Two

Two

Ailis jumped off the bed.

The stone floor was cold beneath her bare feet, but she preferred to shiver rather than wait in the bed.

“He’s spouting nonsense.” She moved away from the bed, looking for wood to start a fire, but there was none.

Bhaic chuckled, sitting down in the chair the earl had been in. He ran his hand through his hair before stretching out his legs.

“He may be, but the man is no fool.” Bhaic leaned down and started loosening the ties on his boots. “This chamber has been prepared very carefully to ensure that the only comfortable place to spend the night is in that bed.”

“Together?” Her voice cracked again. She hugged herself and backed up, but a gust of wind blew in the window, chilling her to the bone. She stared at the openings in the stone, completely perplexed by the inability to cover them.

“The shutters are missing,” he confirmed from behind her.

Ailis was looking through an iron screen that would have been used to darken the chamber for a lying-in or while someone was ill. On the other side, there was no glass and no shutters to seal out the night.

“No wood either,” she remarked after staring at the fireplace for a full minute because she just didn’t want to face their circumstances.

She turned and locked gazes with him. She was beginning to shiver, and it was the chill of the night, not her company, causing it.

There were windows all around the chamber. The night wind blew in, stirring her hair as she looked back at the bed.

“No bed curtains,” Bhaic added.

There were still rails where the fabric would have hung. Bhaic stood and grasped one.

“The canopy is gone as well.” He released the rail with a disgusted grunt. “The bastard planned this well. His bully boys took me kilt while his staff had ye delivered in that transparent chemise.”

Her cheeks warmed. “It is nae transparent.”

He glanced toward her, his lips curving. “It is when ye walk near that candle.”

She gasped and crawled right over the bed to the opposite side of the room, leaving the single candle behind.

“Ye can stop playing the innocent,” he said in a tone that sounded as though it was edged with disgust.

She discovered herself stammering and fought to make her tone even. “I am nae playing at anything.”

He reached for the bedding, flipping it back to reveal only the single comforter and sheet. “Ye’re the one who decided this was a good idea.”

Her temper rose, burning away her shyness. “Compared to watching me kin killed, it was.”

He caught her in a hard look, but at least there was a flicker of agreement in his blue eyes. “It seems we are both victims of our fathers’ stubborn natures.”

“Aye,” she answered.

He very slowly slid his gaze down her body, truly looking at her like a woman instead of a Robertson. It stole her breath, sending a bolt of heat through her that she’d never experienced before.

“So why are ye blushing now, Ailis Robertson?” he asked mockingly. “Did ye nae think on just what marriage involves?”

She looked away, unable to hold his unsettling stare. Her emotions felt as if they might spill over all the boundaries she had always lived by. There was something about him that made her nervous. And to be sure, she was uncertain how to have a civil conversation with a MacPherson. Yet being rude seemed wrong. So she floundered as she tried to answer him.

“I was a bit more focused on the musket aimed at me father’s heart,” she said in a rush.

His eyes narrowed. “Ye’re forgetting I knelt beside ye for the same reason, lass.”

There was a tone in his voice that shamed her. She drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Why are ye tormenting me with accusations about not thinking on what marriage involves?” She ended up looking at the bed again, a sense of defeat pressing against her heart. “I certainly had no thought I’d be wed today.”

“We have that in common.” Their gazes met once more in a moment of unexpected agreement. He made a low sound of frustration, but his features lost their stern edge. For a moment he contemplated her, looking as uncertain as she felt. “How old are ye, Ailis?”

She wasn’t sure she liked hearing her name on his lips. It was oddly intimate. Yet they stood facing each other in their underclothes, so fitting as well.

“Twenty-two,” she answered.

“Old enough to be thinking of marriage,” he said.

“But with ye?” she asked before realizing she was insulting him. It really wasn’t wise, since the man was locked inside the chamber with her. It was just second nature; he was a MacPherson.

“Me own delight is near impossible to contain.”

His tone left no doubt that he was displeased with her. She lifted her chin, but it was only a show of bravado. She felt the distinct sting of her feelings being injured.

He was just a MacPherson. But it still hurt to realize she was hated for nothing more than the fact that she was a Robertson.

He muttered something low and moved around the bed, closing the distance between them. Her belly twisted in alarm. She scrambled over the bed again before even thinking about why he alarmed her so much. But the candle flame illuminated her the moment she stood up, so she backed away from it. That left her facing him without the bed between them.

“I will nae rape ye.”

