The Highlander's Triumph (23 page)

Morning broke with golden beams of light filtering their way through the trees. Mariana hadn’t slept so well in all her life as she did nestled in Brandon’s arms with nature as their backdrop.

The tip of her nose was cold, but the rest of her was nice and toasty, snuggled beside him with his thick plaid cocooning them in body heat.

“Morning, love,” Brandon whispered.

Mariana tilted her head back, resting her chin on his shoulder and smiled.
“Morning.”

“How did ye sleep?”

“Like a babe.”

“Aye, me too.”

Mariana leaned up on her elbow, fully aware that half of her breast was exposed. Brandon stretched his arms up wide over his head, his eyebrows wiggling.

“That’s a lovely sight for a man in the morning.” With his pointer finger, he tugged the plaid the rest of the way down.
“Even better now.” He tackled her back to the ground, smothering her neck with hot, wet kisses.

Behind them, someone cleared their throat. “A good morning to
ye both.”

Mariana gasped, covering her face with her hands. “Tell them to go away,” she whispered frantically.

“I think your hands are covering the wrong part of your body,” Brandon said with a chuckle, sliding the plaid further over them.

She was being silly, she was full aware of it, especially considering she’d been mistress to many, but somewhere along the line, she’d made a pact with herself that she belonged to Brandon and no other, not even for looking.

“Ho, there, Wallace. We came across the present ye left good ‘ole Longshanks.” Brandon managed to slide from beneath the plaid without exposing her further to anyone’s eyes. Without his heat beside her, she quickly felt the coolness of the ground sinking through the plaid she laid on, chilling her to the bone. Gooseflesh covered her skin and she shivered.

Wanting to know just how many had seen them in such a compromising position, she
peeked her eyes open and pulled the plaid up to her chin at the same moment. Only Wallace. Thank goodness.

But…oh, my…

Brandon stood directly in front of her, nude as a god. His rear tight and muscular just feet from her. She wanted to reach out and touch him. To feel him once more pushing against her, to have him shudder between her thighs.

Heat blasted over her cheeks, neck and chest. She sank further beneath the plaid, wishing to become one with the leaves and mossy ground, if only
until Wallace left them alone.

What in blazes could be so interesting?
Shouldn’t Brandon be sending him away until they were decent? Tilting her head, she listened closely.

“Och, man, put some damn clothes on.
I’m nay wanting to see your tallywag first thing in the morning.”

Mariana bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“I’m nay the one who barged in,” Brandon countered.

“How was I to know ye were wi
th the lass?” Wallace whispered rather loudly.

“The men should have told
ye I was going after her.”

Mariana rubbed her good hand over her frozen thighs, and rubbed her feet together, hoping to create enough friction to keep her warm.
It worked a little, but not as well as Brandon’s body heat. Why wouldn’t Wallace go away so she could at least get dressed?

Wallace’s face turned hard. “That they did. Ye were lucky to come out of it alive. Dinna do something so foolish again.”

“I canna promise ye that.” Brandon’s voice was filled with seriousness. “If my woman is being held by Longshanks again, I’ll have no choice.”

He
called her
his woman
…

Mariana bit her lip to keep from singing with pleasure. Not that she truly would have done such a thing, but she was so pleased to hear him say it, her heart soared and energy burst like fire through her veins
. With that feeling, she was capable of doing anything.

“Where’s then new camp
. We can meet ye there if ye’re not of a mind to wait,” Brandon said, turning toward his horse and throwing on his linen shirt—now dry.

Mariana wished he’d toss over her chemise, not that it would be easy to put it on with her arm in the sling, but she could manage it so as not to be so naked in front of the Guardian of Scotland.

“We’ve yet to make camp. For now, we’ve had a message that the English are choosing to fall back to England. The Bruce is going to give the majority of the men staggered leave for about a month.”

Brandon nodded. Instead of grabbing the breeches he’d taken off the day before, he pleated a plaid around his hips and belted it.

“I dinna need to be one of the men taking leave.”

“Aye, the Bruce wants
ye to take your men back to visit their families. Let them know what they fight for. But keep them training. If he calls for ye, he wants ye to be ready.”

“Where will ye be?
The Bruce?”

“I’ll stay with him. I’ve no family now. Those who have family have been given orders to return and see them safe.
Same as ye. They will train and be ready when called.”

Brandon gave a firm nod. “I will not let him down.”

Wallace grinned broadly, flicked his eyes toward Mariana and she felt herself color again. “I suspect ye might want to be getting to the kirk.”

“The kirk?” she blurted out.

Wallace peeked around Brandon. “Aye, lass, to become Lady Sinclair.”

