The Highlander's Bride (3 page)

The ache in his loins grew as he watched her dress, unable to turn away. The unmarked portion of her skin, now clear of the dirt and blood, was exquisite. It had been kissed by the afternoon sun, making it appear warm and sensuous. He shook his head, ran his fingers roughly through his hair, and tried to gather his thoughts. He was filled with waves of emotions—lust, possessiveness, need, and an overwhelming urge to keep her safe.

When he finally moved into the clearing, Laurel had donned her delicate thin chemise and was trying to pull on her bliaut. Both were still fairly damp from her attempt at washing them. She should have been embarrassed or at least uncomfortable by his appearance and her state of undress. Instead, she only felt relief.

She looked at him beseechingly. “Could you please help?”

He gripped the damp garment and took it completely off of her. “I need to examine your ribs.” Her teal-colored eyes darted around the small clearing as if she expected others to approach.

“No one will see you. The others know that I am seeing to your safety,” Conor stated.

She snatched her bliaut from his hands and covered her chest. “My ribs are fine, really.”

Conor was not deterred. “Your breaths have been shallow all day, and you winced every time my horse had to turn.”

Her eyes widened. “I’m just bruised. I assure you I am fine. I will not be any trouble,” Laurel said, backing away.

Conor was getting annoyed. “Stop cowering. I will not harm you.”

Laurel shot him a look of contempt. “I am no coward, sir, and I will tell you now that I
have never
cowered.” Heated emotion flooded her eyes, turning them the color of a North Sea storm again. “I just do not wish you to feel my—my ribs,” she finished in a bit of a fluster.

“Fine, my English mystery, you are no coward. But I
will
be looking at your ribs.” He reached out and held her gently, but firmly, giving her no choice but to submit to his examination. He started gently pressing on her ribs one by one.

“Breathe, lass.”

Laurel was trying to, but, with his hands touching her so tenderly, it was impossible. She had never been around a man quite like this Conor. He was huge, but kind. A warrior, but a protector. When he was near her, like this, she never wanted him to leave. Oh, what was wrong with her? The sheer closeness of his body with hers made her feel incredibly alive and aware that she was a woman with physical needs and desires.

She gasped and then moaned. She tried not to, but he kept probing. “Enough,” she softly cried, “please, no more.” She collapsed against him.

He held her gently, stroking her hair. “It’s all right, lass. It’s all right.” He waited until she had stopped trembling. He lifted her chin. And what happened next he would blame on those sea-colored eyes.

As he softly brushed his lips against hers, Conor felt a sharp tug in the vicinity of his groin. Her lips were full and yielding underneath his. He continued his miniature foray into heaven and felt her quiver against his chest.

Instinctively he reached up and cupped her head so he could increase the intensity. As he slanted his mouth against hers, his tongue coaxed her lips open and deepened the kiss with tender possessiveness. She responded so innocently, so naturally, it unnerved him at his core. Never had a woman affected him this profoundly, this quickly. He gradually broke off the kiss and stepped away for a minute trying to catch his breath.

Laurel didn’t know what to think. The kiss had ended much as it had begun, like part of a dream. This man completely unsettled her like no one had ever done before. Last night he was supportive, this morning cold and aloof, and now, with a simple kiss, he had stirred up feelings and physical reactions she had not known she possessed. The only thing she was sure of was that he had saved her life.

Conor took several deep breaths before speaking. “You have two cracked ribs that must be bound before you finish dressing. The binding should help ease the pain when riding. We have several more days journey ahead.” He controlled his breathing and steadied his voice, but he had no means to quench his throbbing need for her. The kiss was supposed to have ended this strange attraction. Instead, it was like fuel to a fire.

She nodded, knowing that he was correct. She watched him tear a strip of cloth from the bottom of his leine to bind her ribs. Every touch seemed to remind her of the physical need he had awakened deep within her. It was only after they returned to camp and were within hearing of the group did she feel calm enough to talk.

“Are we safe here?” she asked no one in particular.

