just as
she filled her lungs to scream for help, she was hit from behind and went
crashing to the ground, crushed under the weight of a body and its armor. She
was going to die.

Horror filled her until she was
pulled up by her hair and came face-to-face with Malcolm, who clamped his hand
over her mouth once more. “We want you to scream, but not just yet. We need to
have you placed perfectly so we can ambush the MacLeod and his men.”

Driven by rage and fear, Marion
brought her fist up and started to hit Malcolm in the face. Behind her, she
heard the quick clank of armor, and then her hands were grabbed and pulled
roughly behind her back.

“I’ve got her,” Malcolm growled. He
jerked her toward him and encircled her body with his arm, nearly crushing her
ribs with his grip. He lifted her off the ground, and before she knew what was
happening, he dragged her into the cold river as the other knight moved to the
bank on the other side. She started to shiver, watching helplessly as the man
withdrew two daggers that gleamed in the moonlight. Her breath seized in her chest.
They thought to make her scream to bring Iain running and then the knight would
throw the daggers at Iain. Even if he missed, Malcolm had his sword, and Iain
would not be prepared. She could not scream, no matter what they did to her.
She could not call Iain to his death.

Her fear must have shown on her
face because Malcolm’s grin widened as he stared at her. “Don’t fret. I won’t
harm you, though I want to. Now do your duty as Froste’s future bride and
scream.”

Immediately, his hand moved from
her mouth to her windpipe and pressed.

“I won’t scream,” Marion managed to
choke out before Malcolm’s fingers crushed her throat a bit harder, cutting her
words off.

“If you don’t scream, you’ll die,
and I vow to you, the MacLeod will die either way.”

She’d have no part in helping them
kill Iain, even if it meant her own death, which it likely would. It was
becoming harder and harder to draw air and stars were dancing in her vision,
yet she was determined not to scream.

When Iain found a good spot for them to sleep, he
spread out a blanket and then quickly caught a rabbit for supper. Angus glared
at him as Iain skinned the rabbit beside the fire.

“Say yer grievance with me or stop
yer glaring,” Iain said.

“Is that the command of a laird?”
The old MacLeod faced Iain and braced his legs as if preparing to fight.

Rory Mac shook his head with a
laugh. “I dunnae think he likes ye, Iain.”

Iain ignored his friend’s prodding
and stared at Angus. “That’s the request of one man to another, Angus. I may be
laird, but I strive to treat all my men fairly. If ye think I’ve done ye some
wrongdoing then I’d like it to be confessed so we can solve it. Though as we’ve
only known each other a day, it baffles me what that could be.”

Angus’s stance immediately relaxed,
and he moved closer to Iain and sat on the tree stump next to him. “Marion is
like a daughter te me.”

“I thought so,” Iain replied,
moving over for Rory Mac to sit down, too.

“I want the best for her,” Angus
continued.

Iain set the rabbit down. “Are ye
implying I’m nae best for her?”

The man notched his chin up. “I’m
saying she’s already had a lifetime of feeling unloved. I heard what ye said te
her at the chapel.”

“What did ye say?” Rory Mac asked
in a deceptively innocent tone.

Iain gave Rory Mac a warning look,
but his friend simply grinned in return. A tick started in Iain’s jaw as he met
Angus’s gaze once more. “I will treat her well.”

Angus shook his head. “Treating her
well will nae be enough. Marion has a tender heart that yearns for affection.”

“I yearn for affection, too,” Rory
Mac said, mimicking a woman’s voice with a chuckle.