The Highlander's Reward (8 page)

“Who is it?”

“Who is what?”

“Who follows us?”

“English knights.”

“Do you think
’tis my father?”

He shrugged and sat on the stool to pull on his boots.

Arbella swallowed hard and then licked her lips. She wanted to ask if they could find out, but she was too afraid.

He glanced up at her, sensing her indecision. “I have already asked the abbot to send word to us secretly if it is your father, and i
f not, then to give us the identification of who follows. He also knows not to make mention of our visit and what happened here.”

She sighed in relief. “Thank you.”

“Come now, we must depart.” Magnus stood and walked toward her. He pressed a hand to her cheek, rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. “Else I ask for another kiss.”

Their trip through the Highlands was less grueling than their first trip from Stirling to the abbey. Arbella rode with Magnus, although this time she insisted on sitting behind him and holding on rather than sitting atop his lap. She’d thought it would make the unwanted, yet incredibly delicious trills that sang through her body disappear, but it only seemed to worsen them. In this position she straddled his perfect form. Her arms wrapped around his waist, clutching him, her breasts pressed tightly to his back. His scent
, a mix of horses, mint and the outdoors, encompassed her, drove her mad.

When they reached a grove
, feathered in heather and wild flowers, to rest and water the horses, she dismounted, stretched her legs, taking in the sights of the mountain ridges beyond and the various fir, maple and oak trees. Arbella turned her gaze toward her husband.

“I’d like my own mount, if you please.”

“It doesna please me.” He didn’t even bother to look at her. Instead he picked up a handful of grass and rubbed it over his massive horse’s back, wiping off the sweat in an attempt to cool Beast.

She watched how lovingly he tended the animal. How the fearsome horse nudged and nuzzled Magnus. It was an odd combination seeing these two magnificent beings acting so calmly and gentl
y with each other.

“It would greatly please me, my laird.”

He turned toward her, raised a brow. “Why?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and shuffled on her feet.
“’Tis not comfortable.”

“And ye think your own mount will be? Mayhap ye just aren’t used to riding.”

At that her ire was piqued. “I have ridden plenty, warrior.”

“Have ye?” He shrugged as if he could care less about what she had to say. “I dinna have an extra mount for ye. Ye could ride with one of the other men if y
e’re not comfortable with me.”

Arbella
glared at him. How had he guessed? She glanced around at his men who were making an attempt to ignore their conversation.

She shook her head.
The thought of riding with any of them was unappealing—made her feel out of control. And she didn’t want to ride with Magnus either. “I’ll walk then.”

He chuckled. “Ye’ll never make it.
’Tis another day’s ride, and ye know not the way.”

“Then you shall have to ride slow so that I can keep up.”

To her consternation he shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Ye aren’t making sense, lass. What causes ye such discomfort ye’d be making these rash decisions?” He stepped forward and tucked her hair behind her ear.

She flicked away his hand and tried to tuck her hair back within her ribbons, but her hair did not want to cooperate today.
She hated that he was so solicitous with her. Like he really cared about her. The thought made her insides jump, made her mind race and had a bubble of excitement bursting within her. But she knew it was nonsense. He could not care about her. They’d only just met. To him, she was just a reward. A pet, like his mount.

Arbella
frowned. “Never mind.” She would have to make do with riding together. As much as she didn’t want to, it was really her only choice.

She turned to head into the trees to find some privacy only to be stopped by Magnus.

“Arbella,” Magnus said softly. “I know this life is not the one ye dreamed of, and not one ye chose. But I will do my best to see ye safe.”

She wanted to ask if he’d do his best to make her happy. But that was probably too much to request. He’d vowed to keep her safe and that should be enough. Besides, she would only be married to him for a few months at the most.

“I will do my best to stay safe.” She offered him a weak smile then continued on her way.

She could hear him walking behind her. He kept a minimal distance so she was able to pretend she was alone—a state she wouldn’t find herself in for some time she feared.

