Читать книгу The Highlander's Bride - Michele Sinclair - Страница 6

Just before dawn, Laurel stirred from her sleep and sat up, once again feeling pain course through her body. Last night’s recollection was distant, half dream, half nightmare. Looking around, she was momentarily alarmed waking up in the middle of a camp full of Scottish, bare-legged giants. Then she remembered. Her side was aching, and it still hurt to breathe, but her head was not pounding as it had been.

Laurel stood up, closed her eyes, and recalled the rugged man with lustrous gray eyes that seemed to peer into her soul. She carefully reached down and picked up the dark woolen blanket of greens and blues she had slept on. She lightly fingered the soft, well-used cloth accented with bright colors of gold, red, and burgundy and wrapped herself in its warmth. It smelled of horse flesh and of the man who had promised to keep her safe from harm. It was odd, but the blanket and its smell comforted her as she walked into the woods for some privacy.

Conor saw her rise. He had been watching her sleep for most of the night. She had moved very little while she slept, as if any change in position caused pain. It was hard to see what she looked like in her current condition, but he could not deny that something about her captivated him.

He watched her grab his plaid, drape it around her, and go into the woods barely lit by the sun’s dawning rays. She walked gracefully, with dignity and full of calm. Not at all as if she had narrowly escaped some harrowing experience.

Conor shook his head for the hundredth time, trying to get control of his wayward thoughts. He had never seen a woman in such a state of physical chaos. But even so, he wanted her on levels he couldn’t explain to anyone—especially himself.

Conor stood up abruptly. He needed to concentrate on the day’s ride and returning home. Once there, he would find a safe place for her, and then resume his daily routine. He went to gather his guards so they could break camp.

By the time Laurel returned, the rest of the group was up and preparing to leave. The youngest of the enormous Scots was the first to see her standing on the edge of the clearing watching them. The others, seeing Clyde’s unexpected halt in activity, looked to see what had affected their younger brother so.

It was a tall, slender female with long gold hair and incredible blue-green eyes. Her arm was badly bruised, her dress was torn, and she was wrapped in a McTiernay plaid.

Laurel was also transfixed by the sight of the five Scots. They were all highlanders. Their strong rugged features, dress, and weaponry were unmistakable. Some of them were still quite young, but in a few years they would grow to be giants as well. Each had coppery-brown hair ranging from a light auburn to a rich dark shade of brown like their leader’s. All of them had bright blue eyes that sparkled, with the exception of the youngest, whose unusual liquid gray eyes reminded her of the giant who had promised his protection.

Laurel looked around for their leader or any of the other men she had encountered last night, but none were in sight. A moment of panic invaded her. She needed to leave immediately. Surely, by now someone had seen what she had done and was looking for her.

One of the men approached. “Lass? Are you all right, lass? You look a mess, begging your pardon.” As he spoke, the others began to surround her, each compelled to help.

Laurel quickly realized they meant no harm and were only curious. “Umm, you are right. I am a mess. I believe it was a brother of yours who helped me last night.” She paused as she saw the four younger men grin. The oldest of the five, on the other hand, was scowling. She decided to ignore him and directed her attention to those more agreeable. “Do any of you gentlemen know where I could wash my face?”

All of them started shaking their heads. The youngest one with the gray eyes clarified, “There is only one place near here, miss, but it is a very small creek, and it is back towards Douglass land.” He pointed down to the area she escaped from last night.

Laurel blanched noticeably.

“But there is one up north a ways, miss. We’re going there today,” mentioned one of the twins.

“You could come with us,” offered another.

Laurel beamed at their youthful enthusiasm. Her smile caused an instant positive reaction in the group. Even Cole—who hated everything English—suddenly wanted to help this maiden who had been attacked so viciously.

Conor returned to see his brothers ogling Laurel as if she were an angel just arrived from the heavens. It was evident that her bewitching effect was not only limited to him. His guards, Loman and Hamish, had been discussing her when he arrived that morning, and now his brothers were practically gaping at her. Even he had been staring at her all night.