There was something new in his tone, something that calmed her. It was disgust, but not the sort he’d aimed at her before. This was injured pride. Even if he was a MacPherson, he still had a Highlander’s honor.

But that admission left her nothing but gratitude. And duty. Men were not the only ones who had to shoulder their share of life’s burdens. She looked back at the bed, her mouth once again dry. “Ye…ye…do nae have…to.” She forced the words through her resisting lips. “I keep me promises.”

“As do I,” he confirmed in an unrelenting tone.

The urge to cry filled her. She shook it off and ordered herself to go toward the bed. At least it was dark and he wouldn’t see the tears shimmering in her eyes. Small comfort, but better than none.

She sat on the edge of the bed, finding it impossible to lift her feet.

He moved closer, sending her heart racing. She was so keenly aware of him. Her skin felt alive and eager for contact with his. Beneath the smooth fabric of her chemise, her nipples slowly drew into hard points.

Ailis raised her chin, needing to understand why he affected her so intensely. She found him watching her, his blue eyes full of something she could not understand, but it sent a bolt of heat through her. He was only a pace from her, and studied her for a long moment before he reached out and stroked her cheek.

The contact was shocking. She jumped, scooting back to the center of the bed.

He chuckled. “Noble sacrifices are nae to me taste either, Ailis.”

He placed one knee on the bed, looking as if he was testing her nerve.

“I do nae know what to do.” And she didn’t care to admit it to him either. “It is nae a shame that I am nervous. Ye are the first man I have been alone with…in a bedchamber.”

“Aye, ye’re skittish.” His expression softened for a moment; warmth that looked like compassion flickered in his eyes. But a gust of wind blew in and flattened his shirt against his lower body. For a moment, the fabric molded over his member. She stared at it and felt her cheeks burn.

“Yet still bold.” He laughed, throwing his head back and shaking with amusement.

It grated on her nerves, wounding her pride and pushing her into action. She grabbed one of the pillows and rose on her knees to swing it at his head. It made a soft “woof,” turning his head and silencing him.

“Stop mocking me, ye brute.”

He retaliated with a lightning-quick motion of his arm, sending the pillow flying across the chamber. She gasped, but he was already reaching for her and had her hauled up against his body before she finished drawing in her breath.

He clamped her against him, his embrace as strong as steel.

“Perhaps I am enjoying ye, Ailis.” He ran one of his hands down her back and cupped one side of her bottom, pulling her against his lower body. His cock pressed into her soft belly, sending a twisting sensation through her insides that left her breathless.

“Even if ye are a Robertson, I’d be a fool if I did nae admire the fact that ye are innocent. Nae every lass has the restraint to keep herself pure.”

“Nae every man either,” she accused as she pressed against his chest. All she accomplished was a new understanding of how his chest felt. There were ridges of muscle beneath the fabric of the shirt, and she enjoyed the feel of them.

“Certainly nae ye,” she continued, lashing out. She knew it but couldn’t seem to temper her anger. It was flaring up inside her, overriding everything else. She suddenly realized that she wasn’t angry. She was frightened. Of herself. She liked his embrace, his scent, and the way he touched her.

Sweet Christ. How could I?

“A man weds later than a woman.” He threaded his fingers through her hair to cup her nape. “His nature still demands the comfort only a woman’s body can provide.”

The flicker of heat in his eyes fascinated her. Along with a knowing glint that suggested he knew exactly what she was thinking. The hard outline of his cock was turning her insides to molten liquid. She felt empty, her hips twitching toward his out of pure instinct.

“It seems ye are quick enough at learning the art of seduction,” he said, his hand smoothing down her back to cup her bottom for a long moment. She felt suspended in that moment, so aware of him she ached.

Bhaic suddenly released her as though he was fighting against opening his arms.

Ailis fell back, tumbling into the center of the bed in a jumble of limbs. She rolled over and felt the brush of the night air on her thighs. With a kick, she turned over again and pushed her chemise down to cover her legs.

“I do nae care how sweet ye smell. If I bed ye, I must keep ye,” he said through his teeth, looking every bit as ferocious as she’d been raised to believe he was.

“Brute,” she accused softly. “Ye should keep yer hands from me, since ye do nae care for me as yer wife.”

He shrugged but reached down to pull something out of his boot. “Perhaps I am, but ye will nae snare me into consummating this marriage. The earl may claim he’ll return, but I doubt he’ll march an army into the Highlands when he hears we’ve annulled our union. We need only wait a season.”

