The Highlanders Bride Page 5

  They were starting to do some light climbing now. Not anything too difficult, although the pain in her ribs was rising due to her heavier breathing. As he climbed ahead of her in silence, she again appraised his well-formed physique.

  He really was quite a large man. Yet, when he stood close to her, she didn’t feel overwhelmed. Instead, she was reassured by his solid presence. He was gentle, yet firm. Controlling, yet giving. He was a man she could love quite easily.

  His legs were bare and extremely distracting. They were powerfully strong, as were his arms and every other part of his body. Even his buttocks looked firm and hard under the thick pleated plaid skirt. She could see the strength in his shoulders and arms through his white linen shirt and had the crazy notion of taking her hand and caressing his back. No, the reality was she wanted to touch him anywhere—everywhere.

  She imagined twining her fingers in his dark wavy hair and wondered how it would feel. Was it as thick and soft as it looked? It was such a perfect shade of dark brown and well suited to his skin tone, which was still slightly bronzed from the summer sun. His hair and skin coloring made his silver eyes even more mesmerizing. He was so intensely, overwhelmingly male. How was it that this gorgeous man was unmarried? Then she remembered. He didn’t want marriage, or any type of commitment.

  She had thought his viewpoint on matrimony would stop her from desiring his company as they rode, or from enjoying his voice when they conversed. But she was wrong. Laurel had never been around anyone who made her feel so alive just by being near.

  She felt torn between wanting to spend time with him and wanting to keep her distance. Every moment she spent in his company just made her desire him even more. But it was all pointless; she knew there was no future for them. Why would there be? Two days protection and a kiss were far from a commitment of the heart. And that was exactly what she would have before she vowed herself to any man. She had experienced emotional isolation throughout most of her childhood. She would be foolish to do so as an adult.

  Knowing the forgone conclusion of their separation, she wanted him to kiss her just one more time. Just one more time to savor the feel of his lips against hers, forever capture his scent, and remember his touch. Each night, she fell asleep knowing that he would join her sometime while she slept, for he always seemed to be there when the dreams came. Oh Lord, maybe she already was in love with him.

  Laurel took a firm grip on her resolve. She had to stop fantasizing about him. He may be attracted to her, but he didn’t want her—at least not as a wife. And while she admitted to herself that she definitely wanted him in ways she never had dreamed of, he was not her destiny.

  She just needed a place to recover and some time to figure out a way to warn her grandfather of Laird Douglass’s threat. With Keith Douglass dead and her disappearance, Laird Douglass was no doubt preparing war against her grandfather’s clan—the MacInneses. She didn’t know why God had sent the handsome highlander to aid her, but he was her only hope for survival. Her clan’s future rested on the ability of this highland chieftain to keep her safe.

  But until she could develop a plan to advise her grandfather about Douglass, she would allow herself the unwise joys of being with, talking with, and watching her miraculous dark-haired champion.

  Conor could feel her looking at him, assessing him. He could feel her eyes boring through his skin, peeling away the layers to his soul. What she was thinking? Did she find him unappealing? She said she was not married, but there could still be someone important to her, someone she was intended for. Was he being compared to another man? Someone she preferred, whom she wished she was with? His fears were beginning to take hold when she called out.

  “Conor, slow down!” Conor had suddenly picked up the pace, and Laurel was finding it difficult to keep up. Where were they headed anyhow? They had long since passed many places that might have provided privacy for a discussion.

  “Just a bit farther. I wanted to show you something.” Conor wasn’t exactly sure why he wanted Laurel to see this particular vista. He had found it years ago, when he was a guardsman to his grandfather’s best friend, Laird MacInnes. It was special, and somehow he instinctively knew that Laurel would appreciate it once she was there.

  “Could you…just slow down…a bit?” Her breathing was labored, and the pain in her side was throbbing.