In the dim firelight, her hair had appeared a burnished yellow, but now, in the morning sunlight, the pale, golden halo could render a man senseless. Her face was heart shaped, with large eyes, high cheekbones, a pert little nose and full, rose-colored lips. It mattered not that her hair was matted and unclean. Men forgot who they were, their skills, and their duty when they saw visions such as this one.

He scowled at his brothers, narrowing his gaze. Laurel turned to see what had caused the men to jump in response. Then she saw him. Last night, he had given his word that no harm would come to her. Or was his pledge of protection just a dream?

“Did you mean it?” she whispered as he came near.

Damn, she had the most hypnotic eyes. Now that she wasn’t angry, they were a much lighter color of blue mixed with an unusual shade of green. Framed by long dark eyelashes and a perfectly shaped eyebrow a few shades darker than her pale hair, they were a little large for her face. Her right cheek was slightly swollen and the bruise on her arm was deepening in color and size. Seeing the evidence of her injuries in daylight, Conor quelled the anger stirring in him and reached out to take the plaid she was handing him.

The gasp from his brothers was audible. Whoever had beaten her had done so mercilessly. The reason behind her restless sleep was abundantly clear. They all began asking questions at once.

“What happened to you, lass?”

“Who did this to you?”

“Here, lass, sit down.”

“What’s your name, lass?”

“Aye, where is your home, pretty lady?”

“Tell me who did this, and I will seek your revenge,” one of the twins vowed.

“My brother will save you. He’s a laird,” she heard the youngest one promise.

Conor motioned for silence with a flicker of his eyes.

“Who did this?” Conor’s tone was laden with controlled fury. The four guards had returned from their night’s post and joined the group, wondering what had caught their laird’s anger. Then they saw Laurel.

“Who hurt me does not matter. What’s important is that I don’t give them another opportunity. Please, can I come with you?” she asked anxiously.

The question made no sense. He had promised her protection, and that made the answer obvious. “You will come with us,” Conor clarified, his voice conveying no emotion. On the other hand, his gaze held hers, and she saw a dangerous storm brewing within the liquid gray pools.

His answer was comforting, but only if they left in time. She would see no more good men go to their deaths because of her. “Soon? Can we leave right away?”

It was obvious she thought that whoever did this was looking for her. His eyes slightly narrowed at her request. “Aye lass, we’ll be leaving. But before we reach the end of our travels, I will be knowing who did this,” he stated, pointing to her face and arms. He motioned for the group to decamp. “We leave immediately.”

Everyone began to mount. As Laurel wondered who she would ride with, Hamish approached. “My lady.” The guard gestured toward his horse. Laurel began walking to his tan-colored horse, wondering why she was disappointed that the dark leader had not offered.

The highland chief was much more fierce-looking in the morning light. His body was taught and rigid, and the complete control he had over his every move was frighteningly powerful. His dark wavy hair whipped about his face and his ice-gray eyes no longer bore any of the warmth and concern that flickered there in last night’s moonlight. Yet, he was the one to whom she was drawn. With him, she felt safe and protected. Him, she trusted.

Conor had already mounted his stallion and had intended to put some distance between him and the bewitching maiden by having her ride with one of his men. But when he saw Hamish approach her and her simple acceptance, something inside him went cold. Without conscious thought, he nudged his horse into movement and, with one quick sweep of his arms, settled her across his lap. Hamish looked questioningly at his laird, and then turned to mount his horse. He was not pleased with his laird’s decision, but his loyalty to the McTiernay chieftain would never waver.

“May I ask your name?” Laurel inquired over her shoulder as she twisted to ride astride.

He leaned down so that his lips only just caressed her ear. “Conor. You will call me Conor.” He spoke so softly that it sent shivers throughout her body.

They rode hard that morning, stopping briefly only once to eat some food and rest their horses. Laurel ate very little and said less as they rode. Conor knew she was in great pain, as she tried not to wince each time his horse took unexpected turns through the rocky passes. But she never complained.

