The Highlander's Bride (4 page)

“Are those the highland mountains?” she asked, pointing to where they were headed.

He chuckled in response, and she could feel his laughter vibrate throughout his body. “No, lass. Those are but wee hills separating the border Scots from the central Scots.”

Laurel looked at the huge rocks jutting into the sky. Wee hills?

“The highlands are the most grand lands of Scotland. They tower over the rest. Only the strongest can survive there.”

Laurel could hear the pride in his voice when he spoke of his northern high country.

“Tomorrow, we will be well into the valley of the central Scots. In the morning, as we crest the hills, you may be able to see several lochs to the west.” Laurel smiled, remembering that was how her grandfather had referred to lakes or bodies of water.

“The valley stretches from the southwest to the northeast along the mountain line, cutting across the center of Scotland to separate her highlands from her border regions.”

“How long will we be in the valley?” she inquired.

“We shall be out of the valley by day after tomorrow. Watch the terrain. It will change as we get closer.”

Laurel had already noticed that the red sandstone and limestone that were characteristic of her homeland and the border lands were changing. As they rode on, the red sandstone remained, but it was now sprinkled with an unusual dense, dark-gray, fine-grained rock that was peppered with holes. She remembered her grandfather explaining its features were caused by the cooling of melted rock. Even now, it was difficult for Laurel to conceive rock so hot that it melted and then changed form after it cooled.

After their noon break, they proceeded north entering Clyde valley, which cut across the southern middle of Scotland. It was a beautiful combination of riverine and gorgeous ash and elm woodlands that were extensively covered with lush ground flora. Laurel had never seen the like.

She could feel Conor relax some and knew they must be in friendly territory once again. It was amazing how he was able to tell just by his surroundings exactly where he was in relation to his friends and enemies. After riding with him all day yesterday and now today, she could sense when they were on friendly land and able to speak.

“Clyde said that all the McTiernays were traveling home with the exception of Colin. Who is he? Will he be returning soon?”

“Colin is the second McTiernay and, in answer to your other question, no, he will be staying with his new wife’s family, helping out with their guard and eventually becoming their laird.”

“Isn’t it unusual for a husband to assume the role of laird in a clan?”

“Sometimes. But, in this case, Deirdre Dunstan was the eldest of Dunstan’s children—all girls.”

“Similar to the McTiernays—all boys,” Laurel said and smiled, looking ahead.

“Similar, but no. Without boys to become laird, someone must fight for the title. In Dunstan’s case, his clan is small but strong. If Colin becomes laird, the alliance among our clans will be near unbreakable.”

“Because you are brothers,” she tried to understand.

“Because Colin is strong, skilled, capable and most important, trustworthy.”

“Ah, he will be loyal.”

“He is my brother.” Laurel silently shook her head, amused at his circular logic.

They rode a little further, and Laurel gathered her nerve to ask a personal question.

“Why haven’t you married?”

Conor unconsciously raised his shoulders in a shrug. “I have no reason to search for a good match.”

“A good match?” Laurel asked, confused.

“I have no need to marry. I have alliances with the clans I want to be united with. My brothers will continue the McTiernay line and as for physical…well, that requires no contract of commitment.”

They rode on, each absorbed in private thoughts. Laurel had enjoyed the conversation with him up until hearing his opinion on the three reasons why men marry women. He thought a man and a woman only married due to some external need. What about love, affection, and friendship?

Conor sensed her stiffen in reaction to what he had said, but she did not contradict him. Maybe she understood and agreed with him. But, then again, a lady usually wanted babies, a family and companionship. And these things were not possible without marriage. He was not sure how he felt about such things himself, now that he had met her. The concept of marriage was still not pleasant, but the idea of having a family with Laurel sounded surprisingly appealing.

That night, Conor made camp in a very small clearing that was not located near a water source. Laurel was surprised by his decision, knowing they had recently passed several larger areas with streams nearby. She thought about asking why he chose this place to make camp, but sensed that she would not get an answer.