  Conor looked back and felt instant guilt. Her ribs! And all of this climbing—what was he thinking! Since she entered his life two days ago, he had not been acting himself. He had deliberately provoked her anger earlier when in truth, he just wanted to be the one who made her smile. Instead of bringing her to a place of joy and pleasure, he had caused her pain. He wouldn’t blame Laurel for lashing out at him and demanding to go back. He turned around and began to return to the camp.

  “Conor, what in the name of all that is holy are you doing?” She looked at him with a perplexed expression. “Do not tell me that we climbed all this way and are now turning around because I need to slow the pace. I want to see what you were going to show me. You said it wasn’t far,” and then a thought occurred to her, “or are you lost, Conor? Is that it? You don’t know where we are?”

  The combination of her question and her indignation were just too much, and he laughed aloud. She actually thought he could be lost!

  He beamed her a look of delight. “No, love, I am not lost. Nor will I ever be with you.” Conor didn’t realize how telling those words were until he uttered them aloud. She looked at him with such longing, as if she felt as he did.

  “It is just beyond those trees. But I know you are hurting so we will turn around.”

  Laurel straightened her shoulders. “Nonsense. To the trees it is. I just didn’t want to run there, Conor. While you may not be lost, I would be if I lost sight of you.”

  “I would find you,” Conor said in a gentle but reassuring way. “I will always protect you, Laurel.” He completed the thought with a mental promise: You are mine. Conor felt his whole body tighten with desire.

  Just then Laurel walked past him and ducked carefully under a brush to see what was beyond. The beauty that extended before her was stunning. She had thought her lands in Northumberland were beautiful, especially the North Sea coastline, but they could not compare to this.

  From this vantage point, her view of Scotland was unhampered. She could see for miles. Out beyond were fingers of land, each jutting out to the sea in its own way. Some covered by trees, some with cliffs that seemed to go on forever. There were dozens of lochs nestled between. Some of the trees seem to touch the sky, and the rock formations were unlike any other. Wisps of clouds settled here and there, giving the whole scene an otherworldly look.

  Conor watched Laurel absorb the beauty of his lands. Her eyes drank in everything. Her smile spread over her whole face, and her entire body seemed to relax. Conor had known by Laurel’s previous interest in the land and beauty around her that she would understand his love for this place.

  “It is beautiful, Conor. I have never seen the like. Is it always like this?”

  “Aye, at least every time I have been here.” Conor was not watching the beauty around him, but the vision in front of him. She was slim and delicate, and her golden waves of hair were pulled back by a tiny bit of lace. Her eyes were the color of the lochs she was viewing. It was amazing how often her eyes changed depending upon her mood. He wondered what they would look like all full of passion. Then he wondered if someone else already knew.

  Laurel was completely unaware of Conor’s brazen gaze. “There is a magical quality to it. It’s like this place is frozen in time. And that you and I, here together, are separated from all the evils of the world,” she mused aloud.

  Conor dropped his arm to her shoulders. They stood for a long while watching the sun begin to set over the distant mountains. No words were said—no words were needed.

  Despite his desire to do otherwise, Conor interrupted the peaceful silence. “We need to leave now, Laurel. It will be dark soon.”

  Laurel took one last look around and nodded. In just the short time they spent there, she had found peace. It was as if her problems were now manageable. She now believed that she would be able to find and notify her grandfather without letting Douglass know.

  “Thank you, Conor, for taking me here,” she whispered as he took hold her hand to guide her as they descended. “It was just what I needed.”

  When they had returned to the edge of woods right before the clearing, she could hear the clashing of swords and several men fighting.

  “What is happening?” Laurel murmured, then cried, “Conor! They are fighting! Someone has attacked the campsite. We must help them!” Visions of Ainsley’s men being slaughtered a few days ago suddenly filled her mind.

  “Help them? They are just having a wee scrap to freshen their skills a bit. It is harmless.”

  She whirled to face Conor. “Harmless?” Laurel’s chin came up angrily, her sea green eyes sparkling with rage. “Men fighting with swords is fun and harmless?”

