The Highlander's Reward (20 page)

A grim look crossed Magnus face. “Aye. A fight.”

Her heart thudded with fear.
“With you?”

“Aye.”

She shook her head vehemently. “No. I am married to you, there is naught Stewart can do to change that. I do not even know the man.”

“The English do not take too kindly to the Scots stealing their women.
In fact, the English law would have me executed.”

She felt the blood rush from her face, all the way to her toes. “No!”

“’Tis their way.”

“
And ’tis their word against ours. Did you really steal me?” She smiled ruefully, recalling vividly the memory of him whisking her away from the rebels, the way he’d cradled her in his lap and declared he would keep her safe. “If I remember correctly, you saved me.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “And I would keep
ye that way.”

“I trust you.” She didn’t know how the words came out. She’d not planned on saying them. She’d not planned on trusting him fully, but once the confession was made a blanket of warmth encompassed her and she realized it was the truth. She did trust him, with all her heart.

“And when your father demands ye leave with him?”

“I will extol to him my duties as a wife.” She laughed, albeit with a little sadness. “On our journey from England to Stirling, my father had that very conversation with me. He will find it ironic that I listened to him—with a Scot. He declared during that same conversation that he would never allow me to marry a Scot.”

Magnus chuckled. “Your father sounds like a reasonable man—I would never let my daughter marry an Englishman.”

Arbella pla
yfully pinched him. “Even when her mother is English?”

“English women are a different matter. I shall encourage my sons to steal their English brides as I have done.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t!” she gasped with mock exasperation.

“If I knew they could have a woman like ye…”

He stroked her cheek and Arbella felt that she was walking on air. Arbella did not think her happiness would ever be as complete as it felt at that moment. She leaned into his touch, knowing she would never get enough of his touch, his smile, his warmth. She wanted to melt against him. Stroking her hand over his chest, Arbella pressed her palm to the place where his heartbeat.

“Do you think we could…
?” Oh, she was turning into a bold wanton. Could she continue with her request? She chewed on her lower lip, searching his gaze.

Magnus boldly challenged her, his eyes dark and filled with the same hunger flaming inside of her. “What is
it ye want to do, lass?”

She swallowed, her stomach fluttering. “Will you take me to our chamber?”

“Are ye in need of a rest?” He winked, obviously toying with her.

Her lips curved into a teasing smile. “Aye, I find this conversation has exhausted me. If I am to prepare for my father and Stewart’s visit, I had best catch up on my sleep.”

Magnus frowned, unaware that she too teased him. “Och, all right.”

She laughed, and jumped up, gripping his hands in hers. “There will be plenty of time to sleep later, husband.
I but jest.” When he stood, tugging her flush against him, her desire sparked a thousand fold.

“Ye jest with a man in my state?”

Her throat constricted as his hardness pressed against her belly in a most delicious way. When she spoke her words came out hoarse. “What condition is that?”

“Ye know damned well what
condition, wife,” he playfully growled, nipping at her earlobe. “The question is, what will ye do about it?”

“Let us go upstairs and I shall show you.”

With that promise, Magnus whisked her into his arms and all but ran into the keep.

Chapter Twenty

“Any sightings of the English?” Magnus asked his guards on top of the gate tower.

“Nay, my laird.”

He nodded, and stared out over the expanse of vibrant planes, rolling hills and jagged mountains. The English were not known for subtlety, but who was to say they hadn’t learned while occupying Scotland? Highlanders could sneak up on an army of English with none the wiser. Mayhap they’d adopted the technique after having had it done to them a number of times. Although, he snickered, that might be giving the Sassenachs too much credit.

“What about the crofters
, were they warned?” he asked.

“All have been warned if they see anything to seek shelter or if they think they have time, to come and warn us.”

“Good. When were the last scouts sent out?”

“About three hours ago, my laird.
They are travelling along the southern border of Sutherland. We hope to have them back shortly after dark.”

