Wishing For a Highlander (9 page)

Steafan smirked at her. “What’ll it be, lass, the stocks tonight, or a wedding?”

“The stocks,” she said without hesitation, relieved she seemed to have some choice in the matter. What was a night of discomfort compared to the stripping away of one’s choice?

Darcy surged around the desk and shook her by the shoulders. His eyes blazed with desperation. “Dinna do this,” he said close by her ear, his voice urgent and low, private from all but perhaps Aodhan, who stood near the desk. “A person in the stocks must be stripped to their skin and placed in the courtyard for the entire clan to laugh at and spit on. I’d sooner defy my uncle and be banished from Ackergill than see ye dishonored so. Dinna make me do that, I beg you.”

Fear kicked her heart into her throat at Darcy’s manhandling. But as his words penetrated, she stopped fighting his hold. He was serious. He’d abandon his home, his mill, Edmund and Fran, everything he had. To keep her from a night’s humiliation.

He might be a manipulative, lying brute, but he seemed to care for her on some level. She looked hard in his eyes and saw vulnerability glowing behind a glaze of very real fear. Fear for her and for what her actions might cause him to suffer.

She shoved away the sympathy he didn’t deserve. He projected an air of absolute honor, but honorable men didn’t trick women into marrying them. “You lied to me,” she seethed. “You told me you’d help me get home.”

“And I will,” he said. “Do ye nay remember what I told you before Steafan came in?”

She remembered the words verbatim.
“Whatever happens tonight, Malina, ye need no’ fash that I’ll keep my word to you.”

Malina. The mere memory of her name spoken that way softened her, damn her romantic heart.

“Trust me,” he urged.

She glanced around the office to see Aodhan nodding his encouragement. Steafan watched them with an amused tilt to his mouth and a triumphant lift of one eyebrow. Hamish stood at the ready, his hands curled into cruel claws that she had no doubt would make quick work of stripping her naked and binding her in stocks. Stocks, for heaven’s sake! She was being threatened with a humiliating and painful medieval punishment. Did she really want to be subjected to that when the alternative was marrying a gorgeous Highlander who would keep her safe until she could figure out how to get home?

Of course, that was completely contingent on Darcy keeping his word to her, something she no longer had any faith in. A man who could manipulate a woman into this position was not a man she’d trust to keep his word, no matter how sincere his face. He probably used those vulnerable-seeming eyes to get women to swoon over him left and right. He was probably a master manipulator who was laughing at her behind his concerned exterior. And she’d fallen for his tricks.

“Trust me,” he said again.

She no longer believed anything Darcy pretended. He wasn’t her ally, after all. Part of her crumbled at the loss. But in a room full of dangerous men, she suspected he was the least dangerous, at least to her. Determined that if he broke his word, she’d find a way to make him suffer, she said for the whole room to hear, “Fine. I’ll marry you tonight. Congratulations on being slightly more attractive to a woman than the stocks.”

Darcy flinched. His lips pressed together as he released her shoulders. Before he turned his back on her, she felt a fleeting regret that she’d caused his eyes to swim with hurt. Boy, was he good, getting her to feel for him. She tamped down the useless sympathy and faced a beaming Aodhan and a disappointed-looking Hamish.

“A feisty wife ye’ve found yourself, lad,” Steafan said. “A fine Keith she’ll make. Come, lass.” He held out his hand to her as he positioned a wilted Darcy in front of him. “Stand with your groom.”

Fury robbed her of grace as she stepped up beside the traitor. Steafan spread his arms like a clergyman addressing his congregation.

“Tonight we secure the handfasting of my nephew and heir, Darcy Marek MacFirthen Keith, and his bride, Melanie.”

He grabbed her right hand, and before she realized what he was doing, used a silver-handled
sgian dubh
to cut a stinging line into the heel of her palm at the base of her thumb. He did the same to Darcy and pressed their palms together. She tried to yank her hand away, but Darcy linked his fingers with hers. Despite everything, the strength of his fingers closing around hers caused a little flutter of excitement in her belly. She hated him for being so irresistible. She hated her body for desiring him even as she reeled with the force of his betrayal.

“Say the vows,” Steafan commanded Darcy.

Darcy hesitated.