The candlelight flickered off a thin blade. He lifted his leg and placed his foot in the center of the bed. A quick motion of his hand, and bright red blood dropped onto the creamy surface of the sheet. The fabric soaked it up, making each drop wider as the fibers absorbed the fluid. When there was a good-sized splotch, he pulled his leg back and replaced the dagger.

The scent of fresh blood mixed with the beeswax of the candle. The wind blew in, but she didn’t shiver with cold. Instead, she shook with relief. It swept through her, leaving her nothing but a quivering mass. She sat down, unable to hold herself up any longer.

“Thank ye.” The words left her mouth before she realized she was going to speak. It was another one of those uncontrolled responses he seemed to be able to solicit from her. It was frustrating, but she was too relieved to worry about the means of her deliverance.

Only that she had been rescued. He was a most unexpected champion, but welcome nonetheless.

She looked up and found him watching her, curiosity and a question in his eyes. So she looked away and slid her feet beneath the comforter. The goose down was wonderfully heavy and warm. She shivered and reached for the edge of it to pull it up.

He made a small sound under his breath that drew her attention. He was frustrated, his face set into hard lines as he contemplated her. Understanding hit her.

“We’re both relieved to know each of us craves an annulment, and yet shamed by the fact that we continue our fathers’ discontentment,” she offered softly, unable to think of a remedy for the situation. She certainly wasn’t going to suggest consummating their union.

“Aye, shamed is the proper word,” Bhaic agreed, “for the earl is correct. Marriages have been the traditional method of ending such feuds. I should be more open to the idea.”

He stared at her for another long moment, clearly trying to decide if he should change his mind. Ailis found herself holding her breath as he pondered her.

He sent the comforter up and over her. The edge of the bed sagged as he sat down and finished unlacing his boots. She heard him set them aside before he picked up the candle and set it near the door, leaving the bed in semidarkness. The bed ropes groaned as he lay back and settled himself beneath the comforter.

“Me brother…” she said, “is no’ an unreasonable man.”

There was a grunt from Bhaic.

“Ye both can choose what future there might be,” she continued.

The bed moved. Bhaic had rolled onto his side and propped his head into his hand as he watched her. “As I noticed before, ye are more woman than lass, Ailis. For all that I should praise ye for it, it would be best if I did nae take notice of it.” He settled back down beside her. “At least no’ while ye are wearing so little, and I have the church’s blessing to enjoy it.”

A bubble of amusement escaped from her. She just couldn’t help it.

“And now ye’re pleased with the fact that ye tax me,” he groused.

“I admit I’d never have thought such a thing before this moment,” she answered. “Ye are Bhaic MacPherson, after all.”

“And ye, Ailis Robertson are in bed…with me,” he said good-naturedly. “A brow-raising situation if ever there was one. Any man that might have suggested such a possibility would have earned himself the title of liar from me.”

“Aye.” He was warming the sheets up nicely. “Perhaps that is what to take away from this event. A willingness to welcome change.”

“Aye,” he agreed.

They didn’t touch, but their body heat mingled. The scent of his skin teased her senses, in spite of the wind blowing through the chamber.

She’d never expected a man to smell enticing.

Yet she could not deny it or ignore it. She was still awake when the moon climbed high enough for her to see it through the window. Her body was still pulsing with strange yearnings that excited her more than she cared to notice. Yet she’d be lying if she didn’t admit she had a new knowledge of her own nature. One she liked. One that gave her hope for her future, as well as a solid confidence in what had just that morning been her worst enemy. All in all, the earl had managed to begin bringing about the change he wanted.

Even if their marriage was going to be annulled.

There was still hope for a bright future.

* * *

“Sweet.”

Ailis shifted, enjoying the soft word spoken so close to her ear. She wiggled closer, drawn by the warmth. The darkest part of the night brought howling winds that chilled her nose.

So she had buried it against a warm body.

A little sigh of contentment left her lips, and she heard an answering grunt before she was pulled closer.

Still locked in sleep, she didn’t bother to consider what she was doing. There was only impulse and reaction. She was being drawn toward that warmth. Seeking it out to satisfy some yearning inside her. It felt bone deep.

“So sweet…”

This time, the words brushed her neck, followed by warm lips pressed against the sensitive skin. She twisted, her body alive with pleasure. She reached for him, sliding her hands along his chest and delighting at the feeling of his crisp hair between her fingers.

He shifted, pressing her onto her back. She rolled easily, happy to take his weight. It felt so good, so very right as he pressed a kiss against her lips. His mouth was softer than expected, his lips smooth and silken.

He tasted good.

The knowledge burst inside her head, bringing her closer to consciousness.

Men didn’t taste good. But Bhaic did.

