When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1) (12 page)

Both men glared at him. He had the
sense to look chagrinned. He stood, unsheathed Marion’s dagger, and silently
handed it to Iain. “I think I’ll go check on Neil and gather some more wood.”

“Verra wise,” Iain said as he set
Marion’s dagger on his knee. When Rory Mac walked away, Iain faced Angus. “She
will nae yearn as my wife,” he stated, then picked up the rabbit and began
skinning it once more, wishing the matter to be sorted. When after a minute,
Angus did not move from in front of Iain, he looked at the man once more.
“What?”

“She will yearn because ye will nae
be able te give her what she truly desires. And I’m nae talking about a night
with ye.”

Iain clenched his teeth. He had
always been one to allow his men to speak freely, but at the moment, he
considered that a change may do. “I dunnae talk matters of the heart. I’m a
Scottish warrior, nae an Englishman who speaks prettily. Ye’ve been gone from
Scotland too long. Ye’re soft.”

“I’m nae soft. Just smart enough te
see what ye dunnae. Ye can be a widower te one woman ye loved yet allow another
into yer heart.”

“Cease yer talking, Angus,” Iain
growled. He didn’t want to think about Catriona, his heart,
or
allowing
anyone else to make him weak, and he refused to continue this conversation.

A determined look crossed Angus’s
face. “Maybe she should come live with me, since ye dunnae really want her
around,” the Scot prodded. “Ye can be married in name only, that way she will
be safe and ye’ll have met Edward’s conditions for talks of David’s release.”

“Nay.” The word boomed from Iain
deep in his chest, but instead of the fear he’d hoped to raise in Angus, the
older man smiled slightly.

“Why nae? If ye’re as lacking in
emotion as ye claim, then any wench will do te smother yer lust.”

“Any wench will nae do,” Iain
bellowed. “Marion belongs with me.”

“Aye, she does,” Angus agreed,
surprising Iain with his words and his grin. “I feel much better now that we
had this talk. I thank ye for obliging me.”

Iain gaped at the man. “Ye tricked
me,” Iain muttered. “Ye said something ye did nae mean in order to see how I
would reply. What are ye trying to decide about me, old man?”

Angus picked up the rabbit he’d
killed and started to skin it. “I am wondering if she had any hope of melting a
wee bit of that thick ice around ye.”

“Listen here, ye daft old fool,”
Iain growled. “She does nae have a hope of melting a thing as there is nothing
to thaw.” His heart was dead, and that was how he wanted it. Desire could not
harm him, but love—love when lost left pain that could kill a man.

“Ye dunnae need te be angry,” Angus
said good-naturedly. “Ye can protest all ye want, but I dunnae think ye can
stop what’s already happening. If ye wished for no emotion between ye, ye’d join
with her and many others. Ye want only her.”

Iain never allowed himself to show
anger, but it pulsed through him in fast, hard beats. He did want only her, but
that had nothing to do with anything but lust. The thought rang false in his
head, but he shoved the doubt away and concentrated on his annoyance. “I can
stop whatever I wish. I’m laird. If I dunnae want to feel anything for her, I
won’t. It’s as simple as that.”

Angus cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Simple, ye say?”

Iain was just about to answer when
Marion’s scream echoed through the night. The high-pitched piercing sound of
her fear ripped across his heart and tore away the scab of indifference that
had been covering the gaping wound left by Catriona’s death. His reaction was
instantaneous, as if he were an arrow shot from a bow. He dropped the rabbit,
gripped Marion’s dagger, sprang up, and barreled past Angus into the blackness
without hesitation, his feet pounding over hard rock, soft dirt, and branches.
As he dodged limbs and shoved shrubs out of his way, Marion let out a string of
the foulest curses he’d ever heard from a woman’s lips. In spite of the edge of
concern driving him forward like a crazed man, he grinned. No doubt, sharp on
the heels of her curses she’d mentally calculated how many indulgences her
perceived sin would cost her. His life certainly would not be dull with Marion.