She refused to look any higher than his shirt laces.

“Say them or I’ll finish the ceremony without them.”

He huffed a sigh that made her chance a look at his face. His eyes were apologetic and still wounded as he gazed down at her. “I take responsibility for this woman before my laird and clan,” he said softly. “With my body I will guard her body. With my life I will guard her life. What I have is hers and all that I am.”

The sincerity of the words stunned her. She forgot to be angry for a few heartbeats.

Steafan said, “You are now handfasted by word and blood. Only death shall break this bond. The blessing of the laird be upon you.” He released their hands.

She gaped at the finality of his proclamation. “That’s it?” she asked. “You’re not going to coerce me into saying anything?”

Steafan smiled wickedly. “’Tis done. Ye’re a Keith now.”

She was married. Good heavens. Indignation and giddy joy collided in a turbulence that pushed her already fragile emotions to a cliff’s edge. If she opened her mouth, she’d either scream or sob, so she pressed her lips closed and glared at the man whose fault this was.

Darcy shrugged one shoulder and said, “I may be only slightly better than a night in the stocks, but at least the whole clan willna see you undressed and bent over for their amusement.”

“Aye,” Hamish said behind her. “Only Darcy will have the privilege of seeing her that way.”

She gasped and spun around to face Steafan’s henchman.

Darcy moved in front of her, his hands curled into fists. The back of his neck flushed red.

She tried to peek around him to see Hamish’s reaction, but Darcy kept her behind him with one strong hand on her hip.

Steafan’s sharp voice peeled through the office like cracking thunder. “Enough, Hamish. I dinna want fists in my office. And show some respect. My nephew is wed. I have lusted so for many years and can now rest assured that should Ginneleah give me no sons, Ackergill shall be led by a true man.”

Darcy’s grip relaxed just enough that she could peer around him. Hamish didn’t look contrite in the least, but at least his fists were loose.

Under Darcy’s watchful eye, Aodhan came forward with a handkerchief and dabbed her palm where her blood and Darcy’s mixed in a grisly smear. He kissed her cheek as he held her hand. “You are welcome among the Keith, lass. Dinna let Hamish offend you. He is merely jealous.” He cleaned Darcy’s hand as well then clapped his arm. “Good lad. I kent ye’d wed one day, despite all your havering, and a fine wife ye’ve taken. Your da would be fair proud.”

Darcy stared at the Keith war chieftain as though he’d sprouted medusa snakes. “Thank ye, Aodhan.”

“That he would,” Steafan agreed. “Now kiss your bride, man.”

“If I kiss her now, she’s likely to bite my lip off.”

Aodhan and Hammish chuckled. Steafan said, “If she tries, then ye’ll give her a taste of a husband’s discipline.” The laird pinned her with a look of challenge.

She glared right back.

“Kiss her,” he commanded.

“I’m sorry, Malina,” Darcy whispered, as he dipped his face to hers. To his credit, he did, in fact, look sorry.

But neither his apologetic look nor his special version of her name softened her this time. She tucked her chin and growled, “Don’t you dare.”

He paused with his lips an inch from hers. He sighed, his breath sweet and smoky from scotch. Then he closed the distance and pressed a quick kiss to her mouth.

When he lifted his face, she wound up and let her hand fly for a good slap. He caught her wrist. Damn his quick reflexes.

Steafan chortled while Darcy’s fingers encircled her like a living handcuff. “Ye will not raise a hand to me ever again, Malina mine,” he said in a quiet voice laced with steel.

That voice alone might have cowed her if she weren’t spitting mad. But something was off about his expression. He didn’t look angry that she had tried to slap him. He looked apologetic, sympathetic. She didn’t trust the expression for one instant. But when he increased the pressure of his grip and his eyes intensified with an imploring look, she wondered if he was trying to pass along some hidden message to her. She stopped trying to pull out of his grasp and tried to read him, tried to see past what he wanted her to see, to the heart of the man.

Beneath everything else, the liquid depths of his eyes shone with earnest vulnerability. Surely no man, no matter how good at manipulating, could pretend so many different things with a single look. What if he was sincere? What if he was as much a victim of Steafan’s bullying as she? What if he was doing the best he could to salvage a hopeless situation? He certainly hadn’t seemed happy about saying those vows. Oh, God, what if he was as upset about their marriage as she was?