  When he just stared blankly at her, she raised her voice and said, “Fine. Someone has to stop them and I guess that leaves me.”

  She collided with Conor when he stepped into her path.

  “And what, love, do you think you are going to do?”

  Laurel closed her eyes in brief, heated frustration. “Conor, you are being exasperating again. Having to repeat myself for you is most annoying,” she said, her voice dangerously sweet.

  He continued to stand in her way. It was obvious that he was not going to budge or let her pass. So, she tried again.

  “I was just going to ask them to stop. And if that didn’t work, I would use stronger encouragement,” she answered, now through gritted teeth.

  Laurel was beginning to show her temper, and his rumbles of laughter were making it rise all the more. She reached into her dress and pulled out the pearl dagger she had taken when she had fled the Douglass castle.

  When Conor saw the small knife she held in her hand, he could hold onto his laughter no more. His amusement at her toy was so loud that it interrupted the sword practice his brothers were having with his guard.

  By the time his brothers had come to investigate Conor’s merry roar, their laird was grinning wildly. This sight in itself was enough to astonish every last one of them. For it was a rare thing for Laird McTiernay to smile, let alone laugh—and loudly. Added to their shock was the change in Laurel. She looked furious.

  Her eyes were blazing and, if hostile glares could cause bodily injury, Conor would be permanently disfigured. The lass really did please him, Conor thought. He couldn’t wait until he got her home.

  But just as the idea of home and Laurel in his castle and bed were taking shape, Laurel snapped. Before he knew to react, she had changed the grip on her dirk and taken the knife from his belt. She swiveled so fast that later, all present would say she was just a blur when she aimed and threw.

  First, Laurel launched her dagger. Sure and swift, it hit one of the guard’s leather sporrans hanging in the trees. With the other arm, she threw Conor’s knife. The accuracy was a little off due to the unexpected weight of the hilt, but it still hit the intended log of wood next to Conor’s plaid on the ground at least thirty feet away.

  The immediate quiet that fell upon the group was palpable. Everyone just kept shifting their stares from her to the blades she had wielded with such precision. Laurel knew she should be ashamed of letting her temper goad her into silencing Conor’s guffaws. Still, she couldn’t do it. Moreover, she couldn’t let well enough alone.

  “I told you that I could take care of myself,” she spoke in a completely unrepentant voice.

  “Woman, how did you do that?” asked Loman.

  Instantly, Conor’s anger flared. He shifted his gaze for one moment to Loman and corrected him. “She is ‘my lady’ to you, Loman,” he stated in a cold tone so that none questioned his meaning.

  “Conor, do not use that voice with Loman. He was just asking me a question. There is no need to take your anger with me out on him,” Laurel said, trying to redirect his anger towards its intended target.

  Conor was not calmed. “I will say what I like, when I like, and how I like to him and to whomever else I choose. I am their laird,” he roared back, this time with no cheer at all. He glared at Loman until he finally nodded in acknowledgment.

  Laurel watched him overawe his guardsman and refused to follow Loman’s example. “Well, you may be their laird, Conor McTiernay, but you sure as hell are not mine. Remember earlier? I thought you said I was not to call you laird. I could only call you Conor,” she shouted back.

  “Watch your cursing, love, or are you not a lady?” he bellowed in return, thinking that such a criticism would surely hit its mark and force her to withdraw from the argument. But his aim missed—completely. Retreat was not what she had in mind. Laurel went on the offensive.

  “A lady? Well, I guess that is all how you define a lady, Conor.”

  She turned and looked at the brothers, who were standing with dumbfounded looks on their faces. They had never seen anyone stand up to Conor this way before. Anyone. Most women cowered in his presence and if he even slightly raised his voice or looked crossly at one, they slunk away, whimpering from intimidation.

  What was transpiring between Laurel and Conor was nothing short of miraculous. First he laughed, next she demonstrated that she could indeed handle herself, and then they both were shouting at each other.

