When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1) (8 page)

“Oh, do be quiet,” she snapped.
“I’ve put up with my father being cruel to me for twenty years, I’ll not put up
with twenty more years of it from you. I’d rather chance a future with the
MacDonalds.”

His hands came to her shoulders and
gripped them. “I highly doubt ye have any chances with the MacDonalds at
present, Marion. Yer uncle Gowan surely kens about our marriage. David likely
told him because of his position. And I ken yer uncle. He would have agreed to
bind me to him through marriage to ye himself. So even if ye went to him
begging nae to wed me, I’d nae trust his help. I’m yer only hope, whether it
pleases ye to accept the truth or nae.”

Iain cursed himself as tears filled Marion’s eyes.
She blinked rapidly and glanced away, and when she turned her face to him
again, no tears trailed down her fine-boned cheeks, but the unmistakable
glistening of unshed tears did shine in her lovely eyes. Presently, the only
person Marion needed defending from was him. He released his hold on her
shoulders and gently cupped her face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, uncertain
what else to say. It had been a very long time since he’d held a woman so
familiarly, and Marion’s silken skin under his rough fingertips filled him with
a need he’d forgotten.

“Don’t worry yourself,” she
whispered. “I’m aware no one really wants me.” She blinked up at him. She was
trying so valiantly to be brave, but her lower lip
trembled
,
and all he could think about was that he’d caused her pain. He wanted to take
it away. With no other intention but that one, he pressed a kiss to her
forehead, hoping to soothe her.

She quivered beneath his fingers,
and his chest tightened. He had desired Catriona, to be sure, but it was a
cautious need because she had always been sick and frail. But life and strength
simmered from Marion, and he realized with a relieved start that he’d not have
to be cautious with her. Guilt assaulted him, as if his relief was a betrayal
of his love for Catriona.

He took a deep breath, glad that
they needed to go and he could store this away to consider later. “We better
make our way to the chapel to see if Angus needs help.”

Marion nodded, an eager look on her
face. “We can go to the side of the keep and scale the wall, but then we’ll
have to carefully descend the hill, swim the ditch waters, and cross the bailey
to get back to the chapel.”

Iain studied her. “The water is
filled with snakes.”

She bit her lip and nodded. “I
know. It will be dangerous.”

“Aye. So will crossing the bailey
in the dark. Yer father’s men may shoot arrows at ye, never kenning they are assaulting
ye.” Iain’s blood rushed through his veins as he stared at Marion. He had to
protect her. He could not fail to protect a woman that was his again. He
grasped her chin gently. “If ye dunnae listen to everything I say, I’m going to
flay yer bottom when we’re away, ken?”

“I ken,” she replied, surprising
him by mimicking him.

He chuckled at her cheekiness.
“Stay by my side. Dunnae speak. No matter what.”

“But you may need my help if we
encounter one of my father’s knights. I may need to influence them to—”

He shook his head. “I doubt ye’d be
able to influence them to do anything now, and I will nae need help defending myself
against a weak Englishman.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Pride is one of
the seven deadly sins.”

“I’ll keep my pride and chance that
it will nae be the thing to kill me,” he replied and started them on the
journey.

“I see living in England all these years has nae
lessened the craftiness of a MacLeod,” Iain said, surveying the blazing
buildings from his crouch near the wooden wall Iain and Marion had just scaled.

“If it is indeed Angus,” Marion
murmured as she twisted the dripping skirts of her gown.

Even soaking, the woman was so beautiful
his body hummed. With her wet hair slicked away from her face, her perfect bone
structure was even more striking, but what he truly found enticing was the
bravery she continued to display. She’d not batted an eyelash when they’d slid
down the steep hill and then swam the freezing waters, only to have to climb
the wall.

“I dunnae think any man here would
set fire to yer father’s home besides Angus, do ye?”

She shook her head, her teeth
chattering. “No, I don’t. Do you think that means—”

“I think it means Angus needed to
redirect the knights’ attention to get to the priest in the chapel. What I
don’t ken is whether he has him or if they are still in there.”

“So how will we find out?” she
asked as she vigorously rubbed her arms.

The desire to wrap her in his
embrace and give her the heat from his body swept over him, but he couldn’t
allow himself to be distracted. They could both pay for the folly with death.
“We’ll have to get to the chapel, but in this frenzy”—people filled the bailey,
helping to smother the kitchen fire—“we should be able to get there unseen.”

“And then if Angus and the priest
are not there, or if they are and we need to help Angus, we will triumph, and
then we will all simply go back over the wall and swim the moat to freedom.”
Her voice trembled slightly, showing the tiniest hint of concern at what they
were facing.

Iain took her hand for one brief
moment and squeezed. “Dunnae worry,” he soothed. “Are ye ready?”

“No,” she said with a laugh. “But
let us go anyway.”