When they returned to camp, Magnus’ men had set up a small fare from the abbey. There was dark brown bread, apples and soft cheese. After their meager breakfast of porridge and several hours of burning energy by clinging to the horse, Arbella was starving.

“I hope
’tis enough. We did not want to take any meat from the abbey. The men of the cloth live a paltry enough life.”

Arbella nodded and sat on a log Gavin offered.
“’Tis perfect fare. I do not eat meat, anyhow.”

Magnus sat beside her breaking off a hunk of bread and handing it to her. He looked at her as though she were a foreign creature. “Ye dinna eat meat?”

She laughed. He sounded so incredulous. So many did when they found out. To her it was a simple fact, nothing more. To them it always seemed to be the end of the world.

“Nay, my laird.”
She bit into the slightly stale bread and chewed. ’Twas bland but did the job of curbing her hunger.

“Why do ye not eat meat?”

“’Tis simple, truly. I witnessed a butchering when I was young. I’ve never had a taste for it since. The sight and smell of it cooked doesn’t bother me, I just cannot bring myself to partake.”

He leaned back slightly and examined her from head to toe. “And yet ye appear to be healthy and well formed.”

She laughed again, although this time she tilted her head back and allowed herself to laugh fully. It felt good to laugh, a renewed energy buzzed within her veins. “Aye.”

“Hmm…” But he said nothing more, only passed her a chunk of cheese and slices of apple.

When it came time for them to ride again, Magnus led her to his horse and stopped at the last minute.

“If ye truly wish to ride alone, I can have two of my smaller men pair up.”

Arbella wanted to point out that none of his men were small, but instead she said, “Nay, Magnus. I am fine.”

A
n appealing expression of relief filled his face. It was endearing in a way she’d never thought possible. There was much more to this man than what initially met the eye. On the outside he was fierce, unforgiving—a true warrior. But on the inside he was a sensitive, kind, observant man.

Chapter
Eight

Thank the Saints they’d finally made it to Sutherland. Magnus let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for weeks. They walked their horses along a ridge overlooking Dornoch Firth. Although they’d reached his lands, Dunrobin was still hours away and it was nearing sunset. There was nothing better than returning to his own lands. He could resume his regular routine. Meet with his clan. Make the rounds of his lands. Sleep in his own bed.

He glanced down at the tiny hands clasped around his waist, his stomach tightening.

She would be sleeping with him. Although he had a suspicion she would request her own chamber. As he’d heard it, most English nobles did have their own chambers, even when married. But not at Sutherland. Here the laird and his lady had shared a chamber for centuries, showing the clan a united front. This woman, Arbella, would be seen as his partner. But he wasn’t sure he was ready to tell her that.

His clan was different in their respect of women. But he thought it would be funny to watch her squirm for a bit. She was
a feisty one to be sure. And a bit bossy he could tell. She was going to make an excellent sparring partner.

Perhaps that was one of the first things they’d do—he’d teach her how to wield that dagger against a real man. Then he hoped to kiss her some more.

He was a bit apprehensive about what his people would think of her. She was English after all…and there was the little, teeny-tiny, fact that he was supposed to marry another. He’d not wanted to wed Ina Ross, and now he wouldn’t have to. Ina’s father, the chief of the Ross clan bordering Sutherland’s southern lands had been after him to join their clans through marriage since Magnus was a green lad of only eighteen summers. Ina was the only heir left to the Ross. She would inherit his lands, but women lairds were notoriously attacked. Ross thought it best to join the two clans, offer his daughter the protection of the Sutherlands. Magnus would always be willing to help out a fellow clan, but to be married?

His family had been allied to the Ross’ his entire life. He’d known Ina since he was a babe, and he couldn’t say he particularly enjoyed her company. Her father
, having lost his other children, doted on her endlessly. She was spoiled rotten and wasted no time in resorting to trickery to get her way—or stomping her foot. Not something he’d wanted to deal with.

Marriage
was an appeal he’d denied until two month’s past.