He burst through the trees,
expecting to perhaps find that she’d ignored his advice and waded too far into
the river, but what he saw brought him to a stunned halt. Marion stood
knee-deep in the water, and behind her stood a tall man dressed in armor. The
knight had his hand around her neck, and when he pulled her backward and thrust
her under the water, a red haze covered Iain’s vision. He was going to kill
that man for daring to hurt Marion. He didn’t give a damn if it angered King
Edward or David. He’d start a hundred bloody wars if that was what he had to do
to keep his wife from harm. And her melting him or whatever nonsense Angus had
sputtered had nothing to do with it.

She’d screamed.

That fact pounded through Marion’s
head as she kicked her legs and clawed at the hands holding her underwater. By
God, she’d scream again if she got the chance. She dug her nails into soft
flesh, but the hand squeezed harder.

The desire to live overrode the
shame of failing to keep Iain from harm as her lungs burned with the need to
call for help again.

Malcolm wrenched her back to the
surface just as she was sure she was going to die. She coughed violently, water
spewing from her mouth and racking her body. Over the sound of her hacking, a
war cry split the air, as well as her fear and the very chambers of her heart.

He’d heard her!

She blinked her watery eyes and
searched the darkness for Iain. He thundered out of the shadows and toward her,
white mist rising from the ground as if it were smoldering. The fog parted with
each of his strides, and his sword sang in a high arc over his head. In all the
nights
,
she’d stood on the rampart and watched her father and his men return from
battle, she’d never seen a man look as fierce and frightening as her husband
did. He didn’t seem like a mere mortal; he seemed like a god intent on
decimation as he charged into the river.

The pressure against her throat
disappeared in a flash as Malcolm raised his hand to give the signal for his
comrade to throw the daggers.

“Danger on the left bank!” Marion
shouted and pointed.

Iain looked to the left at the same
time Malcolm shoved her backward and under the water again. For a moment, she
thought he would hold her there until she was dead this time, but then his hand
disappeared and she came up in a rush, rubbing the water out of her eyes.
Malcolm was just ahead of her, his sword poised to kill. Marion scanned for the
other knight on the left bank but didn’t see him. When something touched her
leg, she jerked and then shrieked when she realized it was the other knight
floating on his back in the water with a dagger—one that looked suspiciously
like the one Angus had given her—sticking out of his neck, the only patch of
skin that was not protected by armor.

When the dead man started to sink,
Marion reached down and pulled the dagger out of his neck. Her stomach roiled
with queasiness, but she stood upright in time to see Malcolm swing his sword
to try to hit Iain in his left side. She tried to scream a warning, but her
voice came out rough and her throat protested any further use.

Iain didn’t need a warning anyway.
He moved in a blur she could not follow. It was like trying to capture the
moment a storm turned deadly. He opened like a sky filled with torrential rain
and poured his fury on the other knight.

Yet Malcolm’s fighting prowess had
not been exaggerated. He took blow after blow from Iain and did not fall. And
then, when Iain raised his sword to strike once more, she heard Malcolm
exclaim, “Die!” She gasped when she thought she knew why. Iain’s left side was
exposed! Marion splashed forward toward Malcolm, raised her dagger, and plunged
it into his back—or attempted to. The dagger did not go through the armor. It
splashed into the water and disappeared. There was no time to look for it.

Malcolm spun around, eyes wild, and
swung
his sword toward her neck. She screamed as Iain’s sword glimmered in the
moonlight above Malcolm, then came down and ended the man’s life with a sharp
blow to his head. He dropped into the river directly in front of her.

Her legs trembled and threatened to
give out, but Iain wrapped her in his embrace. She buried her face against his
chest, sagging into him. They stood for a moment, face-to-face, both panting
heavily.

“Wife.” His voice held a faint
tremor, as if some emotion had touched him, and she could almost feel her hope
rising in the air.

She lifted her gaze to his. “I’m
sorry.” With her hands fisted by her side, she waited for Iain to tell her how
disappointed he was in her. That was what her father would have done.

In the distance, Angus was calling
her name and Rory Mac was shouting for the MacLeod. Iain called out that they
were fine, that he’d killed two of Froste’s men, and to give them a moment.
Then he caught her gaze once more.