At first, Laurel had been reassured when Conor picked her up to ride with him. But her physical reaction to him was so intense, so unexpected, that when he whispered his name in her ear, she wanted to retreat into the unappealing arms of another.

Throughout the morning, she tried to ride with her back rigid, so as to not make familiar contact with the highlander. But by the afternoon, she had no more strength and began to relax against his chest. He was so strong and smelled so good. His scent reminded Laurel of her grandfather—earthy, warm and comforting.

Conor was relieved when she finally gave in to her fatigue. It had pained him to see her discomfort compounded by her refusal to lean on him for support. But once she did, the torture he had been experiencing was even worse.

All morning he had been dealing with the scent of lilacs, trying to ignore her soft skin when it came into contact with his. Now, with her leaning against him, he was living in agony that only would have been surpassed by seeing her in some other man’s arms.

About an hour before sunset, Conor motioned to Finn to make camp up ahead. He veered to his left, leaving the others, and rode towards a thicket shielding a small rocky river. He dismounted and lowered her slowly to the ground, handing her a small pouch.

He knew it was folly to continue holding her, but he seemed to have no power over his actions. She looked up at him expectantly but did not attempt to escape his embrace.

“There is a stream just ahead for you to bathe in. It should not be too cold this far south,” he nodded towards a path through the bushes. “I must see to my men and will return shortly.” He let her go and turned towards his horse. Just before he left, he added, “You are safe here,” and rode out of sight, leaving Laurel to her privacy.

Conor returned to the unmade campsite and found his brothers gathered, speaking animatedly about something, or someone. He handed his mount to Cole and went to establish a perimeter watch with Hamish.

“What do you intend, laird?” Hamish ventured, wondering what his laird’s plan was with the English lady named Laurel. Hamish was a stout man, muscular with shoulder-length auburn hair. His dark green eyes flashed with whatever strong emotion he was feeling. Currently, it was a mixture of protection and possession.

Conor saw the fierce need in his guard. “My word.”

Only slightly appeased, Hamish needed to know the extent of his laird’s promise. “Your word? Did you promise her safety? Or to return her home?” When Conor did not respond, Hamish uncharacteristically pressed, “Surely, you did not promise to return her to England, laird.”

This line of questioning was unusual for his normally quiet, reserved guard. The fact that it was centered on Laurel made Conor uneasy. “Enough, Hamish. We are returning to McTiernay land. I will take care of the Englishwoman.”

Hamish did not care for his laird’s tone. It felt harsh and without warmth. But then, what did he expect? Conor had made it long known how he felt about the fairer sex. Hamish decided then that if she could not return to her people, he would ask for her hand.

Conor’s brief discussion with Hamish left him irritated and cross. He knew Hamish was attracted to Laurel as were most of his brothers and his guard, maybe more so. Damn, he wished he knew what it was about her that made men desire her so quickly, so definitively.

Conor told Hamish to finish checking the perimeter. He would meet up with him and Seamus near the rocky pass once he finished one more task. He told himself that he was just going to make sure that the Englishwoman was safe.

As Conor approached the clearing, he could see Laurel sitting serenely in the river, facing away from him with her shoulders just cresting the water. She had washed her hair and it now glistened in the sun’s setting light. It was the color of spun gold with pale highlights that seemed to shimmer with its own light.

He was about to reveal himself when she stood up. Upon her back were several ghastly welts where she had been kicked repeatedly. As she turned towards shore, Conor could see bruises on her arms in the shape of large hands that had once gripped her tightly. He still could not see the front of her body, but he was sure the same brutal markings would be there as well. She had never said a word. He could not help but respect the English maiden’s strength. She was beautiful and courageous and, as he watched the water drip off her naked form, she was more desirable than any woman he had ever seen.

Not today—but soon—he would kill the Douglass beast for laying a hand on her. He would have his answers about what happened before they arrived home. Whoever he was, he had touched Laird McTiernay’s woman. And for that, he must die.

