The Highlander's Reward (22 page)

And if need be, he would defend Dunrobin, protect his clan and, as much as she would deny it when seeing him retaliate against her father, to safeguard Arbella. In a perfect world, he would not even be contemplating war with her father—or her betrothed. In a world of his choosing, her father would bless their union and Marmaduke Stewar
t would bow out gracefully. This, however, was not a perfect world. Their two countries were at war, and this too was war.

When he’d saved her on the battlefield, he’d essentially called the war to his own doorstep.

He glanced at Ronan who looked out over the fields, his fingers drumming on the stone crenellations.

“Ye were right, brother.”

Ronan glanced at him, brows furrowed. “About what?”

“That I was bringing the English to our doorstep.”

Ronan flicked his gaze up at the keep and then back to the field. “Och, ’twas worth it, Magnus. I’ve never seen ye so happy. Love doesna happen for everyone, ye are blessed.”

Was he so obvious?
He cringed, thinking how he’d walked around like a green lad eager to mount his new prize.

Ronan chuckled. “It doesn
a make ye less of a man, Magnus. If anything, it gives us all hope. We would all fight to keep her safe.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Between ye and Lorna, I’ve learned a lot about love, and I’ve also learned a lot about what our country needs. When this is over, I’ve decided to join Wallace’s camp.”

Magnus nodded and patted his brother on the back. “Ye have my full support, as long a
s ye promise to keep your arse alive.”

“I intend to.” Ronan flashed an arrogant smile.
“’Tis the English who need to be fearful of their arses.”

“Agreed.”
Magnus glanced back up at the keep.

Arbella’s
words still echoed in his ears.
I love you.

When she’d said them, her eyes had been clear pools of genuine emotion, love. His heart had ached
and he longed to answer her, to say the same thing. But his mouth wouldn’t work. His hands actually started to shake. He’d had to leave. He couldn’t even look at her face to see if she was hurt by his abrupt dismissal of such a strong pronouncement.

Magnus was a coward.

He was fearful of his feelings. They were so strong, they physically shook him. So much rode on love. If he declared his intent and then she left with her father or Stewart, then where would he be? A sad and forlorn man who’d exposed his heart only to have it stripped away. But he couldn’t live without her. Didn’t want to see her leave today and yet, he hadn’t repeated them, hadn’t given her a reason to stay. He cursed under his breath and took a step toward the stairs.

He would go tell her now. She needed to know.

But across the fields, a line of knights broke through the trees.

There wasn’t time to find her, to tell her how he felt. That he shared the same feelings. He had a responsibility to his clan. Love would have to come second. He hoped she would be able to accept that.
Without a doubt he was confident she would. If anything, Arbella had proven to be a reasonable woman when he’d long thought most were irrational.

He stood tall, mentally going over every weapon on his person, every fortification that protected the castle.
Not that he didn’t very much believe he and his men could easily take out a few dozen knights.

He prayed it didn’t come to that.

Several minutes later the knights were within shouting distance.

“Stop!”
Magnus bellowed over the wall. Surprisingly, a knight in the center held up his hand and the men stopped. “Who goes there?”

Two riders broke from the lines and came close enough for Magnus to see that one was about his own age and the other much older. Baron de Mowbray and Marmaduke Stewart
, he’d wager. The baron was a large man, tall and muscular beneath his chainmail. He had a shock of white hair and eyebrows to match. His face was lined with strain as he stared up at Dunrobin. His companion was smaller in stature, his face looking pinched and pale. Magnus wanted to sneer, but instead kept his face blank.

“I am the Baron de Mowbray,” the older gentleman said, confirming Magnus’ thoughts. “And this is Marmaduke Stewart, Steward of Stirling.”

Magnus couldn’t resist his barb, “The steward has a lot of nerve coming into the Highlands after we massacred his men on the bridge.”

Stewart shot a murderous glare up at him. “You have a lot of nerve bringing that up. What say you I call the rest of our army from the forest and take your castle by force? I will show you the meaning of
a massacre.”

Anger snaked along Magnus’ flesh, but he refused to let the steward’s words get to him. “Take care, Englishman. Ye are in the Highlands now.”

The man looked around, as if expecting a goblin to jump out from thin air. Obviously, the Highlands did put fear into his heart.

