In Bed with a Highlander (12 page)

“I did not ask you to marry me!”

He was undaunted by her vehemence. “ ’Tis customary to seal a betrothal with a kiss.”

Before she could tell him what she thought of that daft idea, he hauled her against him. She hit his chest and would have bounced off if he hadn’t held her firmly in place.

“Open your mouth,” he demanded in a husky voice that sounded oddly tender given his degree of anger.

Her lips parted and he slid his tongue sensuously over hers. Her senses scattered in the wind. For a moment she quite forgot everything but the fact that he was kissing her and he had his tongue inside her mouth. Again.

And he’d just announced to his clan that they were marrying. Or maybe she had. Realizing that the longer he kissed her in front of God and everyone, the harder a time she’d have denying his claim, she gave him a mighty
shove and nearly fell on her behind. To her mortification, Gannon caught her and held her up while she swiped at her mouth with the back of her arm.

Oh, but the laird looked smug now. He had a satisfied grin on his face as he watched her and waited.

“Kiss? I won’t kiss you. I want to hit you!”

She spun around and fled. The laird’s laughter followed her the entire way.

“Too late, lass! I already kissed you.”

Back in her chamber, which she should have never left, Mairin resumed her pacing in front of the window. The man was impossible. He would drive her daft inside a day. He was controlling, overbearing. Arrogant. Handsome. And he kissed like a dream.

She groaned and smacked a hand to her forehead. He didn’t kiss like a dream. He did it all wrong anyway. She was quite certain Mother Serenity had never said anything about tongues when kissing. Mother Serenity had been quite descriptive in her talks with Mairin. She hadn’t wanted her to go ignorant to her marriage bed, and above all things, Mairin would one day marry.

But tongues? Nay, Mother Serenity had nothing to say on the matter of tongues. Mairin would have remembered such a thing, surely.

Mairin had assumed that the first time the laird had kissed her it was an aberration. A mistake. After all, her mouth had been open. It stood to chance his tongue might slip inside if he, too, had his mouth open.

She frowned at the thought. Could Mother Serenity have been mistaken? Surely not. She was knowledgeable about all things. Mairin trusted her implicitly.

But the second time? It was no coincidence, because this time he’d commanded her to open her mouth, and like a simpleton, she’d gaped her mouth open and let him slide his tongue over hers.

Just the memory had her shivering. It was …

It was undignified. That’s what it was. And she’d tell him so if he ever tried to do it again.

Feeling marginally better now that she had that matter squared away, she turned her thoughts to the pressing issue of marriage. Hers.

It was true that the laird filled a lot of the criteria that she and Mother Serenity had come up with. He was undoubtedly strong. He seemed awfully possessive of those he considered under his protection. It was true he had a large army. One had only to look at the numbers in the courtyard and how hard they trained.

The marriage would be equally, if not more, beneficial to him. Aye, she’d have his protection, and he had the might to defend a holding such as Neamh Álainn, but he gained wealth and land that was rivaled only by that of the king.

Did she trust him to hold such power?

She hadn’t meant to impugn his honor. She’d been angry, but she didn’t really believe that he was a dishonorable man. If she did, she’d be trying a lot harder to escape. Nay, she was giving serious consideration to his proposal. Or her proposal. Or whoever had issued it.

She hadn’t come into contact with many men in her lifetime. Only at an early age before she’d been taken to the abbey in the middle of the night and sequestered there for many years. But she remembered the fear and the absolute knowledge that her life would be immeasurably changed if she fell into the wrong hands.

She didn’t feel that fear with Ewan McCabe. Oh, she feared him, but she didn’t fear mistreatment from him. He’d had ample opportunity—and desire—to strangle her, and yet he’d held his temper each time. Even when he wasn’t convinced of her role in his son’s abduction and rescue, he hadn’t made a single move to harm her.

She was fast coming to the conclusion that he was all bluster.

The thought made her smile. The McCabe men did like to frown. But Alaric had stood with her even after muttering blasphemies against her and all women. Caelen … well, so far they had a mutual agreement to avoid each other. Now
he
frightened her. He didn’t much like her, and he didn’t care if she realized that or not.

Was she insane for considering marriage to the laird?

She stood by the window and watched as shadows darkened the rolling hills that surrounded the keep. In the distance, dogs barked as they brought in the sheep. The purple hue of dusk had settled over the land. Low to the ground, light fog rose, covering the hills like a mother tucking in her child for the night.

This would be her life. Her husband. Her keep. Her clan. No longer would she fear that at any moment she’d be found and forced to marry a brute of a man who cared naught for anything but the riches she’d bring with the birth of an heir.

She would have a life, one she’d nearly given up hope of ever having, and she’d have a family. Crispen. The laird. His brothers. His clan.

Oh, but the longing was fierce inside her.

She turned her eyes heavenward and whispered a fervent prayer. “Please, God. Let this be the right decision.”

The lass was submerged in a full tub of water, head thrown back, eyes closed, and an expression of sheer bliss curved the contours of her face.

Ewan watched from the door, silent so he didn’t disturb her. He should make his presence known. But he didn’t. He was enjoying the unimpeded view far too much.

Her hair was pinned atop her head, but loose tendrils drifted down the slim column of her neck, clinging damply to her skin. His gaze drifted along the lines of those strands. He was particularly fascinated by the ones that rested on the curves of her breasts.

Bonny breasts she had. As bonny as the rest of her. She was all soft curves and lines, pleasing to the eye. She shifted, and for a moment he thought he was caught, but she never opened her eyes. She arched just enough that the pink tips of her nipples lifted through the water.

