The Highlander's Reward (6 page)

She respected the notion for its
merit—’twas a darn good idea—but she cursed it all the more that she could not escape. She
was
a prisoner of this man. Even atop his horse. That was why he had no problem leaving her alone. He knew she wouldn’t be able to escape.

When she reac
hed his side, the laird smirked with pride. “Beast is smart, is he not?”

A fitting name for the infuriating warhorse.
She gave an unladylike grunt and glared at him. “You are a barbarian,” she muttered.

Magnus
had the audacity to chuckle. She would show him…she didn’t know how, but she knew she would.

Once they reached the center of the courtyard, the warriors dismounted and led their horses
into a small stables. Arbella surveyed the abbey. They were not wealthy. No relics, statues or an overabundance of supplies showed. It was neat, clean and simple. What did they have that the laird wanted?

Gavin
helped her to dismount and then took Laird Sutherland’s annoying Beast. Sutherland grasped her by the elbow and led her into a small chapel in the opposite direction of the stables.

A priest dressed in flowing brown robes hurried up the center aisle toward them.

“Now, my laird?” he asked, his gaze moving from one to the next. Was the man in cahoots with Sutherland? He would rob his own abbey? Again she had to wonder what they had worth taking. The chapel was stark. Lit only by a few stinky tallow candles. She could see nothing of value save the stones it was built from.

“Aye.”

Her worst fears were confirmed. She would not be able to warn the abbot at all. He was in on whatever plan Magnus had.

“And your witnesses?”

“They are coming.”

Witnesses?

As he said the words, his men filed into the small chapel, overwhelming the small space with their height and breadth. It was then Arbella realized how tall her own warrior was.
Her own?
It wouldn’t do to think of him that way. He was most definitely not hers. Not now, not
ever
.

Arbella
tried to put some distance between them, but he only hauled her back to his side. This time, instead of holding her hand, he draped his arm over her shoulders and tucked her against him. She liked it and hated the contact at the same time. He was too close. Warmth and his strength all flowed inside her making her belly tighten. She breathed deep and held her breath. His scent surrounded her. While he’d washed the grime from his face and hands at the creek, he still smelled of death. She gagged.

The
abbot took his place by the alter as if he were going to give a sermon. Arbella stared at him, her eyes narrowing. This did not seem to be a robbery at all. What was going on?

Sutherland took her hand in his and placed it on his arm, and turned her so they faced the priest
together.

God’s teeth!
This wasn’t a robbery at all!

Using every ounce of strength she had, she jerked away from him. His hand fell with a thump to his side, and he turned a lazy gaze her way.
Arbella took a few furtive steps backward until her knees hit a pew, threatening to unbalance her.

“I will not marry you!” she shouted, having just figured out what the man was up to.
He’d tricked her. And all this time she’d thought him a criminal—he was! He would steal another man’s bride!

“
Are ye already married?”

She sputtered. “No.”

“Then, aye, ye will. ’Tis the only way.”

“The only way for what?”
Exasperation thrummed a wild pace through her blood. She flexed her fingers wishing she had something big and heavy to hit him over the head with.

“To keep
ye safe.”

Arbella
wrinkled up her eyes and nose and stared at him as though he were a simple, drunken fool. “Are you daft?”

His men chuckled behind them. Even the abbot pretended to cough to hide his amusement.

“Nay, my lady.” The laird rolled his eyes and reached out with lighting speed to pull her back to his side. Her struggle was useless against his tight grasp. He spoke to the abbot, “Begin. Make it quick.”

The little man nodded, his jowls jiggling.
“Aye, my laird.”

Arbella
would not give up so easily. She stomped on his foot, causing herself more pain than him she figured. “Do not make it quick, I did not agree to marry this man.” She dare not say she was betrothed to Marmaduke Stewart, else they would see her hanged instead. She was acutely aware of how much they abhorred the English. The fact that she was to wed a lord who personally saw to the death of countless Scots was not in her favor.

“Ye will agree, my lady.” Sutherland’s voice held no room for argument.
He did not even look at her. Did not even move. Just held her in place against him as he looked at the abbot. He was a man used to getting his way, but she was not about to let that happen today. No, indeed.

“I will never agree!”
Arbella bellowed, anger making her chest burn. She was tired of men telling her what to do her entire life, and now this barbarian would rip her from her own horse take her into the wilds of this heathen land and demand she tether herself to him for all eternity. She would
never
!

He slowly turned toward her, and her breath caught.
A dark look came over the Highlander’s face, and for the first time with him she felt afraid. There was murder in his gaze. Her mouth fell open slightly and she regretted having shouted. His jaw flexed furiously, and his eyes burned through hers.

“A word, my lady,” he said through clenched teeth. He gripped her on her elbow and led her back down the aisle past his smirking warriors and into the afternoon air.