Bhaic MacPherson.

She pulled away from the kiss, but he cupped her face and pressed his mouth over hers again. This time his kiss was demanding and harder. She struggled to recall why she had to resist. It wasn’t because it was distasteful. Pleasure was flowing down her body from the sweet contact. She wanted to kiss him back and lost the battle to think at all for several long moments. Beautiful moments of their lips slipping across each other’s, sparking a hundred different sensations that both shocked and surprised her.

But it was Bhaic MacPherson.

Her husband.

It was the word “husband” that broke the last of sleep’s hold over her. She tried to back away from him, her knee connecting with his member.

He snarled, bolting up as he woke completely.

“Ye…must…not.” She meant to sound stern but managed only a soft plea. Her tone was breathless.

He recoiled, taking the comforter with him. It was pitch-black in the room, the moon on its way to the horizon. She strained to see him, but in the darkness, the only hint of his presence came from the sound of his breathing.

The wind howled, and she shivered, her teeth chattering. It was the slap she needed to return to reality.

“Ye’re a dangerous creature, Ailis.”

The bed ropes creaked as he sent the comforter back over them both.

“Ye kissed me,” she retorted as she dug her fingers into the bedding to hold it against herself.

“Because ye pressed up against me. I warned ye. I am a man who enjoys the comfort of a woman’s body.”

“Even when it is a Robertson? I heard ye enjoy Grants.” It was her wounded pride talking. There was no other possible reason for her to crave his response to such a question.

“So that’s the game, is it?”

He rolled onto his side and propped his head with his hand. She could feel him watching her. She should have kept her mouth shut.

He suddenly chuckled. “Brenda Grant was me mistress, and she enjoyed the position well. Her husband was a selfish bastard, and once she was widowed, she was woman enough to want to know if there was pleasure in bed sport. I assure ye, I did nae disappoint her.”

His tone was wicked but at the same time enticing. The darkness only added to the temptation brewing inside her to needle him until he lost control again. Perhaps she’d not be disappointed either.

The desire shocked her. She shouldn’t want anything at all from him.

“Is that why the earl thought I’d fall for this plan?” he asked softly. “Did the man think all he had to do was get ye into me bed and I’d lose all control?”

She scooted away from him, shivering as she touched the icy-cold sheets. “I did nae know of the earl’s plans. I’d be a poor daughter if I let my sire be hanged when there was something I might do to prevent it.”

“Unless yer father was never in any danger.”

His tone was thick with accusation. She sat up. “I would nae have wed ye for any other reason.”

Her tone was equally as distrusting. The peace she’d fallen asleep dreaming of was nothing but a forgotten fantasy.

“The Robertsons do nae have the strength to defeat us,” he growled. “It’s only our mercy that keeps yer land from being overrun and burned. Little wonder ye joined with Morton to lock me into this marriage.”

“I did nae.” She lost control, reaching out to slap him. “Brute.”

The sound popped loudly, bouncing between the walls of the chamber.

“Harpy,” he snarled, capturing her wrist and pinning it to the surface of the bed.

He was strong, holding her wrist down easily. In the dark, he seemed even larger than he had during the day.

“I do nae lie.” Her voice cracked, tears easing from the corners of her eyes. She knew she had no right to expect mercy from him. By divine law, her body was his. Submission and obedience her duty.

He snorted before releasing her wrist. The bed ropes groaned as he landed on his back. “Maybe, maybe no’.”

The icy night air was a balm for her overheated skin, carrying away the heat of his body. She rolled over, scrambling to escape. The chill made her suck in her breath, but she wasn’t staying in the bed with him.

“Come back here… ’Tis too cold, lass.”

He caught a handful of her chemise and pulled her back. The fabric ripped, her body weight too much for the thin cotton.

“We shall have to suffer each other for a few more hours, Ailis.” He dropped her in the center of the bed and tossed the comforter over her. He locked an arm around her waist and settled against her back. She tried to wiggle away, and he snorted next to her ear.

“Be still, woman. Yer flesh entices me, so stop struggling, and we might yet make it to see the sun rise without being stuck with each other.”

As far as compliments went, she had never heard a worse one.

Yet she had never enjoyed one more. For without a doubt, he was sincere.

It completed her humiliation. Tears escaped her eyes.

Bhaic shifted, his touch becoming something very unexpected.

Tender.

Comforting.

But she knew it could so easily change. Despair clawed at her, making her breath catch on a silent sob. Helplessness was a cruel beast that threatened to crush her as the wind howled through the open windows, making her cringe with the cold.