“Ye’re sorry?” he asked, sounding
incredulous. “Ye’ve nothing to be sorry for, Marion. I’m to keep ye from harm,
and I failed.”

“But you didn’t,” she exclaimed.
“You just saved me!”

“There’d nae have been a need if
I’d nae left ye down here alone.” His tormented tone made her breath catch, and
when he looked at her, there was anguish in his eyes. He tugged a hand through
his hair in obvious agitation. “Can ye forgive me?”

“Forgive you?” Her heart swelled
almost painfully. Iain had asked
her
forgiveness, which meant he thought
enough of her to want her forgiveness, if nothing else. She swallowed the large
lump in her throat. Not once, in all her years, had her father ever asked her
forgiveness for anything; he was always quick to tell her what she’d done wrong
to make her feel small and unworthy. Iain was not like that. For all his
gruffness, he was also gentle.

“I can forgive you,” she said, “if
you can do the same for me.”

He cupped her face. “Why do ye
think ye need my forgiveness?”

“I vowed to myself I’d not scream
because that’s what they wanted,” she said, motioning behind her. “They wanted
me to scream for you so you would come to my aid, and then they were going to
kill you.”

“I suppose I’ve the answer to the
question of if Froste intends on defying Edward,” Iain said, his voice hard.
“Nae that I really thought otherwise.”

Marion shivered at the idea. “Do
you think Froste sent more men?”

“Nay,” Iain answered. “I think the
arrogant clot-heid imagined those two would complete the mission. We’ll make
our way to Alex MacLean’s hold tomorrow morning and warn him that knights may
be passing through these parts.”

“Marion,” came Angus’s worried
voice.

Marion peered around her husband’s
enormous frame to see Angus and Rory Mac standing at the bank of the river.
Angus held a torch that illuminated both men’s faces.

Rory Mac was the one who spoke
first as Iain took Marion’s hand and led her to the men. “I told the old man to
do as ye ordered Iain and give ye a minute, but he was fretting over the chick
like a hen.”

Marion supposed she was the chick
and Angus the hen.

“I’m nae stunned,” Iain replied,
his tone not indicating if he was angry that Angus had
disobeyed
him. That was another big difference between her father and Iain. Her father
would have punished Angus for daring to defy him, even though Angus was clearly
worried for her. Iain seemed to understand this, and even if he did not like
it, he was in control enough not to show it and to allow Angus to see her. Warmth
toward Iain filled her heart.

“Are ye hurt, Marion?” Angus asked,
his voice shaking. “I could nae move swiftly enough te help ye,” he grumbled,
rubbing his leg.

She regarded his leg. “Have
you
been hurt?”

He shook his head. “Just sore from
yer father’s beating.”

“Oh, Angus!” she cried out, angry with
her father and mad at herself for not seeing to his wounds sooner. “Let me help
you,” she said, starting toward him.

Angus shook his head. “Nay, lass.
I’ll tend te my own wounds. I ken how. Yer place tonight is by yer husband’s
side.”

She glanced at Iain to protest, and
he shrugged. “If ye wish to tend to him, do so.”

“Nay,” Angus said, the stubbornness
she knew well clear on his face. “Ye go with the MacLeod.”

Rory Mac made a derisive noise from
his throat. “I’ll tend the old goat,” he said to Marion. “Tell me what to do.”

She quickly explained it to him,
and when she was done, Rory Mac looked to Iain. “I suppose we will head to
Alex’s tomorrow.”

“Aye,” Iain replied. “He should
know that he might get English visitors on his land.” Iain’s tone had turned
sour.

Rory Mac nodded and then grinned.
“Are ye nae worried Marion will be taken with the MacLean?”

Iain scowled. “I’m nae worried a
bit.”

“Why would you think I’d be taken
with the MacLean laird?” Marion demanded.

Rory Mac’s satisfied chuckle told
her she’d reacted exactly as he’d hoped. “He’s got quite the reputation, and
the lassies find him verra pleasing to their eyes. Some visiting ladies have
even been known to slip into the MacLean’s bed when their own husbands are
asleep.” Rory Mac wriggled his eyebrows at her.