Later, after they shared their meal, the brothers began their nightly jovial conversation, littered with familial rivalry and torment. Laurel listened to their camaraderie and was saddened that she and her brother Ainsley had never been close or shared this type of sibling bond.

Besides her mother, she could only recall true affection for one other person—her grandfather. The big Scotsman had told her stories, taught her how to ride horseback, and had proclaimed her the loveliest Scottish lass who had ever been. She knew he had been biased, but it was one of her most cherished memories.

It was strange that she could not remember her father with as much affection. While her mother was alive, he was attentive and warm. But she always knew that her father had wanted another son and not a daughter. She could not erase his words of disappointment that her mother had not born him another heir. Ainsley was his firstborn, a son produced from his first wife who had died shortly after his birth. It had been an arranged marriage, her mother had told her. But she and Laurel’s father had married for love despite all the obstacles between them—mainly Laurel’s grandfather, who was against his daughter’s marriage to an Englishman.

Laurel understood her grandfather’s confusion. After spending time in both Scotland and England, it was hard to understand why her mother chose to live in a cold, harsh world far from the laughter and singing that filled her grandfather’s home. When her mother died, her father remarried again, but never sired another heir. He began running his life the way he ran his home—coldly, rigidly and emotionally detached from anyone who would show him warmth. He was never harsh or severe to his children, just distant.

For several years after her mother’s death, he allowed Laurel to continue visiting her grandfather during the warmer months of the year. But, as she got older, permission to meet with her Scottish relatives diminished until it was no more. Twice, she was to be married to a neighboring baron and, twice, the baron died before the wedding took place. The first died in battle, the second from old age.

It wasn’t until her father’s death that Laurel felt the weight of her bleak future lessen. Her brother was disinclined to give her a dowry and find her a husband. He consistently let her know that she was either too tall, too slender or too clever with her tongue to interest any man. But when Ainsley secured his own marriage to a neighboring woman who would give him access to power, money, and connections, his sister became a liability.

Recognizing her opportunity, Laurel approached Ainsley carefully with the idea that he discard his familial responsibilities without repercussions. Only after several months of cunning work did he agree to let Laurel go to her grandfather’s. He made only one stipulation—she had to promise never to return again. His words still rang in her ears.

“Fine—be a filthy Scot. But neither I, nor any of my family, will ever welcome or acknowledge you again. Once my men have successfully escorted you to your precious Scotland, my duty towards you will be forever ended.”

She had quickly agreed. The moment Laurel crossed into Scotland, she had mentally and emotionally shed all things English and fully embraced her Scottish heart.

She blinked a couple of times, aware that she had been preoccupied for some time. The brothers’ conversation had ended and everyone had prepared for sleep except her. Laurel looked around for Conor, but only his younger brothers were in sight. She saw that someone had found Conor’s plaid and arranged it for her to lie down.

Several hours later Laurel was dreaming of being chased, and again she was saved just as she was giving up. She awoke and realized Conor was caressing her hair and soothing her with soft, reassuring words. As he lured her back to sleep, Laurel wished he would always be there to save her from her nightmares in both sleep and reality.

Laurel woke a second time in the middle of the night, but this time not because of a dream. Conor was gone. She knew he must have just left her side as the plaid was still warm. She glanced around and saw Conor and three guardsmen gathering their horses to leave. They were speaking Gaelic to a fourth man—Loman. They were going to bring back something from a nearby cabin. Loman was to have the camp broken and everyone ready to ride by dawn. They would leave immediately upon their return.

Laurel quickly laid back down, feigning sleep. She did not want them to realize she had overheard—and understood—their Gaelic conversation.

Conor and his men were going raiding. While he did not consider raiding truly dangerous, it had not been a planned activity for their trip home. Conor would have preferred to not to have his youngest brothers so close to potential danger. But they would be safe enough, he mused, and Laurel needed her own horse.
He
needed Laurel to have her own horse.