“I owe ye an apology, lass.” He smoothed his hand along her cheek, capturing her tears. “Ye called me brute justly.”

“I did.”

His chest rumbled with a soft chuckle. “Agreement between us. What would our fathers say?”

She choked on a laugh. “Naught civil, I imagine.”

She heard a chuckle behind her. For one insane moment, they laughed together.

He rubbed her arms, and she relaxed. She didn’t plan to; his touch just seemed so enticing.

“I hope yer father might think kindly upon the fact that I have nae enjoyed the treat Morton tried to make of ye.”

Her insides felt as though they were tightening again.

“Yer father as well,” she countered, trying to sound as unconcerned.

He grunted. “Aye.” She was trying to edge away from him again. He released her, and she made it a few inches before the cold became unbearable. She ended up on her back, so very aware of him. It was pure insanity. Her very skin seemed more sensitive than it had been when she awoke that morning.

He chuckled softly. The sound drew her attention.

“I have never been in bed with a virgin.”

She lost her resolve to ignore him. “I should think there are worse fates.”

He laughed softly.

He reached out and picked up a lock of her hair resting near his elbow. “I’ll say this for Morton, he baits his traps well, for ye are a bonny thing.”

His words shouldn’t have pleased her.

Yet they did.

He raised the lock of hair to his face, inhaling the scent of it. Something shifted inside her. A jolt firing off some place deep inside. She looked away from him, uncertain to say the least.

A moment later, he’d captured her hand and lifted it into the air between them, their fingers mingling intimately. Her breath lodged in her throat. His touch was intense, igniting a storm of sensation that flowed through her more freely than French wine.

He was a MacPherson.

He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against it. “Aye, ye’re likely right.”

“I did nae say anything.”

He released her hand when she withdrew it, but her skin continued to tingle where he’d kissed it.

“Yer wide eyes say plenty, Ailis. Intimate conversation is something ye have no practice with.”

“Certainly no’,” she muttered, feeling her cheeks heat. “No unmarried girl is.”

He shrugged. “Do nae be so naive, lass. There are plenty of daughters in the Highlands who have nae kept their innocence for their wedding night. Ye are no meek maid, so it stands to reason that ye might have followed yer passions.”

She shifted, shaking her head before she thought better of letting him know so personal a detail about her.

His grin faded, his expression becoming pensive. “Ye deserve respect for holding on to yer virtue. It means ye have integrity and deep respect for yer father’s name.”

He lay down on his back. For a moment, she couldn’t quite believe he was truly going to leave her in peace.

Respect from a MacPherson. Truly, it had been a day full of surprises.

She was certain she couldn’t take another one.

* * *

Ailis woke to the sound of the door being unlocked. She blinked, still groggy from too little sleep and too many thoughts churning inside her head.

“At last,” Bhaic growled next to her. “Damned night lasted a month.”

“It did,” she agreed and then regretted her words when she witnessed the hard glint that appeared in his eyes. Clearly she wasn’t ready for marriage, for men needed meek words when they woke. Bhaic’s pride was wounded, and no mistake.

She had rolled onto her belly sometime during the night and had to push herself up. The door opened, and the Earl of Morton appeared in the doorway. He was wearing a fur-lined half coat and a thick, felted wool hat. She glared at the warm clothing.

“Chilly night,” he remarked as he strode boldly into the room.

“It was warm enough,” Bhaic remarked before standing up.

Two other men entered the room, and she realized one was her father. His lips were white from being pressed together so tightly. The other man was Shamus MacPherson, and he went toward his son with his kilt.

Her father held out a dressing robe for her. Ailis sat up and eagerly left the bed behind. But her father froze, his gaze on her. She looked down to see her chemise gaping open where the sleeve had been torn. One cuff was secured around her wrist, while the edges of the sleeve fluttered loose.

“Ye bloody bastard,” her father accused.

Ailis reached for the dressing robe and wrapped it around herself.

“There is nae a mark on the lass,” Bhaic responded. He was pleating his kilt on the edge of the bed, folding it with a practiced hand before slipping a belt beneath it and buckling it around his lean waist.

“I am fine, Father.”

“And wed,” the earl announced.

With both of them out of the bed, the earl had pulled down the comforter to expose the sheet. The blood had dried, turning a dark brown that stood out plainly.

“You are free to return to your land, Laird Robertson,” Morton informed him before he looked at Bhaic. “You’ll be expected to take your new bride home.”

Bhaic brushed past the earl and captured Ailis’s upper arm. He swept her from the chamber without a word. She squelched the impulse to protest.