“Aye, milady. We are on allied land now,” Loman replied readily. Loman was typically good-humored and eager to please. Yet on the battlefield, he was a terrifying sight to the enemy. He had lighter features, was extremely lean and muscular, and—grinning as he was now—he seemed harmless. But Laurel remembered his demeanor the night he had found her struggling with Seamus, and knew he was not in the least harmless.

She faced the guardsman and smiled. “Please call me Laurel.”

Loman glanced at Conor, whose glower clearly made it known that no one was to be given the right to use her given name. That right was reserved for him, and him alone. “No, milady, it would not be proper.”

“But surely you do not intend to keep calling me ‘my lady’?”

Loman gulped. “Aye, milady. Until my laird tells me otherwise.” Loman quickly retreated under Conor’s withering gaze. Regardless of previous words, his laird was making it plain this Englishwoman was unavailable. Loman wondered how Hamish would react to his laird’s decision.

Laurel walked over to the campfire and accepted the offering of the youngest brother’s plaid. “Only if you will sit by me,” she made him promise.

Using her fingers, she began to untangle the mats in her wet hair and let it dry in the heat of the flame. The brothers all stared as if they had never seen a woman with blonde hair before. As she continued to work the knots, Laurel decided to divert their attention and get to know her champions better.

“You are highlanders,” she stated, as if she already knew it to be a fact. She received nodded heads for a response. She leaned over and whispered into the youth’s ear, “What is your name, highlander?”

The boy beamed. “Clyde. These are my brothers—Cole, Craig and Crevan, they’re twins, then Conan and myself. Conor is our laird. The only one not here is Colin.”

“Colin? Why isn’t he here?”

“He just got married.”

“Oh,” she replied. “And with what highland clan am I privileged to share this fire?”

“We are McTiernays,” said Conan, who sat on her other side, with pride. She wondered if the McTiernays were a large or powerful clan. If so, whom did she just allow to kiss her? And why did he? She forced herself to concentrate and pursue a different topic.

“Do you know where we are heading?”

“
We
are heading home,” replied the one Clyde had indicated as Cole. He looked to be the oldest of the brothers, besides Conor.

“Where is home, Cole?” she tested to see how he reacted to her familiarity.

“Far from England,” he replied directly. It was obvious that, while he didn’t want to see her hurt, he was still not liking the idea of Laurel joining them on their travels. She rose cautiously and walked over to stand next to him. She did not look at him directly but stared straight ahead, mimicking Cole’s cool stance.

“If you think it best I leave, Cole, I will.”

Her directness startled him. She smelled of flowers, and he could not deny her loveliness. She was by far the most bonnie lass he had ever seen. And the most abused. Despite his hatred for all things English, even he could not deny her help and leave her without protection.

“No, milady. I would not wish anyone to live with a Douglass.”

“Douglass? Why would I ever return there?” she asked loudly enough for the others to overhear.

“Is that not where you’re from, milady? We saw you pale at the mention of their name this morning, and we were camping fairly close to their border,” Craig interjected.

Laurel returned to Clyde’s side and sat down again. “No, I am not from anywhere near those hateful people.”

Laurel tried to discourage conversation about her origins by pretending to concentrate on her hair. She had managed to free most of the major tangles. Spying a loose piece of lace on her torn sleeve, she pulled it completely free and attempted to tie her hair back. Yet, every time she reached to bind it, she retracted in pain.

Conor saw Hamish, who had been hovering nearby, go to help her. Swiftly, Conor interrupted his guard, took the lace ribbon from Laurel’s hands, and hastily tied back her hair.

Though he tried to be quick, the feel of her soft locks and their clean smell of flowers were unnerving to his senses. Even with her hair pulled high on her head, the waves of curls still reached her lower back. He would be tormented for the rest of his days because he had touched such maddening beauty.

Conor then moved to the outskirts of the campsite as if to check the perimeter. He needed to regain control of his rising desire to know what it would be like to feel her beneath him, moaning his name.

Hamish followed. “I need to know your intentions, laird.”