Chapter Six

Once out of his warriors’ sight, Magnus gripped Arbella by both of her tiny hands. He enfolded them in his grasp, trying to offer her a measure of comfort. And trying to still his own irritation.

“Arbella, my lady, please listen. I cann
a keep ye safe unless ye are mine. And not mine as a reward for helping Wallace against the damned Sassenachs, but as my wife. Do ye understand?”

She stared at him wide-eyed. She didn’t speak. He rubbed his thumbs over the flesh of her hands, hoping his movement would wake her from whatever state she was in.

“Lass? Did ye hear me?”

She slowly nodded. “I hear what you’re saying, and I believe you think
’tis the only way to keep me safe, but I do not think ’tis a good plan.”

He spoke softly, controlling his urge to shake some sense into her.
He didn’t want to marry any more than she did. But it
was
the only way. “Ye have to trust me, lass. No one touches what is mine. No one will touch ye. I canna bear for another man to attack ye. Who knows if ye will survive if they do. If I marry ye, they will accept ye.”

He watched her throat constrict as she swallowed
. The sudden urge to dip low and kiss her there was overwhelming. Running his tongue over the back of his teeth, his gaze caught on the column of her throat. Slowly his eyes traveled upward to her mouth. Arbella bit her plush lower lip, staring at him with a mixture of fear and desire.

Magnus could hold himself no longer
. Gradually, he bent toward her until his mouth brushed over the velvet of her lips. She sucked in a breath, but did not retreat. If anything, she pressed forward into the kiss. She was bold, curious and he liked that. The scent of wildflowers surrounded her. It was in her hair, against her skin. He slid his hands up her arms, over her shoulders until he gently held her face. Her skin was soft, warm. He kissed her tenderly, even though he wished to plunder her mouth. From her tentative movements against him he could tell either this was her first kiss or she hadn’t done much kissing at all. He would take things slow, introduce her to kissing. And with that thought, he realized how much he wanted to be the man who taught her how to kiss and be kissed. He wanted to have her remember him alone when she thought of kissing.

Magnus
kept his lips on hers, sliding gentle strokes back and forth, and then he pulled away. He had too. With more need than he should, he wanted to thrust his tongue into her mouth. Doing that would probably scare the hell out of her. A scared lass was not what he required now. It was necessary for her to agree to marry him. He needed her to feel relaxed.

He stepped away, putting a few inches of distance between them. His blood pumped a thrilling tune. His cock was full, hard,
ready for the sweet innocence that lay between her thighs. He clenched his teeth, forcing his overpowering desire to quell.

She gazed at him with a mixture of rapture, curiosity and surprise.
’Twas an expression he liked, and he took pride in having been the cause.

“You don’t taste like death.”

Magnus wrenched a brow. “Death?”

She looked bemused.
“Aye. You taste…sweet.”

He smiled, trying not to laugh at her perplexing expression and words.
“Not as sweet as ye, lass. We need to go back inside. We must marry in front of my men, and then we will return to Sutherland.”

She nodded slowly, reaching up to touch her lips. “I will marry you, but in name only. I won’t allow you to…to…kiss me again.”

He frowned. “In name only?”

“I won’t be a true wife to you.”

“What the hell does that mean?” The woman was exasperating! He didn’t understand a damn thing she was talking about.

Her face flamed a charming red. “I won’t allow you to consummate the marriage.”

“Ah,” he said, finally understanding. If he had to agree now, then he would, but if he was going to marry her, he was eventually going to bed her. Her lips were too sweet to never kiss again. And he ached to know what other charms she held. “I will only
kiss
ye again when ye ask it of me. Fair enough?”

She nodded solemnly, folding her hands in front of her and looking toward the ground. “You will honor my request?
Even when you are in your cups?”

He frowned.
“What? My lady, I assure ye, I never get so deep in my cups that I’m not in complete control.”

“Truly?”
She sounded so surprised he wasn’t sure if he should be offended or not.

“Aye.”

“Hmm… That is one thing Glenda was wrong about then.” She wiped slightly trembling hands down the front of her skirt.

He raised a questioning brow.
“Who is Glenda?”

“My maid.
She told me all about the ruthless Scots before we left England.”

“Where is she now?” He would tell this maid a thing or two.

“She’s still in England.” Her tone was sad and her face fell slightly.

“No maid came with
ye?”

“Nay.”

“Why were ye going to Stirling?” He had his suspicions that she was meant to marry. There was no other reason for a beautiful English maiden to make the trip and without a maid unless one had been promised upon her arrival. If that were the truth of it, he was in a lot more trouble than he originally thought. A spurned fiancé—English at that—would not take lightly having his bride stolen.

Arbella just shook her head. “I shall tell you at another time. Let us get the deed done and be on our way.” She started to walk around him.