What was she going to do? Stay in the chamber? Admit she was a maiden still?

No. Every fiber of her being rebelled against that idea. The morning sun was bright, and she itched to get into it. Escape filled her thoughts as she spied the Head of House.

“I’m off to find me dress,” Ailis said.

Bhaic made no protest. She felt an odd little twinge of regret, but it wasn’t enough to stop her from following the servant to a chamber where her dress was hung up neatly. There were times she didn’t care for the long stays in fashion, but today, she enjoyed feeling the laces closing the stiff undergarment tightly against her body.

She felt buffered against the harsher facts of reality.

But when she emerged, the Head of House led her to the high table once more. This time her father sat there, and so did Shamus MacPherson. The two spaces between the lairds were for her and Bhaic. There was something symbolic about the scene at the high table, and she would be lying if she said she didn’t think it was attractive.

Never once in her life would she have even jested about seeing her father and his enemy sitting down at the same table.

That was a sad thing to admit, a lack on her part not to see the merit of peace.

She should have thought about it, should have longed for it. The feud claimed lives every year, staining the fresh season of spring with death. Thinking of a way to end the feud should have crossed her mind and stayed as something she could not dismiss.

Perhaps she should have continued kissing Bhaic last night.

It was a strange, alien idea, but not without its merits. The earl was right about alliances ending feuds.

The regret was hard to ignore, leaving guilt to chew on her as she entered the hall and felt everyone watching her. She lifted her chin and forced her lips into a sweet curve. At least she might make sure there would be no reason for Bhaic to accuse her of blackening his name by appearing abused.

It was a beginning. A step away from the hatred she’d always accepted as the only way to think about MacPhersons.

The Earl of Morton watched them throughout the meal, his keen stare soaking up details. Ailis took the broken bread from Bhaic’s hands, once he’d blessed the meal and passed it to his father and then her own. The men watching stroked their beards and grinned. She witnessed the mood in the hall lightening, astonished by how much her actions influenced her father’s men.

“Well done, Ailis,” Bhaic whispered beside her. “Ye have shamed me with yer show of unity, and I thank ye for showing me the error of me ways.”

There was a note of appreciation in his tone that warmed her on a deep level, but she shied away from acknowledging it completely.

He wasn’t her husband, not truly.

And she was pleased. Yes. Very pleased.

Unless she thought upon the matter too long.

* * *

The Earl of Morton watched them all mount. Ailis felt a lump form in her throat again when the MacPherson retainers surrounded her. But she kept her expression serene and her thoughts on riding out of the yard.

One step at a time.

She wouldn’t think about dealing with Bhaic tonight. No. She’d focus on escaping the earl first. Bhaic was no more interested in being her husband than she was in becoming his true wife. There was no other reason for him to have left her a virgin.

She held that thought tightly, using it to fend off the panic trying to claim her.

They rode off toward MacPherson land. Her father followed them for a time before heading inland. She fought not to look after him longingly.

“I think I might accuse ye of being a skilled actress, Ailis.” Bhaic had come up beside her, looking powerful on his stallion. He didn’t linger inside the ranks of his father’s men but rode along the sides, keeping his eyes on the horizon for trouble.

“Is that because ye wish to find a new insult?” she questioned.

His eyes narrowed. “I have the right to be suspicious of ye.”

“As do I, of ye,” she countered, feeling bone tired of their clashes. “Yet that leaves us trading barbs.”

She expected him to take insult, but he surprised her by reaching down and catching her mare’s bridle. He had her reins in his grasp before she realized what he was doing. He dug his heels into his stallion’s sides and led her mare away from the MacPherson retainers. The road was surrounded by thick forest, the trees hiding them within moments of their exit from the road.

“What are ye doing?” Ailis asked.

She ordered herself to remain calm, but the idea that he might murder her still rose up to horrify her.

He turned and faced her. Ailis tried to gather her courage as she waited for him to answer her. The afternoon sunlight shone off the pommel of his sword where it rose above his left shoulder. She couldn’t help but stare at it. The earl’s men had worn swords on their hips, but Bhaic clung to the Highland ways.

“Do nae insult me by thinking I’ve brought ye out here to kill ye, Ailis.”

She jerked her gaze away from the sword to find him glaring at her.

“I am a Highlander. I do nae fight me wars through women.” There was truth edging his words.

“Then what are ye about?” she asked.

He closed his mouth and contemplated her. She could see him considering something, the look in his eyes serious.

“I witnessed something this morning I never thought to in me lifetime,” Bhaic began.