Good.
He didn’t like the look of the man. He appeared to be a sneaky sort. One who might side with you and grasp your arm in agreement, but then go immediately to your enemy and pay for your capture.

“What do ye want, Baron?”
Magnus asked.

“I have come for my daughter.”

“Ye canna have her.”

The baron blanched, and beside him Stewart shifted in his saddle, his fingers brushing his sword.

“What have ye done with her?” the baron asked through clenched teeth, his voice low, threatening.

“There is nothing to fear, I have
but married her.”

“What?”
The man’s face reddened as he shouted.

“Aye, she is my wife.”

“You bastard! I will kill you for this!” Marmaduke Stewart said, grappling his sword from his scabbard and swinging it toward the wall.

“
Like your people did to the village outside of Glasgow? Is that how ye prove your prowess by preying on the weak? I should like to see ye try that here, my wee little man.” Magnus laughed bitterly.

That only made Stewart bluster
all the more.

“Father.”
The sound of Arbella’s voice made Magnus whip around to see her standing beside him.

W
hat he saw caused him to be speechless.

She stood tall beside him, dressed fully in his plaid, the pleats perfect. Across her middle was a
wide sash, perfectly embroidered with thistles, a wildcat and a lion—the first a symbol of Scotland, the second his clan and the third he assumed must be the mark for her family.

He swallowed against the constriction in his throat. She didn’t look his way, but she did reach out her hand for his. He took it, noting that both of their fingers trembled. He quickly worked to keep his steady. This was harder for her than it was for him, and he had to be her rock.

“Arbella,” the baron said, his mouth set in a grim line as he studied her.

“I see you have met my husband. I would like to invite you in to sup with us, but if you do not think you can behave,
’haps it is better if I simply say, I have followed your advice and married.”

A
flash of mirth passed in the older man’s eyes, but he did well to keep his humor at the situation hidden otherwise.

“I should very much like to dine with you, daughter, but I must also remind you that I said I never wanted you to marry a Scot, and,” his hand swept toward the little Englishman, “you have left this man
deserted.”

Stewart winced at the word.

Her chin lifted. “I never agreed to marry, Sir Stewart. I am quite pleased being married to Laird Sutherland.”

“Let us come in, and we shall see how Sir Stewart can be compensated for you having cuckolded him
,” her father answered.

Arbella faced Magnus, her eyes pleading.
He was shocked at how simply seeing his daughter was well and strong had changed the baron’s demeanor.

“Verra well. Leave your weapons and your men behind. Only the two of y
e will be allowed inside. If any of your men make a move, they will be shot upon by my archers.”

The baron conferred with Stewart who nodded. “We are in agreement.”

Magnus turned to Gavin. “Open the gate.”

Chapter
Twenty-Two

They greeted their guests in the great hall.

Arbella rushed toward her father, throwing herself into his arms. The baron grasped her tight, whispering in her ear. When they pulled back, both had tears in their eyes.

The sight resonated deep within Magnus. He wanted to wrench his wife away from her father. To hold her tight to his side. To see such joy in her eyes when she looked upon him. What he saw there was love—but it was the love of a father and child. With that realization came another revelation—he didn’t want her to look at him like that. He wanted her to look at him the way she had when she said she loved him.

His heart skipped a beat. He wanted her to say those words to him again.

Something else made his gut clench. He didn’t just
want
her to say those words or to stay with him—he
needed
her to.

Somehow she’d wriggled her way into his life, into his heart.
He made himself sick with how much he’d turned into a blubbering fool, and yet the idea of her love still delighted him.

Hadn’t he vowed never to act like the beast Montgomery who’d pined after h
is sister? And Lorna, the little wretch, had promised love would find him one day. How the hell did she know? Here he stood gazing longingly at his wife, feeling empty without her close enough to feel the heat emanating from her body.

Then
there it was—she turned to him, her eyes shining with joy as she held out her hand for him to grasp. He couldn’t stop the smile that touched his lips—a motion that he observed the baron noticed. But he didn’t care. Of its own accord, his chest puffed out and he stepped forward taking her slim fingers into his grip.

“Father, I would like to introduce you to Laird Sutherland, my husband.”
Her voice was soft and full of pride.

Baron de Mowbray
faced Magnus, a stony expression hardening his features. Nearly eye to eye in height, they stared each other down, neither wanting to be the first to give in, to show weakness.

