The Highlander's Bride (6 page)

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.

Craig pressed on. “I mean she needs you, you need a wife, she’s more than pretty and…and…well—Conor, she’s not afraid of you.” He turned and directed the question to her.

“Are you? I mean, are you afraid of Conor?”

Laurel’s eyebrows furrowed at the notion. “Of course I am not afraid of Conor. What a ridiculous idea. I may be frequently aggravated where your brother is concerned, but I am not afraid of him.”

This answer resulted in a bunch of grinning McTiernays. These highlanders were really a baffling bunch.

“Laurel,” she turned to look at him when Conor spoke, “one more thing. You will be living in McTiernay Castle.”

His clarification was heard, but not well received. Her regal but defiant stance was unbending. “I will not. It would not be proper.”

“I thought you were disinterested in being a lady.”

“I may not be interested in
society’s
rules for proper conduct, but I still will not live under your roof.”

“You will.”

“No, I will not.”

Conor leaned down and whispered into her ear. “Love, trust me, you will.”

She twisted to reply. Pain suddenly ripped through her side, but it did not deter her from responding. “Conor, if you make me, you will rue the day,” she promised in return. Just as he was lifting his head to move away, Laurel grasped his shirt and kept him near.

“Conor, I really must leave,” she whispered.

Misunderstanding, Conor believed she meant to go her own way the next day, and that he would never see her again. Suddenly, he was full of panic. Although no one would know to look at him, he was seized with fear that Laurel would leave him—that she wanted to leave him, and soon. He instantly decided never to let that happen. Regardless of her wishes, Laurel was staying with him until he decided it was over.

“Never. You will never leave,” he stated with far more bite than he intended.

“I don’t think you understand. I should not have been so reckless, throwing the daggers,” she whispered back.

The daggers? What did the daggers have to do with her leaving? He decided that this discussion needed to continue in private. He gave everyone menacing glares for them to retreat to their previous activities. He then grabbed Laurel’s arm and started hauling her towards the river.

“Conor, please,” she softly cried as tears started welling in her eyes.

Immediate concern enveloped him. “Laurel? Why are you crying?”

“As I said, I shouldn’t have thrown those damn daggers. But I did. My pride always was a source of problems for me,” she sniffled.

“What about those daggers has you so wound up?”

“My ribs are killing me. I twisted too fast and the bindings gave. The pain is getting fairly unbearable. I didn’t realize how much the bindings helped, but it hurts even to breathe now. Can you—can you help me to the river and rebind them?”

Relief and then dread filled his veins simultaneously. She wasn’t leaving him at all. In fact she needed him! But his desire to touch her was barely controllable as it was. Whenever he was close to her, the elusive, womanly scent of her tugged at his insides, arousing him. If he were so near to her again, he would surely cave into his desire.

Through an extraordinary act of will, Conor suppressed his passions and led her to the river. Once he helped her unbind the twisted fittings, he waited out of sight while she bathed and prepared for the night.

He went farther down the river to bathe himself. Unfortunately, the cold water did little to calm his craving for her. Conor thought how alive he had felt the first time he had held Laurel. An overwhelming sense of rightness he had never experienced before—the need to have her—pulsed through him like fire. By the time he returned, his need for her was all-consuming. She had her all-too-feminine chemise on and was waiting for him to help with the bindings.

“Sorry,” he said roughly, referring to having kept her waiting.

“Hmm? Oh, that’s all right,” she said, staring at his shirt that was molded to his chest. He must have bathed as well and dressed while still wet. He was so solid and strong, and his semi-wet top emphasized the natural elegance of his powerful frame. The hair on his chest was dark and tapered as she lowered her gaze. She had not realized how much the loose linen shirt hid. What had not occurred to her was that she had dressed after bathing in the same wet state, her thin, lacy chemise clinging and revealing her well-formed body.

Conor, though, was well aware of her garment and how it hugged every inch of her. He could concentrate on little else. Her breasts were ample, and he could see the rosy nipples through the thin cloth. The chemise was molded to her hips, leaving him no doubt as to her curves and beauty. The tightness in his loins multiplied.

“Conor?” Laurel inquired as she innocently handed him the bindings he had used last time. “If you could assist me just one more time. I didn’t realize how much they were helping me.”

He took the wrappings and began binding her ribs once again. In doing so, he inadvertently touched her breasts several times. The sensation caused a liquid warmth to pool between her legs. All of a sudden she wanted him to really touch her, not just through fabric. She wanted to feel his skin against hers.

She couldn’t understand these cravings or where they were coming from. She didn’t love him, did she? He was an incredibly attractive man, but he was also an aggravating, insufferable, arrogant giant who deliberately set out to goad her into anger, then enjoyed her unladylike responses. She desperately sought to control herself and her behavior.

Conor knew he was playing with fire as he bound her ribs. First, he investigated the injury to ensure that she had not made things worse by throwing the dagger. He admitted to himself that he had been duly impressed when she exhibited her skills. He had never seen a woman move more deftly and swiftly with a weapon. Her skill and accuracy evoked a pride in him that he couldn’t explain. But it was there nonetheless.

Laurel not only had the traits of a real lady—beauty, charm, and grace—but she had all the requirements needed to survive in the highlands. She was smart, skilled, resourceful, courageous, and had enough stamina to outlast any female he knew, and several men.

Her damp hair smelled of highland flowers in the spring, and her skin was smooth and sensual. He hurried to complete the torturous task. As he finished, he looked up and saw gratitude in her eyes. But there was something else there. She wanted him. Aye, she was just as disturbed as he was by their proximity.

She looked at him, motionless, as if waiting for him to make the first move. Something primitive erupted deep inside Conor under her glittering gaze. His hand brushed her cheek as he pushed her wet locks behind her shoulders. His other hand stroked her arm as he looked all the while into her eyes. Without a word, he leaned down and brushed his mouth lightly across hers, urging her to comply.

Her lips were soft, warm and innocent. He slanted his mouth against hers, and she kissed back, increasing the pressure. Her fingers splayed across his back, and he carefully pulled her up against his chest. The effect of her roving hands and her breasts on his body caused the constant ache in his loins to grow painful with need.