“Oh,” she breathed,
then choked on the lack of air intake.
Lady Sinclair.
Brandon’s wife. He would be her husband. Forever. To wake up beside him every morning…

“Well, lass, what do ye say?” Brandon turned around and winked at her. “Ye did say ye’ve never seen a Scottish spring
before.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

R
acing to the altar was not an activity Brandon ever foresaw himself doing. And yet, here he was, atop his horse, Mariana in his lap, surrounded by his men and Wallace. The Bruce and his set had remained ahead, looking for a new camp, and Brandon was glad to have at least a few weeks of reprieve.

They rode over hills, through glens and thick trees, until at
last, they came to a small village.

And the kirk.

The small stone chapel had a tower with a diminutive bell that tolled noon. The priest burst from inside like he’d been chasing devils. He was a large man, his brown robes coming just barely to his ankles, like they’d been borrowed. A cross made of steel hung heavily from his neck on a thick chain. His head was shaved on the sides, and pulled back into a long braid. Sporting a long goatee, he looked more savage than Brandon himself. If not for the robes, Brandon might have drawn his sword.

“We’d like to be married,” Brandon said.

The man nodded and waved them inside. He disappeared within, the oak door slamming ominously behind him.

“Odd looking priest,” Brandon muttered.

Wallace stroked his chin and stared after the man. “He’s got the look of a Mackay. I wonder if he wasn’t sent into the priesthood as punishment for something.”

“Like what?” Mariana asked while he tried to help her dismount. She batted away his hands and managed—awkwardly with her broken arm—to get down.

“I dinna know. We may never know.” Wallace walked ahead of them into the kirk.

“Life with you is never without excitement, is it?” Mariana’s eyes sparkled.

“No, I’m afraid if ye’re looking for dull, I’m not likely to oblige, though I’d try my damndest.”

She smiled, stroked
Brandon’s arm. “Why do I have a feeling you would have a hard time being dull? As long as we’re together, that is all I need.”

Brandon forced himself not to frown. There were going to be times he wasn’t with her.
When he was called to battle. Even with an iron will, he wasn’t able to keep his brows from burrowing.

“I know what you’re thinking, Laird Sinclair,” she whispered, her fingers crawling a path up to his shoulder. “I won’t begrudge you your position with
in Scotland. I won’t beg you to choose between your duty to country versus your duty to me. I know what’s at stake, and I support your country’s need of your strong arm.” She squeezed his upper arm, and leaned up to kiss his chin. “I only ask that you try with every ounce you possess, to make it home to me.”

“On that, ye will never have to worry. My every breath and thought will be about finding my way back to ye.
If I have to kill every damn Englishman in order to get it, then so be it, I will.”

She presented him with a beguiling smile, grabbed hold of his shirt and tugged him closer. “Then kiss me senseless.”

“Aye, lass, I will do that very thing.” Brandon wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Their lips connected, hot, both of them trembling.

“I suspect that is what happens after the ceremony?” Wallace’s voice broke their interlude, and they turned to find him poking his head from the door. “The priest is waiting, and he does seem to be an impatient sort. Is that not a sin, for a priest to have no patience?” He looked off into the distance as though trying to decipher that very thing, then disappeared again.

Brandon chuckled and shook his head. Wallace made all the blood, guts and pain of this war a little less horrific. When Mariana turned to go inside he held her back, his fingers twining with hers. “Wait.”

She glanced back at him, a bemused look on her face. Lord, she was gorgeous.
Brandon bent and picked a rather limp looking thistle. There did not appear to be more than sad flora in the immediate vicinity. He handed Mariana the purplish brown thistle with a smile. “’Tis not exactly the cut I would have given ye.”

Mariana lowered her lashes, and pretended to sniff the thistle. “The most beautiful flower a beau has ever given me.”

Brandon chuckled, glad she found humor in it as he did. “I dinna… This is…” Ballocks, but he couldn’t seem to form a sentence. Nerves made him jumpy, and he was never this full of jitters. He was a warrior for heaven’s sake.

“What is it?” she asked softly, coaxing him to answer.

Brandon thought he might just drown in the blue of her eyes, rather than say what he wanted. But if he didn’t soon, Wallace was bound to poke his head back out of the church and drag them in.

“This has all happened to so suddenly. I simply wanted to make sure ye were all right with it.”

Her brows knitted together. “Are you all right with it?”

“Aye.”
There was no hesitation in his answer. He was ready. “I love ye, Mariana. I’d have ye for my wife, to cherish for the rest of my days.”

“Then get your blasted arse in here!” Wallace called from the door, then turned around and called inside, “Sorry, Father!”

Mariana chewed her lip, obviously trying to hold back a laugh.

“He’s a feisty one,” Brandon said with a smile.

