The Highlander Takes a Bride (13 page)

Greer groaned as the air left him again, sure this time that it would not return. As he waited to die, he heard Saidh bellowing, “Leave him be, ye great gouks! He’s naught to do with this!”

For some reason that made him smile and he opened his eyes to see that she had one brother in a headlock and was viciously twisting the ear of the other. Damn, she did not fight fair, he thought with a grin.

“Good morn, sweetling,” he said when she glanced his way and their gazes met over the heads of her brothers.

Saidh blinked, then grinned at him and managed a breathless, “Good morn, m’laird.”

“He’s everything to do with this!” the man whose ear she was trying to twist off growled. “We came to rescue ye from him, ye witless cow.”

“Oh dear,” Lady MacDonnell breathed as every last man in the room suddenly went still as if holding their breath in the face of a storm. Even the moaning and rolling stopped.

“Now, Saidh, love,” the man she had in a headlock said quickly. “Dougall did no’ mean that.”

Saidh remained frozen for a moment, and then suddenly thrust herself off of the three men, popping back to her feet with impressive speed. She withdrew her sword and slammed the flat side of it against Dougall’s arse just as quickly and growled, “Let ’im up or I’ll skewer ye, Dougall Buchanan.”

Greer glanced to Dougall as the man released a heavy sigh. Resignation crossing his features, the man then stood and offered his brother a hand up as well. Free of their combined weight, Greer got quickly to his feet, watching with interest as Dougall took a moment to brush himself off. Since he’d landed on Greer, there wasn’t really anything to brush off, so he suspected the man was either trying to come up with a way to ease his sister’s upset at his insult, or he was delaying facing her in the hopes that her temper might cool a bit. Perhaps it was both, Greer thought with amusement and started toward Saidh.

He immediately found his way cut off by seven large, grim-faced men. Even the ones who had previously been rolling on the floor were suddenly upright and blocking his way, though a couple were grimacing in pain and wincing as they did it.

Greer raised an eyebrow. “Which one o’ ye is Aulay?”

The last man Saidh had taken out with a kick to the groin moved forward. His jaw tightened as he did, but otherwise he showed no sign of the discomfort he must be feeling. Greer found that rather impressive since he knew men who would still have been, not only rolling on the floor, but weeping copiously as well. The only thing he could think was that either these men were used to such blows, or they were eunuchs.

“I’m Aulay, Laird Buchanan,” the man snarled with a fierce glare made more fierce by the scar that divided one side of his face.

Greer nodded. “Ye got me invitation then?”

“What invitation?” Saidh asked, unconsciously lowering her sword and stepping closer to the backs of the men between them.

“ ’Twas no’ an invitation. ’Twas a call to battle,” Aulay snarled.

“Aye, a call to battle,” one of the other men growled, and all seven of them moved a threatening step closer.

Greer eyed the men warily and pursed his lips, trying to recall what he’d written. At the time, he’d been rather eager to return above stairs to Saidh’s room and had rather rushed his way through it so that he could pass the message on to one of his men. He’d wanted the message delivered at once to set things into motion. It was possible he’d—

“Ye said ye’d ruined Saidh,” Aulay snapped.

“What?” Saidh squawked.

“Aye,” one o’ the men assured her. “He said he’d ruined ye like a gooseberry pie left out in the rain.”

“The hell I did,” Greer snapped, embarrassed at the very thought that someone might believe he’d write such utter nonsense. “I wrote nothing about gooseberry pie.”

“Oh, nay,” the man agreed apologetically. “Ye just said ye’d ruined her. I added the gooseberry pie for effect.”

“Oh, leave off, Alick,” one of the other men snapped. “Do ye always ha’e to sound like a troubadour?”

“What the devil’s wrong with sounding like a troubadour?” the man asked with affront. “ ’Tis a much-valued skill.”

“Enough,” Aulay barked, bringing immediate silence. He then glowered at Greer, which would have been more effective if Greer hadn’t seen him roll his eyes in exasperation just moments before. The man wasn’t the emotionless warrior he showed to the world.

“Ye ruined me sister,” Aulay accused.

“Aye, but I plan to marry her. And I asked fer yer blessing in the message.”

“And then ye added that with or without it, ye’d marry her anyway,” Aulay snapped.

“And I will,” Greer assured him.

“The hell ye will,” Aulay snarled and the other men all growled like hungry dogs and moved in closer on another threatening step.

“Ye handled yer brothers most masterfully.”