Conor nodded. He recognized his guard’s desire for Laurel. He also realized that, while he may be fighting his own need for her, he could not endure knowing Laurel was with another man.

“She’s mine.”

Hamish digested this. He was unsure of how to proceed. Conor was his laird and had his loyalty in all things. But Hamish also wanted to make sure that his laird was serious about Laurel and, if not, he wanted it to be known that he was.

“Does she know this?”

“It does not matter.”

“Do you know what happened? What if she is married?”

“She is not.” Conor’s voice was hard and inflexible.

Hamish was not satisfied. “What of her family? Will they be looking for her? What will you tell them?”

“What would
you
tell them, Hamish?” Conor countered, stopping to look his guardsman in the eye. Hamish did not flinch under the direct questioning glare.

“I would tell them that she would never be hurt again. That I would protect and support her as long as there was breath in my body.”

Conor turned back to the path and continued walking. “I would tell them the same.” With that, Conor left Hamish and returned to the group.

Laurel was running. She was gasping for air and, with each breath, a knife-like pain sliced through her side. She pushed herself harder, faster. Something evil, dark with black eyes, was in pursuit and if it caught her, everyone she loved would die. Somehow she knew the terrifying presence would never stop hunting her. Just as she was about to collapse from exhaustion, someone, large and faceless, lifted her and carried her high above the trees towards majestic blue-gray mountains capped with snow. There, she was safe from the hatred below. Peace settled around her like a dense fog on a cool morning and sleep was finally possible.

Conor, a light sleeper, was awakened early in the night by Laurel’s agitated slumber. She was dreaming and unmistakably terrified. He realized, seeing her panicked expression, that her shield of pride she wore when awake had been masking much of her true fear. He reached down to gently wake her, but it seemed to inflame her dream state even more. Only when he sat down and gathered her into his arms did she finally seem to calm.

Laurel awoke in the middle of the night feeling safe and warm. She thought that sleep must be clouding her mind, for she seemed to be resting her head on Conor’s shoulder and one of her legs was cast over his. The intimate and inappropriate position of their bodies was undeniable.

Laurel didn’t move. Oh, she knew that she should, but never had she felt more extraordinarily comfortable in her life. She closed her eyes. In his arms, she found a safe haven that would be gone by morning. Conor was always the first to rise so no one would know, she told herself. So instead of moving away as a proper English lady should, Laurel remained where she was, savoring every moment of being close to Conor until she fell back into a peaceful sleep.

Conor awoke when she did. Her soft, warm breaths had turned shallow for a couple of minutes, and he wondered if she would distance herself from him. When she did not, he wanted to believe that she enjoyed and craved their embrace as much he did. More likely she was just cold, and he provided the physical warmth she needed.

He tried not to think about how wonderful it was having her by his side. He dismissed the smell of lilacs and the way it felt when she sighed her light feathery kisses of air across his chest, and concentrated on returning to sleep. He forced himself not to stroke the silky golden locks of hair that randomly found their way into his hands. Sleep finally came again, but not quickly.

The next morning, when it was time to mount their horses and leave, both Hamish and Loman volunteered to have Laurel ride with them. However, each of the brothers argued that she should ride with a McTiernay. Laurel, not wanting to antagonize any man or show preference, stood in the middle of the broken campsite searching for a diplomatic solution. Conor experienced mixed feelings of relief and strain when he settled the dispute by having her ride with him.

Their soul-shaking kiss followed by their sharing a plaid throughout most of the night had done nothing to quell his growing desire to possess her. Her calm demeanor and quiet courage only fueled his growing fire of need. Touching her all day was going to be hell, but one he strangely welcomed enduring.

He rode up to Laurel, reached down and said, “You ride with me.” She smiled at him, and as she expected, her highlander scowled back in return. She was getting to understand this gentle giant better.

Laurel was feeling better today. Conor had been correct about binding her ribs. The added support was making it a much easier ride than on the previous day. She was taking in the beautiful countryside and saw the green, tree-filled mountains they were approaching.