Conor paused at that thought. Laird McTiernay’s woman. Was that who she was to him? Or was she a temporary fascination that would soon fade?

The ache in his loins grew as he watched her dress, unable to turn away. The unmarked portion of her skin, now clear of the dirt and blood, was exquisite. It had been kissed by the afternoon sun, making it appear warm and sensuous. He shook his head, ran his fingers roughly through his hair, and tried to gather his thoughts. He was filled with waves of emotions—lust, possessiveness, need, and an overwhelming urge to keep her safe.

When he finally moved into the clearing, Laurel had donned her delicate thin chemise and was trying to pull on her bliaut. Both were still fairly damp from her attempt at washing them. She should have been embarrassed or at least uncomfortable by his appearance and her state of undress. Instead, she only felt relief.

She looked at him beseechingly. “Could you please help?”

He gripped the damp garment and took it completely off of her. “I need to examine your ribs.” Her teal-colored eyes darted around the small clearing as if she expected others to approach.

“No one will see you. The others know that I am seeing to your safety,” Conor stated.

She snatched her bliaut from his hands and covered her chest. “My ribs are fine, really.”

Conor was not deterred. “Your breaths have been shallow all day, and you winced every time my horse had to turn.”

Her eyes widened. “I’m just bruised. I assure you I am fine. I will not be any trouble,” Laurel said, backing away.

Conor was getting annoyed. “Stop cowering. I will not harm you.”

Laurel shot him a look of contempt. “I am no coward, sir, and I will tell you now that I have never cowered.” Heated emotion flooded her eyes, turning them the color of a North Sea storm again. “I just do not wish you to feel my—my ribs,” she finished in a bit of a fluster.

“Fine, my English mystery, you are no coward. But I will be looking at your ribs.” He reached out and held her gently, but firmly, giving her no choice but to submit to his examination. He started gently pressing on her ribs one by one.

“Breathe, lass.”

Laurel was trying to, but, with his hands touching her so tenderly, it was impossible. She had never been around a man quite like this Conor. He was huge, but kind. A warrior, but a protector. When he was near her, like this, she never wanted him to leave. Oh, what was wrong with her? The sheer closeness of his body with hers made her feel incredibly alive and aware that she was a woman with physical needs and desires.

She gasped and then moaned. She tried not to, but he kept probing. “Enough,” she softly cried, “please, no more.” She collapsed against him.

He held her gently, stroking her hair. “It’s all right, lass. It’s all right.” He waited until she had stopped trembling. He lifted her chin. And what happened next he would blame on those sea-colored eyes.

As he softly brushed his lips against hers, Conor felt a sharp tug in the vicinity of his groin. Her lips were full and yielding underneath his. He continued his miniature foray into heaven and felt her quiver against his chest.

Instinctively he reached up and cupped her head so he could increase the intensity. As he slanted his mouth against hers, his tongue coaxed her lips open and deepened the kiss with tender possessiveness. She responded so innocently, so naturally, it unnerved him at his core. Never had a woman affected him this profoundly, this quickly. He gradually broke off the kiss and stepped away for a minute trying to catch his breath.

Laurel didn’t know what to think. The kiss had ended much as it had begun, like part of a dream. This man completely unsettled her like no one had ever done before. Last night he was supportive, this morning cold and aloof, and now, with a simple kiss, he had stirred up feelings and physical reactions she had not known she possessed. The only thing she was sure of was that he had saved her life.

Conor took several deep breaths before speaking. “You have two cracked ribs that must be bound before you finish dressing. The binding should help ease the pain when riding. We have several more days journey ahead.” He controlled his breathing and steadied his voice, but he had no means to quench his throbbing need for her. The kiss was supposed to have ended this strange attraction. Instead, it was like fuel to a fire.

She nodded, knowing that he was correct. She watched him tear a strip of cloth from the bottom of his leine to bind her ribs. Every touch seemed to remind her of the physical need he had awakened deep within her. It was only after they returned to camp and were within hearing of the group did she feel calm enough to talk.