Saidh dragged her attention from the men surrounding Greer and glanced around with surprise to see that Lady MacDonnell had stood and moved to her side without her noticing. Smiling crookedly, she murmured, “Thank ye. But I ha’e an unfair advantage as I told ye.”

“I did notice that they tried very hard to subdue ye without hurting ye, while ye were unhampered by such a restraint,” Lady MacDonnell said with a grin. “Still, they are seven fine, strong lads, and I was quite impressed,” she assured her, and then patted her arm and said, “I think I should like it verra much if ye’d call me Aunt Tilda from now on.”

“Oh,” Saidh said with surprise, and then smiled and nodded. “Thank ye, m’lady . . . I mean Aunt Tilda.”

Lady MacDonnell nodded and then patted her arm once more. “I also think ye should take control o’ the situation again ere these men decide yer future fer ye. Men often do what they think ye want and get it wrong without yer guidance.”

“Aye,” Saidh said on a sigh. She’d been so flummoxed by the bit about marriage, that she’d simply stood there afterward, completely bemused. Thanks to Aunt Tilda, she wasn’t bemused anymore, though. Sticking two fingers in her mouth, she let loose a piercing whistle like the one she had earlier.

The men fell silent and turned to peer at her.

“I am no’ ruined,” she said firmly.

“Aye, lass, ye are,” Greer assured her solemnly. “Well and truly, thrice or four times by me count.” He frowned. “Surely ye recall last night?”

Her brothers turned back to him growling and Saidh rolled her eyes, glared at Greer, and asked dryly, “Are ye
trying
to get yerself killed?”

“Last night?” Aulay asked suddenly. “But we got the message last night.”

“Aye, I sent it ere I went back up to Saidh’s—”

“That is why ye left me sitting naked on the bed?” Saidh asked with disbelief. “To write me brothers?”

“Well I could hardly take yer innocence without first making provisions to protect ye,” he pointed out reasonably.

“I do no’ need protecting,” Saidh snapped.

“Just a minute,” Dougall said. Scratching his head, he faced Greer and asked, “Do ye mean to tell us that ye wrote to tell us ye’d ruined our Saidh, and that ye were wedding her, and
then
went up to do the actual ruining?”

“The man’s daft,” Geordie muttered when Greer nodded.

“Aye,” Alick agreed. “Ye can no’ marry a daft man, Saidh.”

“I am no’ marrying anyone,” Saidh said shortly.

“Well ye ha’e to marry someone if ye’re ruined,” Conran said reasonably.

“I am no’—” Saidh bit off the denial, her jaw clenching, and then asked, “Conran, are ye ruined?”

“What?” he asked with surprised amusement. “Nay, o’ course no’.”

“And what o’ you, Rory? Are ye ruined?”

“Don’t be daft, Saidh,” he said with a shake of the head.

“What of the rest o’ ye? Dougall? Niels? Geordie? Alick? Are any o’ ye ruined?” Before they could answer, she added, “Because I’ve seen e’eryone o’ ye, save Aulay, backing giggling maids into corners and tossing up their skirts at Buchanan. So why am I ruined fer tossing up Greer’s plaid?”

“She did no’ toss up me plaid,” Greer assured her brothers when they all turned to glower at him. Just as they began to relax, he added, “I took it off meself the minute I got back to her room.”

“Ye really are trying to get us to kill ye,” Alick said with wonder.

“Mayhap he hopes to escape marrying Saidh that way,” Rory suggested grimly.

“I am no’ marrying anyone,” Saidh snapped.

Sighing, Aulay moved over to take her hands. Expression gentle, he peered into her eyes and said, “Love, if he ruined ye, ye’ll ha’e to marry.”

Saidh frowned. “Do you see me as ruined, Aulay?”

“Nay, o’ course no’, but—”

“Do any o’ ye?” she asked turning her attention to her other brothers. “Do ye somehow see me as less because I did what ye all do?”

“Nay, o’ course not,” Alick said quickly.

“Ne’er, loving,” Rory assured her.

“We do no’ blame ye,” Dougall added. “ ’Tis all our fault fer treating ye like ye were just another brother.”

“Aye, we should ha’e made ye watch from the sidelines while we played tag, hide-and-seek and Briton warriors,” Conran decided.

“Or she could ha’e been the fair maiden we kidnapped and tied up,” Niels suggested.

“And we should no’ ha’e let ye climb trees.”

“Or ride astride.”

“And we definitely should no’ ha’e taught ye how to fight and curse.”

“Do ye dislike me that much?” she asked with dismay, and received seven blank stares in return. “Would ye wish me to be like Fenella? Weeping and whining all the time?”