“That he is.” Mariana squeezed his hand in hers. “I love you, too. I want you for my husband, sudden or not.”

Relief flooded him. He’d not truly thought she’d deny him, but mayhap deep down a part of him had thought that it might be too good to be true.

“Then, let us hurry inside.” Brandon tugged her in, and they half ran, half walked into the kirk.

“Finally…” the priest muttered.

Mariana flashed Brandon a hidden smile.

“Apologies, Father, we were—“

“Och, I dinna want to hear it. I’ll need to do your confessions and then I’ll marry ye.” The priest glowered. Truth be told, he looked more ready to go to battle than to take their confessions and join them in holy matrimony.

“This is
Father Mackay,” Wallace said with a raise of his brow.

The man flashed Wallace a glare
, before turning toward Mariana who he watched like a falcon observed his prey. “My lady, shall we?”

Brandon was hard pressed to trust him, especially after hearing the name
Mackay. They’d long feuded with his cousins’ clan, the Sutherlands. He gave Wallace a questioning look, and the man nodded. If Wallace trusted the priest then he could too. Though apprehension filled him as they man took Mariana behind the curtains of a covered alcove. He pressed a hand to the sword at his side. Seeing his movement, Wallace shook his head.

“He’s fierce, aye, bu
t the man took a vow, and a Mackay never goes back on their vows.”

Brandon had to trust that the man standing alone behind the curtain with his woman was indeed loyal to the cloth.

Straightening her shoulders, Mariana forced herself to remain calm. The alcove was tiny to begin with, but was made even smaller by the presence of the warrior-like priest.

“Sit,” he commanded.

Without question, she sat on the bench, hands folded in her lap. The bulky man sat opposite her, and looked at her with eyes the color of the sea. No longer scowling, he actually was handsome, in a rugged sort of way.

“Ye are to b
e married today?”

“
Oui
, Father.”

“Are ye here of your own will?”

She nodded, wanted to ask him the same thing.

“I will hear your confession.”

Mariana took a deep breath, for her sins were many.

“My, lass, ’that many, eh?”
His lip curled in a half smile.

She shrugged and smiled back. “I used to be the English king’s mistress.”

Father Mackay’s eyes widened and she feared he may not be a priest after all, and that he might take vengeance on her former lover through her.

Instead, his easy smile returned. “We all have our sins. If ye are not wanted by the Scottish law, then I can absolve
ye of all your past transgressions.”

“I assure you, Father, I am innocent of any wrong doing.”

Father Mackay touched her forehead, stroking the sign of a cross. “Bless ye, my lady, ye are free of sin.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“Aye. Now let us get ye married.”

Mariana stood as the priest did, but then turned around to gaze at him. “Why are you here?” she asked.

“Here? I am a priest and this is a house of God.” He gestured for her to leave the alcove. “Go, we must see ye wed and on your way.”

Mariana followed his directions. He was not likely to tell her anything about himself, and it was truly none of her business anyway.

The priest swiped aside the curtain, and every warrior piled within the small kirk sent their hands to their weapons.

“
Och, put it away. This is a house of God for heaven’s sake.”

Mariana sucked her lip into her mouth to keep from laughing. The man was certainly a character, for sure. She met Brandon’s gaze, and smiled. He was tense about the shoulders, his face pinched with
something akin to alarm, but as soon as his eyes met hers, the lines disappeared and his lips curled. He looked her over approvingly, and heat spread through her.

This was her wedding day. A day she’d never thought to see come and here it was. Brandon held out his hand to her and she welcomed it, feeling the roughness of his fingers graze over her knuckles.

“Who gives this woman in matrimony?” Father Mackay called out, his booming voice echoing over the rafters.

“I do,” Wallace said, his voice equally booming.

“Let us begin.” The priest motioned with his fingers to step forward, and they did as one. “Kneel.”

Mariana and Brandon knelt before the warrior priest
, who fumbled through a tattered book. Finally, they recited their vows, but she could hardly remember the words, only thinking about the future and how her wish was coming true.

When they were finished, the men surrounding them cheered loud while Brandon bent her backward over his arm and kissed her.
As always, the world around them seemed to disappear and she felt herself floating away into a realm that was halfway between a dream and a fairy tale.

“Well, Lady Sinclair, ye’re stuck with me now.”

“I can’t imagine another place I’d rather be.”

’Twas not until after the ceremony, and they’d ridden a good distance away, Mariana realized the priest had never heard Brandon’s confession,
and
the gold and ruby ring King Edward gave her was missing from her finger. The latter, she thought a blessing, as it was a gift she’d rather not keep. But ’twould appear their priest had some confessing of his own to do. As for Brandon’s lack of confession, she would pray daily for her husband’s soul to make up for it.