“Are we safe here?” she asked no one in particular.

“Aye, milady. We are on allied land now,” Loman replied readily. Loman was typically good-humored and eager to please. Yet on the battlefield, he was a terrifying sight to the enemy. He had lighter features, was extremely lean and muscular, and—grinning as he was now—he seemed harmless. But Laurel remembered his demeanor the night he had found her struggling with Seamus, and knew he was not in the least harmless.

She faced the guardsman and smiled. “Please call me Laurel.”

Loman glanced at Conor, whose glower clearly made it known that no one was to be given the right to use her given name. That right was reserved for him, and him alone. “No, milady, it would not be proper.”

“But surely you do not intend to keep calling me ‘my lady’?”

Loman gulped. “Aye, milady. Until my laird tells me otherwise.” Loman quickly retreated under Conor’s withering gaze. Regardless of previous words, his laird was making it plain this Englishwoman was unavailable. Loman wondered how Hamish would react to his laird’s decision.

Laurel walked over to the campfire and accepted the offering of the youngest brother’s plaid. “Only if you will sit by me,” she made him promise.

Using her fingers, she began to untangle the mats in her wet hair and let it dry in the heat of the flame. The brothers all stared as if they had never seen a woman with blonde hair before. As she continued to work the knots, Laurel decided to divert their attention and get to know her champions better.

“You are highlanders,” she stated, as if she already knew it to be a fact. She received nodded heads for a response. She leaned over and whispered into the youth’s ear, “What is your name, highlander?”

The boy beamed. “Clyde. These are my brothers—Cole, Craig and Crevan, they’re twins, then Conan and myself. Conor is our laird. The only one not here is Colin.”

“Colin? Why isn’t he here?”

“He just got married.”

“Oh,” she replied. “And with what highland clan am I privileged to share this fire?”

“We are McTiernays,” said Conan, who sat on her other side, with pride. She wondered if the McTiernays were a large or powerful clan. If so, whom did she just allow to kiss her? And why did he? She forced herself to concentrate and pursue a different topic.

“Do you know where we are heading?”

“We are heading home,” replied the one Clyde had indicated as Cole. He looked to be the oldest of the brothers, besides Conor.

“Where is home, Cole?” she tested to see how he reacted to her familiarity.

“Far from England,” he replied directly. It was obvious that, while he didn’t want to see her hurt, he was still not liking the idea of Laurel joining them on their travels. She rose cautiously and walked over to stand next to him. She did not look at him directly but stared straight ahead, mimicking Cole’s cool stance.

“If you think it best I leave, Cole, I will.”

Her directness startled him. She smelled of flowers, and he could not deny her loveliness. She was by far the most bonnie lass he had ever seen. And the most abused. Despite his hatred for all things English, even he could not deny her help and leave her without protection.

“No, milady. I would not wish anyone to live with a Douglass.”

“Douglass? Why would I ever return there?” she asked loudly enough for the others to overhear.

“Is that not where you’re from, milady? We saw you pale at the mention of their name this morning, and we were camping fairly close to their border,” Craig interjected.

Laurel returned to Clyde’s side and sat down again. “No, I am not from anywhere near those hateful people.”

Laurel tried to discourage conversation about her origins by pretending to concentrate on her hair. She had managed to free most of the major tangles. Spying a loose piece of lace on her torn sleeve, she pulled it completely free and attempted to tie her hair back. Yet, every time she reached to bind it, she retracted in pain.

Conor saw Hamish, who had been hovering nearby, go to help her. Swiftly, Conor interrupted his guard, took the lace ribbon from Laurel’s hands, and hastily tied back her hair.

Though he tried to be quick, the feel of her soft locks and their clean smell of flowers were unnerving to his senses. Even with her hair pulled high on her head, the waves of curls still reached her lower back. He would be tormented for the rest of his days because he had touched such maddening beauty.