She nodded, still unsure as to how to accept the idea of seeing MacPherson and Robertson retainers breaking bread together. Truly, it might have been easier to grasp seeing a true fairy.

“I should have thought of it, and that is my shame,” Bhaic said gravely. “As the next laird, I should have considered leading me clan away from constant bloodshed. Morton spoke a solid truth: ’twas three generations ago and certainly no’ the first time a bride was stolen away in the Highlands.”

“True, as much as I detest his methods,” she admitted. “We’ll all be better for having been made to see it.”

“Aye,” Bhaic agreed.

“But I did nae plot to help him,” she added quickly. “I knew naught of his schemes.”

Bhaic wasn’t sure he believed her. She saw him considering her with doubt in his eyes. Such amazing blue eyes. They seemed full of life in a way she’d never noticed a man’s eyes might be.

“What I’m thinking about most is the fact that I saw me clansmen breaking bread with Robertsons. Something ye did much to encourage by smiling sweetly and sitting by me side with grace.”

Now he was complimenting her again, and she warmed beneath his praise.

“It was the right thing to do,” she whispered. “Since ye…treated me gently.”

He drew in a stiff breath. “It disturbs me to see ye grateful for such a thing. I am nae a monster. I do nae rape.”

“Ye’re a MacPherson.” The words were out of her mouth before she thought on them. His face darkened. “Sorry. It’s just… I do nae know any other way to think of ye. Is nae that why ye called me a liar? Because I am a Robertson?”

He nodded, conceding the point. “That brings me back to the shame of nae thinking about ending this feud. Ye did nae expect me to behave honorably.”

“Ye did.” A surprise, but a pleasant one. A dear one. Truly. She offered him a smile of gratitude.

He leaned forward. “I want ye to come home with me, Ailis.”

She recoiled, pulling on the reins out of reflex. Her mare stepped back in response. Bhaic eased his stallion forward.

“Ye did nae have to bring me out here to tell me yer will.” Disappointment edged her words and twisted cruelly through her.

He spoke slowly. “I’m asking ye.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “That did nae sound like a question.”

He shrugged, unrepentant. “I did nae have to bring ye out here and give ye a choice. So do nae quibble over the wording. I’m as shocked as ye are that I’m saying the words. Yet I would prove meself the brute ye’ve labeled me if I gave ye no choice.”

Shock held her silent for a long moment. By rights, she belonged to him. His retainers would make sure she arrived on MacPherson land even if she went bound and gagged.

But the memory of the past night rose up to torment her with how volatile their reaction to each other was. It was like some sort of combustion; when together, they lost their wits and all sense of control.

She shook her head. “We are nae good together.”

“Perhaps it was a mistake to leave ye a maiden, lass.” He eased his stallion up beside her, setting off a ripple of awareness that traveled down her body. “There is passion between us, and ye are too innocent to realize it is no’ a common thing. Ye kissed me sweetly, lass.”

“’Twas lust.”

He reached out and cupped her chin, his eyes bright with hunger. It made her breathless, when she knew it was wrong.

“Aye, but there is something more.” He leaned closer, until his breath teased the surface of her lips. “There is something deeper.”

She shivered, turning her head to avoid his lips. “Something wicked.”

He chuckled, the sound low and menacing. A warning bell went off inside her mind, but it was too late. He’d leaned over and scooped her off her mare before she could react.

She gasped and grabbed for the only solid thing she could reach. Which was Bhaic. It was instinct, the need to feel something solid instead of being suspended in midair.

When she landed in his lap, his stallion sidestepped nervously.

“Nae wicked if we’re wed, lass.”

“Well… I suppose…”

He captured her head and tilted his to the side so he might fit their lips together. This time, there was no hold from slumber to interfere in the intensity of the kiss.

His kiss.

It was shattering. The connection so hot, she felt her insides melting once again. Her heart began to pound, but she didn’t care. She wanted to kiss him back and mimicked the motions of his lips as she learned the art. He growled softly through the kiss, startling her with the ferocity of his response.

She pushed against him, ducking beneath his arm and sliding down the side of his stallion.

“Sweet Christ, Ailis!”

The horse danced away, screaming with displeasure. She ran after her mare and used a rock to mount.

“That was a bloody insane risk to take!” Bhaic scolded her.

He was right. Her father would have thrashed her for being so careless near a stallion. One kick could have split her skull.

But a lifetime of sense had abandoned her the moment he kissed her. It was overwhelming and suffocating. She gathered up the reins and pointed her mare in the direction of Robertson land. She leaned low over the horse’s neck as it took off. Once they cleared the forest, Ailis gave the mare free rein.

