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Authors: Ranae Rose

Tags: #Historical

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BOOK: Highland Storm
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Alexander lifted her onto the sorrel’s back, depositing her just behind the saddle. She waited there as he untied Briar, then the sorrel, holding the end of Briar’s reins as he climbed onto his mount’s back, settling in front of Isla. Then she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his back as he heeled their mount, urging it forward towards the road.

* * * *

Benstrath loomed into view after over an hour of slogging down muddy roads and riding through damp heather. Isla was both glad and incredibly anxious at the sight of the sprawling estate. She was a Forbes! And yet, here she was, riding up to Benstrath’s main house with her arms around a Gordon man and her skirts damp not only with rain but with his seed. How would the rest of the Gordons react? She worried, but didn’t regret her decision. Her prayer had been answered at the Spring of Saint Himelin—she was free from her father’s abuse, and she was loved.

“Worrit, are ye?” Alexander asked, apparently sensing her tension.

She nodded against his back, her cheek grazing his shoulder blade. “How could ye tell?”

“If ye were any stronger, you’d already have cut me clean in half with your clingin’.”

Heat crept into her cheeks as she loosened her hold around his waist. Well, loosened it a little, anyway. “Aye, I’m worrit.”

“I willnae allow anyone to abuse ye. Ye havnae forgotten what we spoke about on the road, have ye?”

Isla shook her head. “Of course I havnae forgotten.” Her stomach seemed suddenly full of butterflies as she remembered, and she clung tightly to Alexander once again, seeking the security of his solid warmth. It worked—the subtle shifting of his lean muscles comforted her, calming her anxious stomach.

He reined the sorrel to a halt on the main house’s grounds. Candlelight glowed in the windows, defying the gloomy sky with their yellow warmth. Surrounding the estate house and stretching into the distance were the smaller homes of Benstrath’s crofters. Many of their windows glowed, too. It would have been a cosy sight, had she not been a Forbes.

A boy of thirteen or so, gangly, yellow-haired and looking a bit too small for his tartan, emerged from around the corner of the house. The smile that broke across his face when he saw Alexander quickly turned to a look of curiosity as he spotted Isla. He gaped openly as he approached them at a rangy, loping gate.

“John!” Alexander cried as he swung down from the sorrel. “Take these horses to the stable for me, lad.”

The boy stared as Alexander lifted Isla from the saddle and cradled her against his chest.

“Hurry!” Alexander said. “I’ve an injured lass and no time to waste standin’ here while ye gawk.”

The boy snatched both the horses’ reins and hurried to pull them away, casting frequent glances over his shoulder as he tugged them towards the stable. Isla was left in Alexander’s arms, facing the house, with its imposing grey stone front and contrastingly cheery windows. For the first time, she was glad she was lame—she doubted she would have been able to stand even if her foot hadn’t been broken. Her stomach lurched alarmingly as Alexander started forward, bringing them closer with every step to the confrontation she feared. By the time they reached the door, her heart was pounding so frantically against her ribs that she feared they would break. A light sheen of sweat dampened her forehead despite the cold. Alexander pushed the door and it swung inward, spilling light inside.

The murmur of conversation buzzed in Isla’s ear as Alexander carried her over the threshold, and she caught sight of several people in a sitting room to the left of the foyer. A hush fell over the small group as the sound of Alexander’s footsteps rang in the parlour, and four heads turned towards them—two women, both older than Isla, as well as a young man and a girl. Two small children played on the floor, too absorbed in their games to spare a glance for any new arrivals. Alexander started deliberately towards the sitting room, and the eyes of its occupants seemed to grow wider with his every step, shining with apparent curiosity and a hint of wariness. By the time they’d entered the room, a matronly woman wearing a stained apron had emerged from what looked to be a kitchen to stare as well.

Alexander cast a quick glance in her direction. “Verra well, then,” he said. “Five witnesses.”

A sixth figure emerged into the hall, tall and fair.

Oh, God.

