A Highlander's Home (16 page)

             
The next solstice was six months away. 
She had nowhere to go, no money, and no clothes. 
She was also afraid to go too far away from the keep in case his
war-bound
cousin, Alistair, decided to claim her as his own personal property
again
.  Playing nice and biding her time here was her only option.  And if that meant marrying – if only temporarily – the so called
king
of the castle, then so be it.  After all, it was not
real
.  This was not her time, and these were not her people.  She did not belong here, but since he would not listen to her, she had come to the conclusion that she would have to play along.  Of course, marriage did not play a part in this conclusion, but there seemed no other way out.

             
Although she had reluctantly agreed to the marriage, she was not about to be embarrassed by a potential mistress, even if said mistress was the actual intended bride in the first place.

             
The fact that Raine had stepped outsid
e
and witnessed the two in an embrace was not a good omen.  True, she was not planning on remaining her
e
as the wife and lady of the laird and keep, but still – her pride was stung.  Had he not kissed her own lips with much more passion?
  Was he not determined to keep her here?  Did he not risk his very life to protect and save her from his
cousin’s
wrath?
  So why would he kiss
his fiancé
and still want to marry Raine?

             
Perhaps he was
still in love with the beautifully dressed, pale skinned woman with fiery golden eyes.  Then why would he not maker her his wife and perhaps just keep Raine as a guest? 

             
The
priest
raised an eyebrow at Leith, who nodded,
and began the monotone Latin dialogue again.  His voice rang true and Raine thought he spoke slightly more rapidly than before.

             
In synchronized form, the priest said the last Latin word just as
Leith
turned her to him and pressed his warm lips to hers, but not before she saw the smile tugging at the corners.

Chapter 13

             
The entourage that accompanied Lady Brittany Brighton was larger than it should have been, but the laird of Hell’s Gate wanted to ensure her safe arrival to her father and, he admitted wryly, her safe
departure from his castle.  The sooner she was gone, the sooner he
could
start
wooing his wife.

             
It was quite odd, and he would be the laughingstock of not only his castle
but
probably
in
all the land, if anyone knew that his marriage had not been consummated as of yet.  After a week of marriage, he still had not breached his wife’s bed or her defenses.

             
Marriage could not be that much different in ancient
Scotland
than it was in modern times, Raine told herself.  Premarital relations were
taken much more seriously here than
they were in the future but, she reasoned, surely she was e
xpected to be wedded and bedded
.
  She was not exactly sure as to why her
new husband had not claimed
what he must thi
nk as was his right and privi
le
ge of his wife’s favors.

             
Raine pondered these questions
as she carefully wandered through the bed of wild flowers to the east of the castle. 
The breeze was warm, lightly ruffling the wild flowers that poked their heads above the greenest blades of grass she had ever seen. 
She had awakened this morning to a bustle of maids who referred to themselves as “her ladies” and the flurry of activity that seemed to follow them wherever they went.  They dressed her, brushed her hair, and deposited themselves around her in the great hall, all the while talking and laughing through the morning meal. 

             
After some sweet yet firm assertions that she needed time to think, the ladies gave knowing looks to one another, assuming that their new mistress wished to contemplate the happenings of her
new found love
with her husband, they obligingly let her alone.  They laughed and fluttered away, their gowns
fluffed and trailing behind them.

             
Finding a shaded spot under a
wide, low
hanging tree, she sat down, arranging her skirts.  Her ladies had insisted that she wear one of the many gowns that were a gift from the Laird to his new wife. 
Her skirts were long and layered with the binding corset pushing her breasts upwards to create pearlescent globes straining against the ties that bound them.
  The color of the beautiful material matched that of her eyes, and she wondered how he had managed to arrange that.

             
“
H
ello, lass.”  He appeared from nowhere, and plopped down beside her.

             
Speak of the devil. 
Her lips pursed.  “What are you doing here?” 

             
He gave her a lopsided smile.  “I came to see ye.”

             
She
fidgeted with her overskirt.  “D
on’t you have work that needs to be done?  Giving orders or sword training or something?”

             
He sprawled on his back and tucked his hands behind his head while closing his eyes.  “Nope.”

             
“N
othing?”

             
“Nothing.”

             
The breeze was warm and blew softly over them
enveloping them in the
cocoon
of serenity.  The sun shone high and filtered smoothly through the branches of the tree causing a chaotic array of light and shadows to splay across them.  Raine could not help but notice how it softened the hard lines of the Scotsman face, bringing out the youth in him that was more often than not hidden behind a deep scowl.  She suppressed the urge to run her finger along the shadow of stubble along his jaw.

             
“Do you like ye’re new dresses?” 

             
She shrugged.  “They are very nice.”

             
He frowned.  “That means ye do not like them.”