In spite of the pounding of her mount’s hooves, she heard Bhaic giving chase. She refused to look over her shoulder, forcing herself to believe she could outrun him.

He truly was the monster she’d been raised to fear.

If she stayed near him, he’d devour even her soul.

* * *

The head of his father’s retainers drew up beside Bhaic. Ronald watched Ailis as she rode across the borderland between Bhaic’s father’s and hers.

“Are we pleased about the little lass’s escape or no’?”

Bhaic resisted the urge to smash Ronald in the jaw. The impulse soured his mood even further.

No woman had ever affected him so violently. And he’d never been unhappy to see a Robertson fleeing from him.

It was a sensation he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with. Women were enjoyable but never too distracting. He had matters to see to, important ones that didn’t allow for any sort of obsession.

So it was better that Ailis Robertson was on her way.

“I’ll have the marriage annulled next year,” Bhaic told his captain. “That should give the councilors surrounding the king enough time to become disenchanted with the Earl of Morton and his ideas on ruling the country.”

Ronald cocked his head to one side. “That will be difficult, what with the stained sheet.”

“It was nae the lass’s blood. She’ll agree. As ye can see, she has no taste for this union.”

Surprise widened Ronald’s eyes before he grinned. “In that case, ripping her chemise was a fine bit of trickery.”

“Aye,” Bhaic answered even as the memory surfaced to needle him.

Convincing a female to share his bed was a favorite challenge, and he’d enjoyed having Ailis in his bed. The moments of the night replayed across his mind, tempting him to set his heels into the sides of his stallion and run her down. Ronald was watching him, picking up the indecision on his face. Bhaic cursed. The lass would have a right to call him a brute if he chased her down with half his men along.

The Earl of Morton was right about one thing though: it was a changing world. Ships were sailing farther, discovering new lands, and Rome was losing its grip on the world. Still, he wasn’t willing to resort to forcing a woman into his bed. He knew she’d enjoyed his kiss, and the thought made him chuckle.

She was a virgin all right.

And one who had been sheltered when it came to the coarser nature of men. Her father truly was to be commended for making sure his men kept their dallying from her eyes. No’ just any laird could manage such a feat. Castles were large, and Highlanders were lusty by nature. Sundown offered dark passageways for liaisons. Even the laird’s daughter was bound to see the blunt realities of life if someone wasn’t minding her chastity.

He grunted, his respect for his father’s enemy growing again.

Ailis had cleared the ridge and disappeared down the other side of it.

She had the right idea. It had been insanity to ask her to stay. She would have distracted him. What he needed was a wife who would bear his children and welcome him into a warm bed when he had time for her.

Nothing else.

But it was still the first time he’d been displeased to see a Robertson fleeing his father’s land.

* * *

“Only a MacPherson would fail to see what a gem me daughter is.”

Ailis sent her father a stern look, but he ignored her.

“Mind ye, I was dead set against the marriage, but me daughter is a true Robertson. She puts her clansmen above herself,” Liam Robertson continued. His captains hung on his words, and the servants nodded as they performed their duties. Young lookouts fidgeted behind the captains, their eyes glowing with hatred for the MacPherson.

It sickened her, and unleashed a wave of guilt powerful enough to drown her.

Perhaps she should have taken Bhaic’s offer. A shiver worked its way across her skin. A month later, she shouldn’t have been so sensitive to the memory.

But she was.

It played and replayed in her dreams. She woke swearing she smelled Bhaic in her bed, detected his warmth between the sheets. Felt his kiss lingering on her lips.

It was the cruelest sort of torment, which bred a growing longing inside her. It made no sense, unless Bhaic had been correct about her being old enough for marriage.

Was it so simple?

She hoped so.

Fleeing from him wasn’t sitting well with her. It was cowardly, and there was no way to soften it. She’d run from him. Fled from the intensity, from the overwhelming sensation his touch unleashed.

Maybe she was ready for marriage.

“Father, I am looking forward to May Day.”

Her father paused, looking at her as he tried to drop the subject of how terrible the MacPhersons were. A renewed sense of guilt assaulted her when she witnessed how much effort it took. It was sad indeed to see that they didn’t know how to talk about anything except the feud. She felt a hint of responsibility for keeping the fighting going, because they never stopped fanning the flames. Well, it was time.

“Aye, it will be a fine market fair.”

He returned to talking to his captains, but Ailis felt a bit of relief.

May Day was the perfect time to begin looking for a husband.