His mouth went dry. His cock went rigid and strained against his trews. He curled and uncurled his fingers, unsettled by the fierce reaction she stirred within him.

He was hard and aching. Want was fierce within him. There was nothing to prevent him from charging across the room, yanking her from the tub and laying her on the bed. She was his to take. From the moment she’d set
foot on his lands, she was his. Whether she married him or not.

Still, the perverse part of his nature wanted her to come to him. He wanted her to accept her fate and bind herself to him of her own accord. Aye, the taking was far more satisfying when the lass was willing. Not that he couldn’t have her willing in a matter of seconds …

A frightened gasp echoed across the room. He frowned as he stared into her open eyes. He didn’t want the lass afraid of him.

She didn’t stay afraid for long.

Sparking with outrage, she bolted to her feet. Water sloshed over the side of the wooden tub and sluiced down her body, accentuating each of those delectable curves he had just been admiring.

“How dare you!”

She stood, trembling in the water, not a stitch of clothing to obstruct a complete view of her body. Ah, she was a delectable sight, spitting fury, her breasts thrust proudly out. Dark curls nestled at the apex of her legs, guarding the sweet mysteries that lay beneath.

And then, as if realizing she’d given him a lot more to look at by bolting to her feet, she let out a squeak and promptly dropped back into the tub. Both arms covered her chest and she hunched forward, hiding as much of herself as possible.

“Get out!” she roared.

He blinked in surprise and then grinned his appreciation of her bellow. She might be a slip of a thing, and she looked deceptively harmless, but she was a force to be reckoned with. Just ask his men, who were all understandably wary around her now.

She ordered Gannon, Diormid, and Cormac around relentlessly. At the end of the day he was treated to a list of complaints about their duties to guard—and placate—their mistress. Cormac had the idea that she should take
over the training of their troops. Ewan thought she had a vicious streak and that she was merely retaliating over the fact that they’d been given the task of looking after her.

She was not above ordering around those who stumbled into her path either. And if questioned, she merely gave everyone that sweet, innocent smile and told them that according to their laird, she would soon be the mistress of the keep. Accordingly, it was their duty to take their instructions from her.

The problem was most of those instructions bordered on the absurd. She’d run everyone ragged for the last two days, and Ewan was here to tell her to cease. Father McElroy was due at any moment. One, she would give him her answer, and two, she would stop making his men look like haggard women by the end of the day.

It was shameful for warriors to whine as much as his men.

“I’ve already seen everything there is to see,” Ewan drawled.

A blush worked over her cheeks and she glared her disapproval at him.

“You shouldn’t have come in without knocking. ’Tisn’t proper.”

He lifted an eyebrow and continued to stare at her though he knew it discomfited her. The same demon that provoked her to drive his men to madness prompted him to give her a little of that back.

“You were sound asleep in the tub, lass. You weren’t going to hear an army if it passed through.”

She snorted and shook her head in denial. “I never sleep in the tub. Why, I could drown. That would be stupid, and I am never stupid, Laird.”

He grinned again but didn’t argue the fact that she had been soundly asleep when he’d entered the chamber. He cleared his throat and went on to the matter at hand.

“We need to speak, lass. ’Tis high time you give me an answer. The priest should be here at any moment. You’ve done enough mischief. ’Tis a serious matter we’ve to decide.”

“I’ll not speak to you until I’m out of the tub and dressed,” she said with a sniff.

“I could help you with the matter,” he said, without so much as flinching.

“That’s very considerate …” She broke off as she became aware of what he’d offered. Her eyes narrowed and she hugged her arms tighter around her legs. “I won’t budge until you leave this room.”

He sighed more to stifle the laughter that threatened than to show exasperation. “You have but a moment before I return. I suggest you make haste. You’ve kept me waiting long enough.”

He could swear she growled as he turned to walk out the door. He grinned again. She was proving to be a worthy bride and mistress to the McCabe clan. He might have expected a woman in her circumstances to be a frightened mouse, but she was as fierce as one of his warriors. He was looking forward to peeling back the many diverse layers she’d presented and getting to the woman underneath. The very beautiful, soft lass that he’d already seen glistening and wet.

Lord, but she was beautiful. And damn if he wasn’t eager to get her in front of the priest.

Mairin lunged from the tub and wrapped one of the furs tightly around her. Casting furtive glances over her shoulder, she stood in front of the fire as she hastened to dry herself enough that she could put her gown back on. It would be just like the laird to walk back in before she finished dressing.

Her hair still quite wet, she pulled her clothing on and then sat in front of the fire to dry and comb her hair. She
shivered when the window fur fluttered against a particularly stiff burst of wind and the cooler air blew over her damp hair.

When the knock sounded, though she’d expected the laird, she jumped and turned to see the door open to admit him. His eyes raked over her like hot coals, and suddenly she didn’t feel a chill at all. In fact, it was decidedly warmer in her chamber now.

She stared silently, mouth dry, and, for the first time, without words. There was something different about him, and she wasn’t sure what, or that she wanted to know. He studied her—nay he wasn’t studying her. He was devouring her with his eyes. Like he was a hungry wolf closing in on a kill.

She swallowed at the image that thought invoked, and she covered her neck with her hand as if to protect her from his teeth.

He didn’t miss the gesture and amusement gleamed brightly in his eyes. “Why are you afraid of me now, lass? You’ve shown no fear of me from the beginning. I can’t imagine that I’ve done anything now to change that.”

“ ’Tis over,” she said quietly.

He cocked his head to the side and then he moved closer to her, settling his large frame on the small bench in front of the fire.

“What’s over, lass?”