Arbella stood
between them, gazing back and forth. The moment he noticed her body tense, Magnus decided to let the game go. He held out his arm.

“’Tis an honor to meet ye.”

“I am not sure I can say the same,” the baron said, although he did grip Magnus’ arm—squeezing hard.

’
Twas a good sign. A man didn’t grip another’s arm in a show of respect unless he meant it. Then again, the baron was English. Magnus grinned and squeezed back just as firmly. “Worthy words. I would say the same if it were my daughter.”

The baron grunted, his lips twitching into a brief smile.

“I can promise ye, Baron, that your daughter is well cared for and safe.”

“I can tell she is proud to be your wife.
’Tis a beautiful sash you have made Bella.”

But she only had eyes for Magnus as she said,
“And happy.”

Magnus turned toward her, put his arm around her shoulder and brought her up against him.
She molded perfectly to his side, her soft curves tucked neatly against his solid form. Gazing into her eyes he added, “And loved.”

His eyes widened as
did hers. He hadn’t expected to say those words, and especially not in front of everyone, but he couldn’t stop them from leaving his lips. ’Twas the truth. He loved her, and now that he’d said it, he wanted to shout it from the rooftops. He grinned and winked at her, mouthing the words, “I love ye.”

Arbella’s eyes misted and she bit her lip. He lowered his head, intent on kissing her when Marmaduke Stewart interrupted them
, by stomping his foot and clapping in a slow annoying way.

“Enough with this disgusting display.
You have taken my bride. I want retribution.”

Magnus gritted his teeth and turned toward the squirrely man. But before he could speak, the baron responded.

“You can keep her dowry. I’m assuming since Sutherland stole my daughter out from under my very nose, coin wasn’t his motivation.” The baron eyed Magnus, challenging him.

Magnus ignored the challenge and instead gazed down at his wife.
He couldn’t wait to get her upstairs alone so he could tell her how much he loved her as he worshiped her body. “Marriage to Arbella is a reward in itself, one that I continue to reap the benefits from.”

She blushed clear to her toes.

“I want more than that.” Stewart marched toward Magnus, his hands fingering his empty scabbard. “You have humiliated me in front of all of England and Scotland.” He turned toward the baron. “The king will hear of this and he will not be happy—he
ordered
her to marry
me
.”

Magnus didn’t like the sound of that. As if he didn’t have enough problems with the English already, he didn’t need this Sassenach pointing the English king toward Sutherland lands.

“Ye will do no such thing,” he said in a low threatening tone.

Stewart scoffed. “And who will stop me? I am the Steward of Stirling.”

At that, Magnus knew he had the man. “Are ye? From what I hear, Stirling is now run by Wallace’s men. The English king is likely to be quite unhappy with ye.”

Fear flashed in the man’s eyes, but he turned his sour face toward Arbella, his brows knitting together and his lips creased in a sneer. “
’Tis quite all right, I want nothing to do with your used up
whore
,” he muttered.

Magnus would not tolerate that.
No one spoke of his wife that way. Especially not this bastard.

He cocked his arm back
, prepared to knock the man clear across the room. But before he could swing, Arbella stepped forward with quick movements. She lifted her arm, hand stiff, and executed the most perfect knifehand strike to Marmaduke, who was too stunned himself to do anything but watch as she hit him. The man dropped like a bag of rocks to the floor.

The baron stared dully at the steward’s prone body.
“A well-executed strike, daughter. Samuel would be pleased.” He looked at Magnus and nodded. “The man deserved it. He was beginning to wear on my nerves.”

Magnus wasn’t sure if he should
order the best barrel of ale to be opened or if he should sit down heavily in a chair and chug a cask of whiskey.

Arbella
rubbed her hand and gazed at the reddened appendage that would likely bruise “I do fear I hit him a little hard.”

“Nonsense, perhaps it will have knocked a bit of
logic into the man,” her father responded. “I am half-starved, living off oatcakes and apples. Shall we dine while we wait for him to come to?”

“Aye, I’ll go and fetch Cook.”
Arbella walked away, disappearing through the back door.

“Ye knew she could do that?” Magnus asked
, a little dumbfounded at what had just taken place before his eyes. He remembered all too much the headache and dizziness he’d experienced when waking from Arbella’s strike. The man deserved it for having uttered those heinous words.