Magnus
frowned as trees in the distance swayed with the wind and he imagined at least three dozen pairs of English eyes staring at him from behind the wall of tree trunks and branches. Damn the decent weather for not allowing the leaves to yet fully fall. Instead they were a myriad of colors, blocking his view beyond.

What unnerved him the most
was not knowing his opponent. Fighting the English in the meadow and then again at Stirling Bridge had been easy; they were predictable. But his opponents had been about another man’s demands—those of the English king. Baron de Mowbray was about his own business, his daughter, who was no doubt close to his heart. If Magnus were the baron, he’d be doing all that was in his power to retrieve his daughter.

For a moment, his stomach tightened. He could have a daughter now. He and Arbella had certainly been active enough to produce life. Fear settled its icy grasp around his heart. He’d been responsible for his sibling
s, still was. He was responsible for his clan. He was responsible for his wife. His own child was a whole new concept he hadn’t prepared for. Bairns were so delicate, so vulnerable. And childbirth… He could lose Arbella.

He shook his head to rid himself of the dreadful thoughts.
One thing at a time…
First he had to deal with her father and her scorned betrothed. That was a matter he was still shaking his head over. How could he prove that he was worthy? And why did he feel he needed to prove himself? He was a powerful laird. He had a profitable wool trade, he was a strong, loyal, honorable warrior. Most of all, Arbella wanted him. Arbella cared for him. He could see it in her eyes and if he was man enough to admit it, he cared for her too. More than he actually wanted to confess—even to himself. Lorna was right. Love had found him. He’d even changed his mind about marriage only being for alliances. Sometimes it was about more than that. And he was pretty damned satisfied.

He left the tower to see about his men and the rest of the fortifications.

Arbella paced her chamber, the floor creaking in one specific spot each time she passed over it. For a fleeting moment she wondered if whoever was below her was growing irritated by the constant creak, but she waved away the thought, not truly caring.

Pacing helped her to think.

And she had a lot of thinking to do.

She was certain of one thing: she didn’t want to leave Dunrobin—Magnus. She was also certain she didn’t want to go against her father’s wishes.

Together, neither was possible. Her father would want her to leave with him.

But she couldn’t. She belonged here. As much as she felt out of place when she’d first arrived, Magnus, his clan, his family, had welcomed her with open arms. They’d allowed her to experience things she’d never been able to before.
They’d opened her eyes to their tightly knit world, a world she wanted to belong to. There was nothing left for her in England. If she left with her father, she would only be forced to marry Marmaduke or some other Englishman. And now that she’d had the chance to know Magnus, to be married to him, she didn’t want to have anything to do with another man. Ever.

She stopped at the window which faced the sea. The waters were choppy today, white froth atop the rising swells that crashed in a fit of temper against the rocky cliff. She felt like those waves.
Unable to move the rock—obstacle—in her way. She was helpless to do anything but knock against it in hopes that something might change.

But the rock would never move and the waves would crash against it for a thousand years and beyond.

Her shoulders sagged. Was it hopeless?

She stuck her hand as far as she could out of the arrow slit,
all the way to her shoulder. She could feel the air grow colder, feel a slight mist as she reached for the outside.

Change wasn’t impossible, even if she had to reach farther than arm’s length to get there. She thought of her father. He was nearly as tall as Magnus and just as wide, even in his older age.
Baron de Mowbray was everything a knight should be. Strong, powerful, determined. Not unlike her husband. If the two of them clashed swords it would be a bitter battle.

Mayhap she could beg Magnus to leave the gates closed? She’d address her father from atop the battlements and beg his forgiveness for her rudeness, but she would not allow him entrance unless he promised not to harm her husband.

Arbella pulled her arm back inside, sliding her slightly damp fingers against one another. Pressing her face close to the opening, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the sea air. It seemed to calm her somewhat.

There was no
choice; she had to prove to her father she was content here, that he should be glad for her. As for Marmaduke Stewart, she was not sure what consolation she could give him.