It was Alpin. Isla would have recognised the face from her nightmares anywhere, and the sight of it froze her blood. Beneath sleek, white-blond locks, icy blue eyes stared directly at her, like his brother’s in colour, but different in every other way imaginable. He was also dressed like Alexander, in a dark hunting tartan and a pale shirt, but their similarities ended there. Alpin was tall, but more slender than Alexander. There was a serpent-like grace about his lithe figure, and his good looks were spoilt by a distinct expression of cruelty that Isla had never seen him without.

Alexander didn’t spare his brother a glance, but it was clear he knew he was there. He held Isla a little more tightly and his jaw tightened. “Six, then,” he said, his voice still firm.

  
Isla swallowed, hoping the motion would make it easier to speak when her turn came. Alexander took her hand in his own and squeezed. Their small audience was as silent as stone, perhaps expecting Alexander to introduce his guest.

He didn’t. Instead, he spoke in a sure, ringing voice. “I declare Isla Forbes my wife.”

The faces of their audience went comically blank, assuming expressions of incomprehension and even shock.


Forbes
?” a cold voice sneered, the word carrying down the hall and echoing through the sitting room. “Your
wife
?”

Isla dared a glance at Alpin, and what she saw both chilled her to the bone and caused her heart to leap in alarm. He’d removed his gaze from her and focused it on his brother instead. His hand was hovering over the dirk that hung at his hip.

“You heard me,” Alexander said, a hint of anger lending his voice an edge.

Alpin was seething visibly with indignant rage. His lip curled as he stared down the long, sharp bridge of his nose at his brother. “Ye’ve always been an embarrassment, Alexander, but this is too far. Benstrath deserves better in an heir, in a
lady
.” His eyes flashed dangerously at Isla and he bit off the last word with as much disdain as he could muster.

Alexander’s cool, blue gaze travelled to where Alpin was caressing the hilt of his dirk, looking very much as if he’d like to unsheathe it.

Alexander’s voice was admirably even, but tinged with a hard edge that made Isla want to shrink against his chest. “This isnae any of your concern,
little
brother.”

Alexander had infused the title with as much scorn as Alpin had shown a moment ago, and this was clearly not lost on his younger brother. Alpin’s icy eyes flashed as the faint sound of his grinding teeth undercut the silence. “This is madness. You—”

“You can either witness our handfasting in silence, or leave bloodied,” Alexander said. His tone was cool, but his body burnt hot against Isla, his arms around her as tense and hard as rocks.

Alpin gave the hilt of his dagger one last, longing stroke and turned on his heel, muttering something highly uncomplimentary in Gaelic as his kilt fluttered around his knees.

Isla watched him leave, but her nervousness didn’t decrease. If anything, it worsened. This was it—the moment that would change her life forever. So far, it didn’t seem to be going very well. For the second time, she counted her broken bones a blessing. If not for Alexander’s firm hold around her, she didn’t think she’d be able to carry out the promise she’d made to him on the road.

Alexander turned towards his shocked audience, clutching Isla tighter than ever, and took several moments to recompose his expression. “Isla,” he said, squeezing the hand he still held in his, “finish our vows.”

A chorus of shocked gasps filled the room. Even the children had stopped their play to watch the highly unusual proceedings, clutching dolls and wooden blocks as they stared with wide eyes. Isla was just as stunned as they looked. The display of brotherly discord had shaken her down to her very core. The hate in Alpin’s eyes, both for Alexander and herself…

“How can I?” she gasped. “I never meant to turn your family against ye, Alexander. I—”

“Ye haven’t,” Alexander insisted, his eyes flashing as they bored into hers. “Say your part.”

“I dinnae want to see ye harmed!” she pleaded, tears of desperation pricking the backs of her eyes, threatening to spill out. She recalled all too clearly how Alpin had caressed the hilt of his dagger, with murder in his eyes. He’d looked as if he’d wanted to slice through his own brother, just as he had her own dear Hamish. Horror filled her as she remembered doing the same herself, even spilling Alexander’s blood.

This was all wrong. She didn’t deserve Alexander, and he didn’t deserve the trouble and hate she’d heaped upon him.