“I’d never do such a thing,” Marion
exclaimed, knowing she was only adding to Rory Mac’s pleasure at getting a rise
out of her, but she could not help herself. “I can’t imagine a man more
attractive than my husband, and I’m sure he’ll please me so much in bed, I’d
never dream of another man!”

Angus broke into a coughing fit,
Rory Mac roared with laugher and Iain gave her an approving yet amused look.
She considered what she’d said, and heat flooded her cheeks. She wasn’t sure
what to say now. She did think Iain very attractive, and she was sure he was
very capable of his husbandly duties. But heavens, she wished she’d not blurted
that.

“Go away,” Iain demanded of the
men, saving Marion from having to say anything at all. Rory Mac immediately departed,
but Angus looked as if he might protest. “I wish to be alone with my wife,”
Iain added before Angus could speak.

Angus still looked as if he wanted
to argue, so she gave him a quick nod to let him know she would be fine, and he
nodded back, finally leaving Marion and Iain alone in the dark. She could
barely see Iain’s face, but she could feel his heat and his power, as if it
were vibrating out of him. Suddenly, she wanted him to hold her, touch her,
make her feel alive when she had almost died. The need grew fierce in an
instant, hampered only by the fear that she may not please him. Yet on that
fear came another. What if he thought of his dead wife, and he found Marion
lacking in comparison? Before she could consider any more of her fears, he
slipped his arm behind her legs and lifted her to his chest.

Her body instantly warmed at his
touch. She slid her arms around his neck and locked her hands behind his head.
“What are you doing?” she asked in a breathy whisper.

“I need ye, Marion. I need to ken ye’re
alive and nae harmed. I see ye and ye seem safe now, but I need the knowing that
only being with ye as yer husband can provide. Is it too greedy?”

“No,” she croaked, a strange
tightening occurring in her belly.

Iain walked some distance away,
past the trees where they had rested earlier to a more private thicket. A
blanket lay on the ground, and
he kneeled
and deposited her gently upon it. She thought he’d sit beside her, but instead,
he stood looking down at her. The moon must have broken through clouds because
she could see the outline of his strong body, though not all the details of how
he was formed. She had a sudden sharp desire to feel him since she could not
see him, but she was too shy to ask.

Silently,
he
stooped
before her, lifted her again as if she weighed no more than a blade of grass,
and settled her, straddling him, in his lap as he sat down. They were now
face-to-face, and he was hard as steel everywhere, and even though he was wet
from the river, he was hotter than a blazing fire. Embarrassment caused her to
shift, but his large hands clutched her hips.

“Be still a minute, Marion. I’m
intent on being slow and tender with ye, but if ye move at all, I’m afraid I’ll
take ye like a mindless beast, I want ye that much.”

His words made her feel oddly giddy
and light-headed. “You want me that much?”

“Aye. It’s been a long time since
I’ve been with a woman.”

“You
are
a beast,” she growled,
angry that she’d momentarily thought his need was solely due to her. It seemed
any woman would do. She pressed her palms against his thighs to stand, but he
caught her around the waist and guided her firmly back onto his lap. She
wiggled to free herself, but it was no use. His fingers curled around her
waist, unmoving and unrelenting.

She tried to turn her face from
his, but he took hold of her chin and made her look at him. Even in the
darkness, she could see his burning eyes. “I did nae mean it like that.”

“I don’t care,” she muttered,
irritated with how much she actually did care. Why was she letting hope grow
inside when she knew he would hurt her?

“Ye do,” he said fiercely. “And I
like verra much that ye care.”

“I don’t,” she protested weakly,
her heart pounding. She didn’t want to let herself care for him if he was never
going to love her.

He cupped her face. “Listen to me.
I ken I just hurt ye, and I’m sorry. I did nae mean I wanted ye simply because
I’d nae been with a woman. I’ve had plenty of opportunity to ease my desire.
Ken?”

“I
ken
,” she said, pleased
that she’d not screamed at him as she wanted to. “Women must offer themselves
to you all the time. I suppose because you are an attractive and mighty laird.
What is it you’re trying to tell me?” She poked him in the chest. “Are you
trying to tell me that you could ease your desire whenever you choose? That you
do not need me?”