“Follow me,” he said, staying near
the wall to keep to the shadows. They came to the chapel quickly, but battle-ready
knights flanked the door. Iain was certain Angus had to be in there. He needed
to draw their attention away, so he could cast aside one knight and then the
other. He looked at Marion and knew he had to forget his pride and ask for the
help he’d boasted he’d not need.

When he leaned close to her and
slipped his hand around her neck to pull her near for a whisper, she started
but did not make a sound. From inside the chapel came a roar, followed by a
bellow.

“Angus,” Marion breathed, turning
her head toward Iain’s so that her lips accidentally brushed across his. Her
eyes flew open wide, and a strangled sound escaped her. The burning desire to
claim her mouth swept through Iain and almost took his senses, but he fought
the primal craving and instead leaned toward her ear.

“I need yer help,” he
whispered
.

“You need
my
help, you say?”
she whispered back, suppressed laughter in her hushed tone.

“Aye, I am resigned. Now, will ye
help me or nae? If ye dunnae, I’m going to have to kill more knights to get to
Angus and the priest.”

“You leave me no option,” she
grumbled.

“Aye,” he agreed with a grin. “I’m
a Scot, Sassenach. There’s nae need to give ye an option because I ken what’s
best, but I do speak the truth. Either ye can draw away the knights or I’ll
have to charge through them with my sword.”

“I will do it,” she hastily
replied. “How do you suppose I should proceed?”

He hated that he had to use her at
all, but he knew the knights would not hurt her. A simple plot was often the
best one. “Step forward on my say and call out for help. Hopefully, they’ll
both come to yer aid and I can catch them unawares.”

“That’s a sound plot. There are no
other reasonable choices, as there is only one entry,” she replied, to his
amusement. Marion’s mind seemed to work more like a man’s than a woman’s,
calculating danger and assessing risks. Iain liked it. “I don’t know either of
those knights. They must be new, so I don’t think I can coax them to trust me,
so yes, your plot is best.” Iain bit back a smile as she continued. “What
should I do when they are upon us?”

“Move back and ye duck.”

“That’s your idea?” she demanded,
her voice incredulous.

“Yer lack of faith is noted,” he
grumbled under his breath. “There are only two of them.”

“Indeed,” she whispered
sarcastically. “I suppose it takes at least ten Englishmen to bring a Scot
down.”

“Nay. I’ve seen a Scot brought down
by one,” he replied. “But I’m nae weak or foolish. Twelve is the likely number
it would take to fell me.”

“Only twelve?” She cocked her head.
“Hmm…I’m not sure I should marry a man who can be felled by a mere twelve
knights.”

He laughed softly. He liked her
sense of humor and the fact that she was not afraid to tease him. God’s truth
was he liked almost everything he’d learned about her so far. Except her
stubbornness. He was used to protecting and fighting for himself, but a burning
awareness that he once again had someone to guard rose in his chest, made his
heart pound and his blood course through his veins and rush in his ears. What
if she was accidentally injured?

He gripped her chin and turned her
face to his. “Dunnae forget to duck the moment I stand.”

“Why don’t you give me a weapon?”

He was about to argue, but the
rightness of it made perfect sense. He’d seen her wield a dagger with skill. He
withdrew one of his sheathed blades and handed it to her. “Ye’ll nae need to
use it,” he promised.

She touched her hand to his heart
and pressed her fingertips there. “I’m sure I won’t.”

An ache, poignant and sweet,
throbbed. Whatever that feeling was, he didn’t have time for it now. Grasping
his sword, he nodded. “Go. Now.”

As she sprang up and called to the
guards, he tensed and readied himself to move. Both knights rushed toward her
as Iain had hoped, and when they were upon her, Iain leaped up, wielded his
sword, and struck the first knight in the chest. The man fell to the ground,
dead, and as Iain pulled his sword out of the man’s chest, the other knight was
lifting his sword to
strike
. Just as the
sword dislodged and Iain
raised
it again,
Marion sprung
forward
and stabbed the knight
in the leg with her dagger. Iain scowled that she should risk her life but was
impressed by her still. He lunged toward the knight as the man howled and
felled him with another blow to his legs. When the knight went down, Iain gave
him a swift punch, making him swoon, and retrieved the dagger he’d lent Marion.
He rose and glared at her.

“Ye could have been killed,” he
growled and turned away not waiting for her reply. He was certain she’d argue,
and he had neither the time nor the patience. He charged into the chapel, which
was empty except for one knight, the priest, and Angus—who was tied to a chair.

The knight came at Iain with his
sword raised high. Iain didn’t hesitate. He swung his sword low, slashed his
gut, and when the knight doubled over, Iain hit him in the back. The man fell
to his knees, and while he was trying to get back to his feet, Iain withdrew
his blade and used the hilt to knock the man in the head hard enough that he
swooned. The knight fell forward onto the ground.

“You must be the MacLeod,” the
priest said, his eyes wide and his hands twisting together.

Angus grinned from the chair to
which he was tied. “He is, Father John, but dunnae fear. He’d never harm a godly
man.”