“Aye.
I was hoping she would do it to this man. I’d never met him until recently. He is a pain in the arse.” He clapped Magnus on the back and grinned. “I never thought I’d be happy to say she married a Scot, so I’ll not repeat it.”

Magnus grinned. “I never thought I’
d marry an Englishwoman.”

“She’s a very special woman, Sutherland.” They walked toward the table, but the baron stopped, turned toward Magnus, squeezing his shoulders tight
in his grip. “I’ll not want to see her hurt.”

“Ye have my word, Baron, I would never see any harm come to her.”

The baron patted him then took a seat at the table. “I have another daughter the king will likely order married soon. I hope to keep her in England. Your bloody Highlands are too damn far.”

Och!
Magnus had forgotten about Blane retrieving Aliah from England. He would not mention it, else the man run him through for taking two of his daughters. ’Twould be better to speak with Arbella about it.

“We shall manage.
Mayhap a visit a year.”

The baron grunted and took a hearty gulp from a mug of ale one of the clanswomen sat before him.
Magnus came up with then discarded several topics to discuss with the baron, and in the meantime managed to down three or four mugs of ale, he wasn’t really sure. Every time he took a sip the mug was full.

A short time later, in which the two men had barely spoken, Arbella returned with Cook in tow.

Trenchers of dark brown bread were set in front of them, and large platters of mushroom pasties, steamed greens, leaks, potatoes, fragrant herb bread and herbed cheeses were placed on the table. No meat.

He blinked up at his wife as she beamed down at her father then at him. “Where is the meat?”

“Father does not eat meat.”

“Truly?”

“Aye.”

He snickered at the baron. “Did the viewing of a butchering make
ye squeamish too?”

“Nay,
’tis much simpler than that, it makes me shi—”

“Father!”
Arbella’s hands clasped over her mouth before the baron could finish. Arbella’s gaze turned to Magnus. “It makes him sick to his stomach.”

Magnus glowered. “I’ll not give up meat.”

“And I’d never ask you too.”

At that exact moment, Cook emerged with a platter of roasted pork in a raisin wine sauce.

He licked his lips and then smiled at his wife. “I could never ask for a better, wife.”

“And I could never ask for a better husband.” She sat beside him at the table, and began to fill her plate.

Halfway through their meal, Arbella gazed at her father and said, “There is something you should know about Aliah.”

“What?” the baron answered around a mouthful of bread.

“Aliah is on her way to the Highlands.”

The man actually dropped his bread. “Why?
How?”

Arbella shrugged and took a bite of greens. “I thought you might be dead. With Samuel away in France, the safest place for her was here with me.”

“Who has gone to get her?”

“Why,
Magnus’ brother Blane, of course.”

The baron turned murderous eyes on Magnus. “She’d better arrive unwed.”

That actually made Magnus burst into laughter. He took a long chug of his ale. “I think ye have nothing to worry over, my lord. I do believe Blane’s last words were something about never marrying an Englishwoman.”

“And didn’t you declare the same thing, husband?” Arbella
said, a teasing note in her tone.

Both men turned to stare at her, eyes widened, jaws ticking,
no laughter now.

“What?” She shrugged innocently. “For certes you are correct that Blane does not wish to marry. I simply pointed out you felt the same way.”

Again the baron glowered. “She’d better arrive a maiden.”

Magnus didn’t speak. He couldn’t. How could he? He had no promises to offer, for if her sister was anything like Arbella, Blane could already be married.
He would flatten the man, then he’d offer him congratulations.

“When do you expect her to
arrive?”

“Within a fortnight,” Magnus said,
in a monotone voice.

“I shall stay for that period of time.” The baron did not request
their hospitality, he stated his intention.

Magnus nodded, not particularly happy to have the man here for that long, but
’twas the right thing to do.

“And what of your friend?”
Magnus nodded toward the prone figure of the steward.

“He’s no friend of mine.
I had no idea what the man was capable of. When the king ordered Arbella to marry the man, I assumed he was of good character—that is what the king relayed to me. But soon I came to find out he preys on the weak. The burned out villages, murdered innocents.” The baron shook his head. “’Tis not my style and only sickens me. I agreed for him to come with me here, because he has strong ties to the king, and King Edward is not a man to be trifled with. As soon as Stewart comes to, I shall hand him the purse of coins meant for Arbella’s dowry and send him on his way.”