             
“No, no, I do.  I do,” she
admitted
.  “It’s just that they are, well, very, um, long.”

             
Laughter erupted from his chest, low and rumbling.  “Aye, lass, that they are.”  He rolled over onto his stomach. 
“In your land, do the women not wear skirts?”

             
The image of herself in dingy coveralls, dust covering every part of her exposed skin, as she rummaged through the extensive collection of forgotten artifacts with the professor.  “Uh, they do, but they have the choice of it.  Some of us actually prefer to wear jeans…trousers.  Like yours.”

             
His brow furrowed as he tried to imagine such a concept.  Women.  Wearing trousers.  And by choice no less. 
Unfathomable
.  Completely insane.  “So the men, they have no control over their women?”

             
Giving in to a quick half smile, she said, “Not like the men here.  Women actually work, earn money, make their own choices.  And a lot of them do not have to marry simply to have a man to take care of them.”

             
He sat up on his knees.  Even from that position he had to look down to meet her eyes. 
His blue gazed moved to her lips, causing her to nervously lick them.  He smiled.  This was too easy.

             
“Lass, do ye have a man takin’ care of ye?  Back in ye’re land?”

             
She forced herself to stop twisting her skirt and nipped her bottom lip.  Clearing her throat she replied, “Well, no, not exactly.  I am…uh, single.”

             
He leaned down on all fours and resembling a large panther, slowly crawled over to her, still staring at her lips.  She
absently chewed her lip.  “It’s not considered a negative thing, you know.  Not like here.  I enjoy being on my own, taking care of myself.”  Oh, God, he smelled so good.

             
“But, lass, ye
are here now.  And it happens to be me duty to
take care of ye.
”  He hooked his finger under her chin, bringing her eyes to meet his.  Her breath was starting to come a little faster, and he could feel it as she cracked her lips open slightly.

             
As he leaned even closer, he asked nonchalantly, “And would ye care to know how I plan to do it?”

             
Her body strained to stay still, resisting him by not responding but yet not moving to push him away either.  Her voice was almost a whisper.  “Do what?”  Were his eyes always this clear?

             
His smile started slowly, matching the speed with which he closed the gap between them.  “Take care of ye.”

             
His lips felt like feathers, barely there, almost tickl
ing her mouth.  Her thighs tensed as
they pushed her up to meet him, but the more she strained toward him, the less she felt.  Her eyes fluttered open.  His tongue slowly touched her plump bottom lip. 

“Do ye?” he whispered.

             
Her stomach was fluttering as if she were in an e
levator that was descending
too fast.  She heard a drumming in her ears, and the bodice of this dress was suddenly stifling.  His lips were millimeters from hers.  His breath smelled of
mint, making her mouth water. The fog clouding her senses made her forget what he was talking about, so s
he
simply
sighed
and agreed.
“Ok
,
”
she breathed.

             
His grin was devilish. She had lost track of the conversation, and now he had the upper hand.

             
In less than a second, his lips were covering hers, as she was hoping they would.  The minty taste of his tongue was ex
hilarating as it played a
gentle
game of war with her
s
.  His fingers wrapped themselves in her long curls, enough to show that for the moment, she was his. 

For the moment, he was taking care of her, as he promised.  He was taking care to turn her legs into jelly and her lungs into burning fire.  He was taking away the loneliness she did not want to admit to and providing the promise of soothing the aching not only in her chest, but the ache that had started between her legs whenever she knew he was near.

             
The warm breeze that was so pleasant just moments ago now felt like an icy winter wind when her eyes fluttered open in confusion to find him sitting on his haunches watching her.  Touching her fingers to her lips, they felt moist and swollen
, yet cold and empty
.  She met his gaze.  Not sure what she would find.

             
He cocked his dark head to the side, giving her a half grin.  She noticed that he had a dimple. 

             
“Was that a good example?”

             
The blush came before she could stop it.  She said, flustering, “
An example of what, exactly?”  S
he stood as quickly as her wobbly legs would allow, brushing imaginary specks from her skirts.

             
He stood, no more than three paces away, but her body felt cold without his nearer. 

             
“Of takin’ care of ye.”  His eyes seemed an entire shade brighter than they were before, she noticed.  His voice, which was normally so commanding, was softer, coaxing.

             
She bit her lip and racked her brain for some obnoxious retort but
her mind was empty
.  She looked around for something to give her a clue to
jar her mind into working order
when he started laughing.  It came as a chuckle at first,
and then
morphed into a full barrage of
husky
male laughter.

             
“What?”  Her spine stiffened.  Perhaps he had not enjoyed their kiss as much as she had.

             
“Och, lass.  I’ll take that as a yes.”

             
He turned on his heel, and just as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone, leaving her standing with her mouth open and her hands clenched.  She licked her bottom lip and still tasted mint.