At nearly thirty years of age,
it was time for Magnus to marry and beget heirs for the clan, and so he’d agreed. Now he wished he’d put off Ross for just a few more months. He’d have to deal with that later. Sending a missive to the Ross would have to do for now, and then perhaps later he’d go and make a visit, offer up one of his brothers perhaps in his stead.

He nodded to no one, it was a good decision. It was time Ronan and Blane were married.

The men around him hollered when in the distance the towers of Dunrobin could be made out along the shore.

Arbella startled. “Why do they cheer?”

“Ye see there?” He pointed to the castle. “’Tis Dunrobin.”

He felt her shiver behind him and absently rubbed her hands.

“’Tis massive.” Her voice was soft, faraway.

“Aye.
We are very proud.” He gazed out over the lands. They’d built a sturdy tower wall made of stone along with two wide stone towers along the south and west sides of the wall. This coming summer they would break ground on a third tower along the north wall. The keep itself was still made of wood and towered at four stories high. He hoped after the third tower was built to begin plans for a new keep made of stone. But in order to pay for it, they’d have to make more sales at the sheep market.

He was anxious to return home and see how his brother B
lane had fared. He’d taken much of their wool to the Fall Market near the border of England—along with several dozen warriors to protect their merchandise. ’Twas a risky business, but the market was bigger there in the fall and likely to earn them more coin. His brother had an uncanny talent of making himself sound and appear English when he wanted—which made the English all the more willing to part with their coin.

Magnus was very proud of the wool trade he’d built up for his clan. They had not dealt with it before he took the lairdship. But upon traveling to a Market in his early twenties he’d come across a wool merchant who was doing well for himself. The idea of bringing the wool business to Sutherland sparked and Magnus had been reaping the benefits—and working his arse off—ever since. His clansmen
were natural sheepherders and they all shared in the work of sheep farming along with the seasonal farming which kept them all fed. Extra profits from wool meant better wine and ale, superior protection and increased fortifications. They were quickly becoming one of the most formidable clans in the Highlands.

“Do you have many attacks at Dunrobin?”

“Attacks?”

“Aye.
Glenda said that the Scots fight nonstop.”

Magnus growled low in his throat.
If he ever got his hands on this Glenda…

“I
willna say we are never attacked, but ’tis rare. Our last attack was over five years ago.”

He heard her loud intake of breath, and rolled his eyes. “Dinna be so shocked. We are not all the heathens the English make us out to be.”

“I never said that.”

“Ye dinna need too. Your gasps and expressions and mutterings of the foolish Glenda are enough.”

“Glenda is right about a lot of things.”

“I challenge
ye to name one.” He couldn’t wait to hear what she had to say.

“Well, she was right about
Highland warriors.”

“And what did she say about
us?”

“That they were
gigantic. That if I ever encountered one, he would frighten the breath from my body. Perhaps I might even die upon seeing one.”

Glenda’s warnings were offensive, but so ridiculous he had to laugh. “And are ye dead now, lass?”

“That depends.”

Taken aback, he jerked around trying to see her face.
“On what?”

“On whether or not I can survive your merciless winter and the people of your clan.”

“Ye’ll survive. I expect nothing less from my wife.”

“I am not truly your wife.”

He grunted. No use arguing the fact. She was his wife, and she’d be his wife in truth as soon as they got to Sutherland and he convinced her to give him another kiss. She’d been hot for him before and he intended to see the deed done. He wouldn’t let her go back to England.

He’d agreed before to let her return, to marry her only for her safety. But the
lass was growing on him, as much as she was a pain in the arse. And being married to her meant he did not have to marry Ina Ross—a fact he hoped to never have to tell Arbella.

Knowing he was supposed to marry another would only make her want to leave him all the more. He had to convince her to stay. The only way he could see to do that was to bed her. While bedding her would forever bind them in marriage, he also desired her. More than he’d ever desired another. His need for her alarmed him.
He hoped that when they finally did make love that his craving would dissipate. Although in the back of his mind, if her kisses were anything to go by, that would prove difficult. With each kiss he only wanted more. He suspected when he was finally able to dive between her thighs he would only wish to remain there forever.