“Nay, Saidh,” Aulay said quietly. “We would no’ change ye fer anything. The lads are jest trying to say that this is our fault, no’ yers.”

“There is no fault,” Saidh insisted wearily. “I am unbetrothed, likely to spend the rest o’ me life at Buchanan as an unmarried woman. What is so wrong with me seeking a little pleasure along the way?”

“Ye’ll no’ be at Buchanan as an unmarried woman,” Greer said with a frown. “Ye’ll be here at MacDonnell married to me.”

“I’ll no’ marry ye jest because ye think ye’ve ruined me,” Saidh said firmly.

“That is no’—I mean, I—”

When Greer paused with frustration, Alpin sighed and muttered, “He’s murder with a sword and a fair hand at swearing, but can no’ talk worth cow dung.”

“Everyone out!” Greer growled.

“I really do no’ think it would be good to move Alpin just now. He’s a bit warm again,” Aunt Tilda said when no one moved. “And I’d prefer to stay to watch o’er him.”

“Well, I’m no’ leaving,” Aulay announced firmly.

The other brothers didn’t speak, but merely crossed their arms as one and arched an eyebrow each as if challenging him to try to remove them.

“Ah, hell,” Greer muttered and pushed through the men to catch Saidh by her wrist and draw her over to the side of the room to afford them at least a semblance of some privacy.

Pausing, he turned to face her and then scowled and gestured to the sword she still held in her hand. “Could ye put that away, lass? I’m no’ armed and do no’ want to be skewered if I say this wrong.”

Saidh glanced down at her sword with surprise, then slid it quickly back into its sheath. She then crossed her arms and cocked one eyebrow, unconsciously imitating the stance her brothers had taken.

Greer shook his head, but then took her hands in his and said solemnly, “I am no’ marrying ye because I ruined ye. As I mentioned, I wrote to yer brother about me intention to marry ye before I ruined ye. So ye see, the truth is, I
really
wanted to ruin ye.”

Saidh stared at him blankly and Greer frowned.

“Nay, that’s no’ right. I meant to say, I really wanted to marry ye, no’ ruin ye.”

“Why?” Saidh asked, withdrawing her hands from his.

Greer hesitated. “Why what?”

“Why do ye want to marry me?” she explained and he groaned.

“Ah, lass. Are ye really goin’ to make me—”

“Why?”

“I’m no good with this talking business,” Greer said with disgust.

“Why?” Saidh repeated, not backing down.

“Yer a hard wench, Saidh Buchanan,” Greer growled.

“Aye, she is,” Rory agreed from across the room, proving they could hear everything.

“ ’Tis part o’ her charm, I think,” Aunt Tilda commented lightly.

“Aye, ’tis,” Greer agreed dryly and then told Saidh, “And I mean that.”

“And that’s why ye want to marry me?” Saidh asked with disgust. “Because I’m a hard wench?”

“Nay,” he said solemnly. He paused to take a breath, and then took her hands again and said, “I’m no’ going to lie and claim I love ye, lass. We’ve no’ known each other long enough fer that. But I like ye something fierce. And I want ye e’en worse. I think ye’d make me a fine wife and that we’d deal well with each other.”

“Could ye no’ tell her ye think she’s beautiful or something nice like that?” Alick complained into the silence that followed.

“She kens I do,” Greer said gruffly, meeting her gaze as he added, “I proved it to her last night, repeatedly . . . and I’ll prove it to ye every night if ye’d just marry me,” he added, squeezing her hands.

Saidh stared at him as she silently debated the matter. She was glad he wasn’t claiming to love her. She wouldn’t have believed that. She was glad that he liked her though, and was quite sure she liked him too. She definitely liked the things he’d done with her last night, and the promise of doing it every night was a tempting one indeed. More important, she too thought that they would deal well together. So long as he didn’t try to change her.

“Ye’ll no’ fuss at me fer wearing braies and riding astride?” she asked.

“Nay,” he assured her.

“Ye’ll no’ try to make me give up me sword?”

“Never,” he assured her. “I like that ye can defend yerself. I’ll worry about ye a little less.”

“What about me cursing?” she asked.

“I’ll teach ye a few I think ye may no’ ken,” he responded.

Saidh considered the matter briefly and then nodded. “All right then.”

“Aye?” he asked with apparent surprise. “Ye’ll marry me?”

“Aye,” Saidh said and then gasped in surprise when he snatched her up in his arms and planted a kiss on her. He just as quickly set her down though, and turned to Bowie, who had remained safely by the door since entering. “The priest should be waiting below, go fetch him.”