Conor then moved to the outskirts of the campsite as if to check the perimeter. He needed to regain control of his rising desire to know what it would be like to feel her beneath him, moaning his name.

Hamish followed. “I need to know your intentions, laird.”

Conor nodded. He recognized his guard’s desire for Laurel. He also realized that, while he may be fighting his own need for her, he could not endure knowing Laurel was with another man.

“She’s mine.”

Hamish digested this. He was unsure of how to proceed. Conor was his laird and had his loyalty in all things. But Hamish also wanted to make sure that his laird was serious about Laurel and, if not, he wanted it to be known that he was.

“Does she know this?”

“It does not matter.”

“Do you know what happened? What if she is married?”

“She is not.” Conor’s voice was hard and inflexible.

Hamish was not satisfied. “What of her family? Will they be looking for her? What will you tell them?”

“What would you tell them, Hamish?” Conor countered, stopping to look his guardsman in the eye. Hamish did not flinch under the direct questioning glare.

“I would tell them that she would never be hurt again. That I would protect and support her as long as there was breath in my body.”

Conor turned back to the path and continued walking. “I would tell them the same.” With that, Conor left Hamish and returned to the group.

Laurel was running. She was gasping for air and, with each breath, a knife-like pain sliced through her side. She pushed herself harder, faster. Something evil, dark with black eyes, was in pursuit and if it caught her, everyone she loved would die. Somehow she knew the terrifying presence would never stop hunting her. Just as she was about to collapse from exhaustion, someone, large and faceless, lifted her and carried her high above the trees towards majestic blue-gray mountains capped with snow. There, she was safe from the hatred below. Peace settled around her like a dense fog on a cool morning and sleep was finally possible.

Conor, a light sleeper, was awakened early in the night by Laurel’s agitated slumber. She was dreaming and unmistakably terrified. He realized, seeing her panicked expression, that her shield of pride she wore when awake had been masking much of her true fear. He reached down to gently wake her, but it seemed to inflame her dream state even more. Only when he sat down and gathered her into his arms did she finally seem to calm.

Laurel awoke in the middle of the night feeling safe and warm. She thought that sleep must be clouding her mind, for she seemed to be resting her head on Conor’s shoulder and one of her legs was cast over his. The intimate and inappropriate position of their bodies was undeniable.

Laurel didn’t move. Oh, she knew that she should, but never had she felt more extraordinarily comfortable in her life. She closed her eyes. In his arms, she found a safe haven that would be gone by morning. Conor was always the first to rise so no one would know, she told herself. So instead of moving away as a proper English lady should, Laurel remained where she was, savoring every moment of being close to Conor until she fell back into a peaceful sleep.

Conor awoke when she did. Her soft, warm breaths had turned shallow for a couple of minutes, and he wondered if she would distance herself from him. When she did not, he wanted to believe that she enjoyed and craved their embrace as much he did. More likely she was just cold, and he provided the physical warmth she needed.

He tried not to think about how wonderful it was having her by his side. He dismissed the smell of lilacs and the way it felt when she sighed her light feathery kisses of air across his chest, and concentrated on returning to sleep. He forced himself not to stroke the silky golden locks of hair that randomly found their way into his hands. Sleep finally came again, but not quickly.

The next morning, when it was time to mount their horses and leave, both Hamish and Loman volunteered to have Laurel ride with them. However, each of the brothers argued that she should ride with a McTiernay. Laurel, not wanting to antagonize any man or show preference, stood in the middle of the broken campsite searching for a diplomatic solution. Conor experienced mixed feelings of relief and strain when he settled the dispute by having her ride with him.

Their soul-shaking kiss followed by their sharing a plaid throughout most of the night had done nothing to quell his growing desire to possess her. Her calm demeanor and quiet courage only fueled his growing fire of need. Touching her all day was going to be hell, but one he strangely welcomed enduring.

He rode up to Laurel, reached down and said, “You ride with me.” She smiled at him, and as she expected, her highlander scowled back in return. She was getting to understand this gentle giant better.