When she fell asleep against him while riding this afternoon, Conor found it difficult to focus on potential dangers. Her scent made it near impossible to concentrate, and each time she shifted to rest more comfortably against him made his mind contemplate ways he would like to touch and distract her. She seemed to fit him better than his armor. It was as if she were made only for him and would fit just him.

He dismissed the idea of having her ride with someone else. At first, he told himself that his brothers were already lovesick over the woman, and that he didn’t want to distract his guardsmen, either. But, that evening, when he held Laurel in his arms, comforting her in her sleep through one of her many nightmares, he realized that he didn’t want anyone touching her or holding her like he had. She was his to protect and to hold and he was not going to relinquish that right to anyone, not even to Finn—his happily married commander who apparently was the only man alive immune to Laurel’s charms.

Hence, they were going raiding. Just a small raid. A fast moonlight ride, a quick plunder, then one horse would vanish and they would disappear back to the north.

Earlier, Conor had spotted a small farmhouse with several stout horses, isolated from its neighbors. Tomorrow, that farmer would be short one gray horse. He had been waiting for just such an opportunity. Dwellings near towns had added obstacles to be surmounted. Towns were more secure and tended to be well defended with local watches, and the livestock was often brought in at night.

However, this farmhouse was not near a town, and the Stirling clan was still recovering from their recent losses at the Battle of Falkirk and Robert the Bruce’s last successful siege against Edward I to regain these lands. It was highly unlikely anyone would avenge the pinching of a single horse.

Conor plotted his time and their route, and prepared his assault.

Late the next morning, Laurel was still somewhat shocked to be riding her own horse. It was a beautiful gray stallion that was sure-footed despite being unshod. Conor assured her that it would be strong, swift, and only need limited grooming. Although the highlanders cared for their animals, Laurel had noticed that grooming was not something that any of them particularly enjoyed.

She decided to name her horse Borrail. Borrail was one of her grandfather’s guards who had been charged to watch over her when she was young. He, like her new horse, fit the name, which in Gaelic meant swaggering, boastful, haughty and proud. Ironically, though, when translated into English, Borrail was pronounced Borrel, which meant a man was plain, rude and a boor. Laurel had often wondered as a child why so many Gaelic words had opposite meanings in English.

Finn, after speaking with Conor, fell back to ride next to her.

“Conor said that you might be interested in our progress and our lands.”

Laurel visibly brightened. “Oh, yes. The variation of your land is fascinating and beautiful.”

Finn noted her sincere appreciation. “Ah, lass. You have not seen beauty until you see the highlands. And then, the most majestic sights of all are the McTiernay mountains.”

Laurel smiled and replied, “Conor feels the same.” As he nodded in acknowledgement, she asked, “Finn, where are we now?”

“We are now approaching Scotland’s ‘waist’ where our country is the narrowest.” Laurel looked around, but could see no narrowing. The “waist” must not be that tapered for neither coastline was in sight.

“We will be entering Forth Valley soon, which acts as a gateway to the highlands. The Stirlings are our allies. They fought alongside us with Wallace and our king, Robert the Bruce. Only a few years ago did Robert lay siege to their castle and regain it from the English.”

Apprehension stirred within Laurel. “Will we be visiting Stirling Castle?” She had hoped not. Finn said they were Conor’s allies, but someone might spread word back to the Douglasses if they saw her traveling with them. Besides, how would she explain her appearance?

“No. I tell you so that if you see their soldiers, you will not be afraid. They know Conor and respect him. They will let us pass.”

Laurel wondered about Stirling Castle. It was an old fort dating back before Alexander I. The battles waged between the English and the Scots, especially those of William Wallace, were well known. She wished to see it—if only from a distance.