“Isla!” Alexander cupped her cheek with one hand, forcing her to look directly into his eyes.

His gorgeous, pleading eyes.

She swallowed one last time, holding his hand in a death-grip, half her mind screaming that what she was about to do was so very wrong, while the other half was ready to do anything he asked. Absolutely anything—and the fact that she desperately, selfishly wanted to say her part sealed her decision.

“I declare Alexander Gordon my husband.”

“We are merrit, then,” Alexander said to the room at large, “and you’re all witnesses.” He bent his head and kissed Isla, quickly and deeply.

Someone exhaled spectacularly, and skirts brushed Isla as one of the women on the seat behind her rose.

When Alexander pulled his lips from hers, Isla saw that the woman was bristling, taking advantage of every inch of her height. Her fair hair looked as if it would have stood on end if it hadn’t been pulled into such a tight bun, the severity of it relieved only by a short length of dark green ribbon.

“What’s the meaning of this, Alexander?” she gasped, her mouth moving soundlessly for several moments afterwards, as if she wanted to say more but couldn’t find words sufficient to express her obvious indignation.

Alexander returned the older woman’s glare with one of his own. “I should think the meaning is quite clear.” With that, he turned on his heel, carrying Isla down the hall as the shocked buzz of resumed conversation began behind them.

The walls blurred as Isla went limp in Alexander’s arms, as she’d been longing to do since they’d reached Benstrath, and her heart slowed just a little. She bounced against his chest as he quickly climbed a flight of stairs and her foot twinged in protest. She sighed with relief when they reached the landing, and the sound of an opening door told her they were entering a bedroom.

It was dim inside, the only light coming from a window that showed them the stormy sky and Benstrath’s planting and cattle fields. The room was furnished with a wardrobe in one corner and a bed in the other. Alexander made directly for the latter, depositing Isla on it and lying down at her side.

“We’ll have a proper ceremony with a priest in the morn,” he said, still clutching her hand in one of his own as he pressed the other into her hair. His eyes met hers and flickered, taking in her image, soaking hair, garments and all. “But for now…ye shouldnae stay in these droukit clothes any longer.”

Isla pushed herself up into a sitting position, pressing her palms against the mattress. Her hair tickled her cheeks and jaw in wild disarray, a testament to the day she’d spent in the rain and in Alexander’s arms.

“Undress me then, husband,” she said, heat creeping into her cheeks as she spoke. Flustered excitement was still pumping through her veins from the happenings in the sitting room, and she felt unusually bold under its influence now that the immediate tension had passed. She tried not to imagine what Alpin might be thinking at the moment, let alone the rest of the family, and forced herself to focus on Alexander instead.

It wasn’t hard. His split shirt invited her attention, the stripe of dark hair that ran down his belly pulling her gaze to his tartan-covered crotch and causing her own to tingle.

Alexander whipped off her cloak and the same thrill she’d experienced in the woods flared anew as he pushed his hands beneath her skirts, baring her legs. Her excitement was quickly suppressed by a flash of agony.

“Ahh!” she cried as he bumped her foot, sending a spike of pain from her toes to her ankle. She curled forward and clutched the throbbing joint tightly, too afraid to actually touch her foot.

“Sorry!” Alexander apologised as he carefully finished removing her dress. “I didnae mean to hurt ye.” He tossed her dress to the floor. “I suppose ye should have your injury tended before we do anythin’ else.”

Isla sighed as he placed his hands on her breasts, massaging them through the thin fabric of her shift, giving clear meaning to the words ‘anythin’ else’. She hadn’t stopped craving his touch since she’d first felt it, and some time during their journey to Benstrath she’d ceased to be content with simple physical closeness. The idea of making love again both thrilled her and filled her with nervous anticipation. It had been a strange thing, lying beneath him and feeling him fill her so thoroughly. And yet it had felt natural, had felt
right,
too. Yes, she had been made for him, feuding families or no. And without him inside her, she felt empty.

BOOK: Highland Storm
4.03Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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