Why did the idea cause a splinter of hurt to snag her heart?

Darcy’s eyes were trying to communicate with her. In the frozen moment, she realized what the message was.
“I’m pretending to be what my uncle expects me to be. Please understand.”

“No self-respecting Keith will suffer his wife to abuse his person,” his mouth said. “Do ye understand?” He tilted his head, pleading with her to go with the act.

“I apologize,” she gritted out, giving him The Look again. “I won’t try to hit you again, husband of mine. As long as you don’t try to kiss me again.”

Steafan coughed with surprise. “She’ll be a wife worthy of ye, Darcy lad,” he said. “A wife worthy of dwelling in Ackergill Keep one day.”

Darcy released her wrist and in the next second, she was surrounded by Steafan’s suffocating arms. The man planted a wet kiss on her cheek. If she hadn’t been frozen with shock, she might have tried to shove him away. It was probably good that she didn’t, since Darcy’s stunned gaze proved Steafan in an affectionate mood was an exceedingly rare thing.

“Welcome to the Keith, lass,” Steafan said. “I’m glad I didna have to put you in stocks tonight.”

Chapter 6

Darcy’s unwilling wife stormed out of Ackergill Keep with him trotting like a scolded puppy at her heels.

“It doesna mean anything, Malina,” he said, following her into the thick darkness that cloaked the road between the torch-lit lawn of the keep and the meager glow of the village below as the cottars prepared for bed. “’Tis just a piece of paper. This way Steafan will stop harassing me to wed.”

She made a noise like a stifled scream, and her stride quickened.

“I will still help ye, lass,” he said and winced at the desperate note in his voice. Firmer, he said, “Did ye hear me, Malina? I said I will keep my word to you.” Determined to face her full wrath like the warrior he was, he lunged for her and caught her arm.

She spun around, and to his dismay, tears stained her cheeks. She swatted at them and wouldn’t look him in the eye.

His stomach contracted with regret. Och, he’d never meant to make her weep. He shouldna have pretended ire with her, even if it meant angering Steafan. “Malina,” he said, stricken by her tears.

Her shiny eyes flashed. “Don’t you call me that ever again! You bastard!”

He nearly recoiled from the whip of her anger, but he’d faced enough Gunn and MacKay to stand his ground against a wee, fiery woman. “Haud your wheesht, wife,” he growled as he pulled her to him. She’d draw the attention of the whole village, and the last thing he wanted were more witnesses to the debacle he’d landed himself in. Come to think of it, he was not some repentant mutt who ought to be whimpering for his sins. He didn’t regret keeping her and her unborn bairn safe from Steafan’s stocks tonight. He didn’t regret taking full and permanent responsibility for a woman with child lost in a strange land. He didn’t exactly expect her thanks, but he didn’t appreciate his bride calling him a bastard on their wedding night, either. “I willna have ye maligning me for the whole of Ackergill to hear.”

“Oh, you
willna
, will you? And just how do you plan to stop me? Will you dole out your husbandly discipline and make your uncle proud?”

“Och, woman. I am not your enemy.” He darted a glance around the road to make sure no one was gawking at them.

“You’re not my friend, either, Darcy Keith,” she said in a respectable volume, though the sparks in her eyes suggested she’d prefer yelling at him some more. “You betrayed me. You told me I had to meet the laird in order to spend the night here. You made it sound like a formality. You didn’t say anything about ending up married. Married! Damn it, Darcy.” She shook her head, seeming at a loss for words, and turned her back on him. He preferred anger in her voice to that flat disappointment.

Her legs–he remembered how shapely they were from seeing her in her half-dress–carried her down the hill at a remarkably swift walk considering how short they were. His legs were longer, and he used them to his advantage, outpacing her and planting himself in her path. “Ye’re going the wrong way, Melanie.” He deliberately used her name the way she had told it to him rather than the gentler version of it that caressed his tongue like poetry. “Our home is that way.” He pointed off the road where a wagon-rutted trail cut across the slope until it bent up to the cliffs, where Fraineach stood proud and strong overlooking the sea.