Laurel was feeling better today. Conor had been correct about binding her ribs. The added support was making it a much easier ride than on the previous day. She was taking in the beautiful countryside and saw the green, tree-filled mountains they were approaching.

“Are those the highland mountains?” she asked, pointing to where they were headed.

He chuckled in response, and she could feel his laughter vibrate throughout his body. “No, lass. Those are but wee hills separating the border Scots from the central Scots.”

Laurel looked at the huge rocks jutting into the sky. Wee hills?

“The highlands are the most grand lands of Scotland. They tower over the rest. Only the strongest can survive there.”

Laurel could hear the pride in his voice when he spoke of his northern high country.

“Tomorrow, we will be well into the valley of the central Scots. In the morning, as we crest the hills, you may be able to see several lochs to the west.” Laurel smiled, remembering that was how her grandfather had referred to lakes or bodies of water.

“The valley stretches from the southwest to the northeast along the mountain line, cutting across the center of Scotland to separate her highlands from her border regions.”

“How long will we be in the valley?” she inquired.

“We shall be out of the valley by day after tomorrow. Watch the terrain. It will change as we get closer.”

Laurel had already noticed that the red sandstone and limestone that were characteristic of her homeland and the border lands were changing. As they rode on, the red sandstone remained, but it was now sprinkled with an unusual dense, dark-gray, fine-grained rock that was peppered with holes. She remembered her grandfather explaining its features were caused by the cooling of melted rock. Even now, it was difficult for Laurel to conceive rock so hot that it melted and then changed form after it cooled.

After their noon break, they proceeded north entering Clyde valley, which cut across the southern middle of Scotland. It was a beautiful combination of riverine and gorgeous ash and elm woodlands that were extensively covered with lush ground flora. Laurel had never seen the like.

She could feel Conor relax some and knew they must be in friendly territory once again. It was amazing how he was able to tell just by his surroundings exactly where he was in relation to his friends and enemies. After riding with him all day yesterday and now today, she could sense when they were on friendly land and able to speak.

“Clyde said that all the McTiernays were traveling home with the exception of Colin. Who is he? Will he be returning soon?”

“Colin is the second McTiernay and, in answer to your other question, no, he will be staying with his new wife’s family, helping out with their guard and eventually becoming their laird.”

“Isn’t it unusual for a husband to assume the role of laird in a clan?”

“Sometimes. But, in this case, Deirdre Dunstan was the eldest of Dunstan’s children—all girls.”

“Similar to the McTiernays—all boys,” Laurel said and smiled, looking ahead.

“Similar, but no. Without boys to become laird, someone must fight for the title. In Dunstan’s case, his clan is small but strong. If Colin becomes laird, the alliance among our clans will be near unbreakable.”

“Because you are brothers,” she tried to understand.

“Because Colin is strong, skilled, capable and most important, trustworthy.”

“Ah, he will be loyal.”

“He is my brother.” Laurel silently shook her head, amused at his circular logic.

They rode a little further, and Laurel gathered her nerve to ask a personal question.

“Why haven’t you married?”

Conor unconsciously raised his shoulders in a shrug. “I have no reason to search for a good match.”

“A good match?” Laurel asked, confused.

“I have no need to marry. I have alliances with the clans I want to be united with. My brothers will continue the McTiernay line and as for physical…well, that requires no contract of commitment.”

They rode on, each absorbed in private thoughts. Laurel had enjoyed the conversation with him up until hearing his opinion on the three reasons why men marry women. He thought a man and a woman only married due to some external need. What about love, affection, and friendship?

Conor sensed her stiffen in reaction to what he had said, but she did not contradict him. Maybe she understood and agreed with him. But, then again, a lady usually wanted babies, a family and companionship. And these things were not possible without marriage. He was not sure how he felt about such things himself, now that he had met her. The concept of marriage was still not pleasant, but the idea of having a family with Laurel sounded surprisingly appealing.