He called for his men to stop. They’d make camp for the night and in the morning they’d arrive at Dunrobin to begin their new life.

“Gavin, ride ahead and prepare the castle for our return.” He made a pointed glance at Arbella’s back as she slinked into the forest for relief. “I dinna want my wife’s arrival to be a surprise.”

“Aye, my laird.”
Gavin mounted his horse and took off in the direction of Dunrobin.

Magnus followed Arbella into the woods. He waited quietly for her to finish then led her back to camp. Tents were being erected, a fire stoked and freshly killed squirrels were being turned on a makeshift spit.

Arbella crinkled her nose. “Would you mind if I looked in the forest for something to eat?”

“I’ll come with
ye.”

Magnus followed her as she picked through shrubs and dug in the ground. “What are ye looking for?”

“This!” she exclaimed digging up some wild mushrooms.

She found leafy greens, root vegetables, wild onions—
things that Magnus would never have dreamed of eating.

“This should do.” She looked up at him shyly. “Thank you.”

He smiled down at her, pleased by the charming shade of pink on her cheeks. “I willna have ye starve, wife.”

Desire flashed in her eyes at his words and he felt his own yearning for her kindle. Their eyes locked and he stepped toward her, brushing his knuckles over her cheek.

“Ye are beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

But before he could kiss her she turned and scurried away. Magnus frowned and cursed himself for not acting quicker. He followed her to the creek where she washed her vegetables, setting the clean fare in his outstretched hands before standing and wiping her hands on her gown. She took the vegetables back, beaming at her finds.

Magnus could hold back no further. He swooped in and kissed her briefly. She gasped and took a step back, her eyes wide.

“Apologies. Ye tempt me beyond reason.”

He watched her throat bob as she swallowed. “’Tis the same for me,” she said
in a throaty whisper.

“Do not deny me.”

“I shan’t.”

It was all the permission he needed. Magnus bent low, his hands encompassing the sides of her face as his lips pressed to hers. He drank in her essence, and exulted when she swiped her tongue over his lower lip. He hauled her closer, only to feel the barrier of her hands clutching her vegetation keeping them apart.
Magnus would have to be satisfied with only their lips touching, caressing. He nibbled at her lips, sucked on her tongue, growled when she moaned deep in her throat. They could not reach Dunrobin soon enough. His cock throbbed, lifting his kilt. Maybe he would not wait until they reached Dunrobin, he could take her right here on the forest floor.

He pulled away abruptly. Bedding her atop dead leaves and dirt was not the way he wanted it to be
for their first time. He needed to enthrall her, move her to the point she only wanted more and more—not prove that thoughts of him being a barbarian were warranted.

Arbella
gazed up at him, bemused, her ruby-red lips moist and slightly swollen from his kiss.

“We must return to camp,” he said, his voice full of gravel.

She took a deep breath, her chest rising, showing the pebbled nipples pressing against her gown. He licked his lips and stilled his hand from stroking over the hardened nubs. Turning away from her, he willed his cock to shrink and willed his desire to flee.

When they reached the camp the men were pulling hunks of meat from the squirrels. Arbella sat on the ground and munched on her leaves
, her face flaming.

“Can I try one?” he asked.

“Of course.” She handed him a leaf and a mushroom.

Magnus stuffed them into his mouth. The flavors were mild, and yet strong at the same time.
Earthy, refreshing. A completely different flavor than the meat. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to survive on the plants alone.

“What do you think?” she
asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

Magnus shrugged.
“’Tis different.”

“Oh.” She looked a little dejected.

“Not in a bad way, lass, just different. Where did ye learn to forage for wild plants?”

“Glenda.”

“Ah, so there was something the woman was right about.”

Arbella laughed. “Well, most of the time! There was a time she picked a whole basket of berries only for them to be poisonous. Lucky for us, a bird flew in and ate several then collaps
ed before we indulged in her collection.”

Magnus’ heart raced at the thought of her eating poison
ed berries. “Thank God He sent in a messenger.”