Soon they crested what seemed to be a small, insignificant peak, but then the mighty River Forth the men had described during the morning meal came fully into view. This powerful river was the source of the swift cool streams she had bathed in just that morning. Once winter came, the streams the large river fed would be dangerous to pass until the water receded after the spring thaw. To the northwest, she saw a beautiful stretched piece of land. Not hills, but waves of smooth grass-covered country full of natural beauty and partially hidden bodies of water.

“Finn, what’s that area called?”

“The Trossachs, milady. Aye, ’tis pretty. But if you are waiting for true beauty, wait until we reach the McTiernay mountains nestled in the highlands. Rolling lands rivaling the Trossachs await us there nestled by powerful enduring peaks capped with snow. Aye, pure majesty hits the eye from the seat of the McTiernays.” Finn nudged his horse then moved forward to join Conor.

Laurel watched the two well-built men discuss something and wondered about Conor and the McTiernays. They seemed to be such a proud, close clan. The respect and admiration they had for their laird—both guardsmen and brothers alike—was almost tangible. She suspected that all Conor’s men responded to him similarly.

The way they spoke of their highlands, specifically McTiernay lands, made Laurel think she would like to live there until winter had passed. Would it be possible? Would she, an Englishwoman, be accepted? Cole was beginning to warm to her, but he had been forced to accept her company.

During their noon meal, Conor called a longer halt to give their mounts a rest. They had ridden the horses fairly hard for most of the morning. He also wanted to check on Laurel, her ribs, and how she was faring riding alone.

“Laurel, walk with me.” Conor commanded. His tone did not indicate that she had any option but to follow. He started walking away from the group towards some rocks surrounded by brush and elm trees.

“Yes, laird,” she retorted, responding cynically to his authoritative tone of voice.

He abruptly stopped and turned around. For some reason, he did not like Laurel calling him laird. Granted, that was how all the women of his clan referred to him. But when it came to Laurel, he wanted her to use his proper name. He didn’t want to be just laird to her. The idea that she saw him only as her protector and temporary leader unsettled him. Agitating him further was the concept of being disturbed by what a woman—especially an Englishwoman—called him.

“You will call me Conor,” he instructed, looking straight into her eyes. Would he ever get used to their ever-changing brilliance? One minute they were dark as a sea storm, and then the next moment they were as they were now, crystal clear, luminous, like the sun sparkling on a Scottish loch. The lass was bewitching his very soul.

“But Finn said that everyone refers to you as laird or Laird McTiernay, never as Conor.”

Conor’s jaw tightened. “Laurel, understand this. You will not call me laird. I am not your laird. To you, I am Conor.” He turned and started walking briskly towards his original goal.

Laurel was unsure whether this was a good thing or not. Not her laird? Was he not her protector? The hero who saved her each night in her dreams? She decided to look at his demand more positively. His brothers sometimes called him Conor. Maybe he only allowed those close to him to use his given name. No, Finn was definitely close to his chieftain. Mayhap, it was because she was a woman.

She frowned at the thought. It was unsettling to think of the many women in his clan calling him Conor. It seemed…intimate. “Does anyone else besides your brothers call you Conor?” she asked his back as he continued to lead her deeper into the woods.

“Of course.”

Her heart dropped suddenly and quickly. “Umm, do any females call you Conor?”

“You do.”

“Yes, yes. But besides me,” Laurel said, frustration mounting.

“Besides you what?”

Laurel pursed her lips together. “You are by far, the most aggravating, infuriating,
large
man. You think because of your size you can tell people what to do and they will do it. Well, I have news for you,
laird
, I will never be one of those people. You may be a giant, but I am not afraid of you.” She stopped and glared at him. When he didn’t respond and continued his march forward, she prompted, “So…?” Still no answer.

“Conor, are you trying to be obtuse? Are you trying to make me angry?” Laurel practically shouted at him. When he did not answer, she went over to a rock and refused to budge, letting her aggravation become even more evident. When he stopped and looked back at her, she gave him her most challenging smile.