  Laurel began pacing. “In England, a lady is any female born to a noble house. The word refers to her title of nobility or of other rank. Some people refer to the woman of the household as lady, meaning they are wed to men who have great houses, but are without titles. Then, again, you may be referring to women who are regarded as proper and virtuous. But all ladies should be well-mannered, considerate and with high standards of proper behavior. I sense this is the point you were making. Am I correct, Conor?”

  He just stared at her. She had stopped her angry strides and stood right in front of him, daring him to counter her remarks with a wintry smile.

  “Hmm? Because in case you are in doubt, I am a lady by birth, but not by action. I hunt, I ride, and I get angry. And when I am angry, I curse. My father didn’t consider me a lady, and my brother sure as hell didn’t. The only person in my life who believed me a true noblewoman was my grandfather. It is a great shame that he is not here tonight to witness and support my ladylike behavior.”

  Again the silence was deafening. And again she was its cause. Laurel knew she had gone too far. She had taunted Conor in front of his guard and brothers. Her father and brother were always mortified when she exhibited anything close to an emotional outburst. The tirade she just displayed would have resulted in immediate, probably indefinite confinement. What had come over her? She had always had a temper, but could control it. What was it about Conor that provoked her so? Why did she feel free to react so naturally around him?

  Laurel knew that she should be ashamed at her behavior by the looks on everyone’s stunned faces. She was still in shock herself when Finn slapped her on the back, smiled, and said, “You’ll do, lass. Aye, you will do.”

  Laurel could not mask her confusion. “I will do what?”

  Finn’s grin grew so that it practically went ear to ear. “The highlands! We were afraid that you would wither away or shrink to nothing with the timid act you’ve been pulling the last couple of days. The only hope we had was seeing your courage and stamina to ride through your pain. But now, well, as I said, you’ll do,” Finn replied and the others around him grinned and nodded at the same time.

  She stared at them dumbfounded. They were actually happy that she had lost her temper. The youngest two McTiernays couldn’t seem more pleased at her lack of control. Conor, however, was much harder to read.

  Suddenly, a both delightful and terrifying thought occurred to Laurel. “Finn, clarify for me just one thing.”

  “Certainly, milady.”

  “Why is it so important that I will do?”

  Finn looked perplexed. “Milady, a laird’s lady must be strong, not just physically, but emotionally.”

  “Aye, Finn’s right, milady,” chimed in Seamus. “It would not do to have Conor constantly tending to a weak woman sensitive to the goings on around her.”

  Laurel was struggling to understand. “Weak woman? Laird’s lady?” she repeated slowly and distinctly. They could not mean what they were implying.

  “What Seamus means, is that…,” began Loman when Conor cut him off.

  “She understands.”

  Laurel bristled at Conor’s arrogance. “I can assure you that she does not.” Laurel retorted.

  “You do, love. You just have not accepted it.”

  “What you are proposing…Just yesterday you said that you would never…that you refused, didn’t need to…” Laurel had trouble getting the words out. This couldn’t be happening. She was feeling elated and torn apart at the same time.

  Conor also didn’t understand what was happening. His desire for her was so strong that everyone was picking up on it. Their assumption was understandable, but he recoiled from the thought of commitment and immediately went into denial.

  “I am proposing nothing. Just a roof and protection.”

  The alarmed side of her heart sighed in relief. But the part of her that wanted him, ached for his touch, cried as she realized that he just declared that it would never happen. Pride forced her to respond.

  “Good. Because when we get to your highlands, all I want is somewhere to live for just a little while, until I decide what to do next. Just for the winter. I promise that by spring I will be gone.”

  “But lass, you will be living with us,” said Craig, “at the main castle. Conor—won’t she be living with us?” he questioned, truly confused now. He had seen how his brother responded to her. She could bring him the softness and intimacy that had been lacking for so long in their laird and in their home.