“My lady.” He stayed her with his hand. “We will have to make a show of a consummation for all to believe we are married in truth. If not, then they may suspect otherwise. No need to cause such suspicion.”

She chewed her lower lip.
“A show?”

“Aye.
A bloody sheet. After the ceremony, I will come to ye. But I will keep my promise. ‘Twill be for show only.”

He heard her deep inhale and slow exhale.
“All right.”

Magnus let her go then, watching the gentle sway of her hips as she went. Her innocent kiss still burned on his lips. He would have a hard time keeping his promise. But getting her to ask him for a kiss and more would be a thrilling challenge. One he fully intended to succeed at—sooner rather than later.

The ceremony went relatively quickly. Arbella mumbled her vows while Magnus fairly shouted them. Then the abbot said, “Ye may kiss your bride.”

Arbella’s blood ran cold.
The way Magnus had kissed her outside left her a trembling, confused mess. She’d never known that kissing a man could be that way. And now she would have to repeat the act.

Part of her wanted to, desperately. To taste him, to feel his warm lips pressed to hers. To feel
herself wrapped in his embrace and to enjoy the delicious sensations that ran rampant through her body when he held her. The other part of her feared kissing him again. Would he expect more? What would the abbot think if she were to show such wanton interest in her husband? Oh, God, he was her husband!

Her vision blurred and dizziness swept through her. She would faint, she knew she would.

But before she fell, Magnus slid his hands around her waist and gently tugged her closer. His mouth descended on hers as she took a breath. Her lips were partially open, and his lower lip pressed between them, his tongue touching for the briefest of moments on her upper lip.

Arbella
gasped at the sensual contact, and the branding hotness of that illicit touch. She liked it. Hated it. She wanted more.

His beard tic
kled her cheeks and nose, but his lips thrilled her senses.

Arbella eagerly pressed into his embrace, her arms winding around his neck. She tilted her head to the side, compelled ever closer to his mouth.

But the kiss was over all too soon. He pulled away, and she gazed at him, bemused.

“Now, I’ll keep my word,” he whispered for only her ears.

“Word?”

“Aye, that I’d not kiss
ye unless ye asked. This was an order by the abbot.”

The infuriating man had the audacity to grin and wink at her. He knew exactly how his kisses affected her and he was enjoying her discomfort.

She pressed her lips together and took a hard step backward, only to get the heel of her boot caught on the hem of her gown. Her arms waved wildly in front of her, as she sought to keep her balance. Men rushed from behind, but the one who caught her was Magnus, pulling her back into his embrace. Arbella’s mortification was made all the more complete by how his eyes sparkled with mirth. He mocked her.

“Seems my kiss has knocked my wife off her feet,” he said with arrogance to his men.

The warriors chuckled.

Arbella fisted her hands, ready to show him a thing or two about getting knocked off his feet, but then he glanced at her, a true smile on his face.
A more handsome smile, she’d never seen. She wondered what he would look like without the beard covering his face. Most likely, he would be even more stunning. Magnus had good bone structure, the type most nobles wished to have. His nose was generally straight, save for a small bump at the top, most likely from a break. His cheekbones were well defined, his brow prominent and eyebrows arched perfectly. From what she could see and what she felt when he kissed her, his lips were full, wide, utterly sensual. She had to force her gaze to the abbot to stop thinking of how blessed he was in the face…and really everywhere. She’d felt his muscles. His physique was well-formed, strong.

She swallowed hard, realizing that even staring at the abbot did not quell her thoughts of her
new husband’s attributes. Wasn’t it a sin? She shouldn’t be so grateful for his beauty anyway. Their marriage would not last long—mayhap only a fortnight or a month, the winter at most. And what he looked like didn’t matter, even if he were to remain her husband.

Arbella
shook her head and looked to her hands. He would not remain her husband, the simple truth.

“My laird, we have
humble fair to feed ye, your wife and men. And we’ve a guest cottage for ye to use.” The abbot glanced at the newlyweds pointedly. He would have them eat and then get straight to the bedding.

Arbella’s insides quivered. Even if it was to be a fake joining, it still scared the
ribbons from her braid. She forced herself not to shiver as she imagined Magnus—tall, muscular, overwhelmingly handsome Magnus—advancing on her, desire intense in his gaze. She closed her eyes, willing the images away. For they not only brought fear but a yearning deep within to hold her arms out and welcome his carnal touch.

Magnus took hold of her elbow in a manner she was quickly coming to dislike. But instead of leading her out of the chapel by her arm, he threaded it through his, resting her palm atop of his forearm. She glanced up at him, surprised by his sudden show of chivalry. He did not look back at her. If she didn’t know better, she would say it was natural for him to act in a chivalrous way.

They followed the abbot toward a non-descript smaller wooden building. The thatched roof looked in need of repair.

“This will be where ye can stay for the night,” the abbot indicated. “Your men will have to sleep in the stables.”