Maybe Ina?
She wanted to laugh aloud at that evil thought. As if she would wish either one on the other. Although, she tapped her chin, the idea did have merit.

Going back to her pacing,
Arbella’s eyes caught on the crumpled everlasting flower that had fallen from her hair when she and Magnus had rushed upstairs for an afternoon of languid lovemaking. Its orange-gold color was vibrant, even when crumpled.

She needed a way to show her father that she was with Magnus—everlasting.

Arbella picked up the flower and walked over to the wardrobes. She placed the flower on one of the empty shelves, a keepsake so she could always remember—as she was sure there would be fleeting moments of anger when she wished she’d never remained. She closed the heavy oak doors, her fingers brushing over the carvings at the corners. Thistles and wildcats amid a myriad of Celtic swirls. ’Twas beautiful.

An idea came to her then. She opened the door to her chamber and rushed out in search of Lydia.

Several hours, and a few pricked fingers later, she was pleased with the work they’d done. She hoped Magnus would be too—and moreover, she hoped the message would be clear to her father, or at least plant the seeds until she had a moment to speak with him.

Magnus rushed up the stairs to his chamber and burst through the door.

“Arbella, I have something for ye.”

She startled from her place in one of his chairs—their chairs. He had to remember that what was his was hers now too. She looked so tiny sitting
there, the chair dwarfed her tall, lithe figure. She put down an embroidery circle and stood.

“You scared me.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize ye were so engrossed. What are ye working on?”

“’Tis nothing.”
She sent him an enchanting smile as she tucked the circle into her wardrobe.

Seeing the empty shelves of the wardrobe he was pleased with what he
was about to give her.

“
You said you had something?”

He leaned his head out the door and called in the three servants who’d waited patiently for his signal. They marched inside carrying with them bundles up to their necks.

Arbella’s eyes widened and he felt a full sense of satisfaction at that. He swept out his arm toward the packages the servants laid upon their bed.

“’Tis your new things.”

“My new things?”

“Aye.
Ye came with nothing and I promised to replace it. Come and see.”

Arbella hurried over, her fingers running over the various gowns, shifts, hose
, slippers and a new pair of boots.

“They are beautiful, Magnus,
” she said a little breathless.

“I am glad ye approve.” He rubbed the column of her spine. “I do have one more for
ye, that I especially hope ye like.”

She whirled around, a smile so enticing on her lips he had to bend to kiss her.

“Wait here.” He jogged back out to the hallway and brought in another wrapped package. “Open it.”

Arbella took the package and gently laid it on the bed. She untied the twine slowly—so slowly in fact he wanted to take his knife to it, but he waited patiently instead.

“Oh my,” she said, pulling the cloak he’d had made for her from the wrappings. “’Tis glorious.”

“Aye and ‘twill keep ye warm too.” He’d had the cloak fashioned from their plaid and it was lined with fur, even a matching hood to keep her ears from freezing. “Ye said ye didn
a think ye’d be able to make it a winter in the Highlands, and now ye shall.”

She beamed at him, wrapped herself in the cloak and twirled in a circle. “Thank you.”

He was stunned for a moment by her splendor and unable to speak. When he did, his voice sounded gravelly and strained, “Ye’re welcome.”

When he’d grabbed her off her mare in the middle of an assault all around, the thought had never crossed his mind that he’d be standing here now, watching her twirl in delight over a cloak that he had taken a painstaking amount of time to confer over with the tailor. That realization, how much she touched him, how much a part of him she’d become shook him somewhat. He felt unsteady on his legs and again the idea that this woman was his wife, that they would create a family came back to him.

Ordinarily when he was uncomfortable with his feelings Magnus would take it out on the fields, training his men, drilling his body. But he couldn’t offer her a good fight—or could he?

“What say ye we practice with your little dagger? I did say I’d teach
ye how to wield a sword.”