Читать книгу The Highlander's Bride - Michele Sinclair - Страница 7

That night, Conor made camp in a very small clearing that was not located near a water source. Laurel was surprised by his decision, knowing they had recently passed several larger areas with streams nearby. She thought about asking why he chose this place to make camp, but sensed that she would not get an answer.

Later, after they shared their meal, the brothers began their nightly jovial conversation, littered with familial rivalry and torment. Laurel listened to their camaraderie and was saddened that she and her brother Ainsley had never been close or shared this type of sibling bond.

Besides her mother, she could only recall true affection for one other person—her grandfather. The big Scotsman had told her stories, taught her how to ride horseback, and had proclaimed her the loveliest Scottish lass who had ever been. She knew he had been biased, but it was one of her most cherished memories.

It was strange that she could not remember her father with as much affection. While her mother was alive, he was attentive and warm. But she always knew that her father had wanted another son and not a daughter. She could not erase his words of disappointment that her mother had not born him another heir. Ainsley was his firstborn, a son produced from his first wife who had died shortly after his birth. It had been an arranged marriage, her mother had told her. But she and Laurel’s father had married for love despite all the obstacles between them—mainly Laurel’s grandfather, who was against his daughter’s marriage to an Englishman.

Laurel understood her grandfather’s confusion. After spending time in both Scotland and England, it was hard to understand why her mother chose to live in a cold, harsh world far from the laughter and singing that filled her grandfather’s home. When her mother died, her father remarried again, but never sired another heir. He began running his life the way he ran his home—coldly, rigidly and emotionally detached from anyone who would show him warmth. He was never harsh or severe to his children, just distant.

For several years after her mother’s death, he allowed Laurel to continue visiting her grandfather during the warmer months of the year. But, as she got older, permission to meet with her Scottish relatives diminished until it was no more. Twice, she was to be married to a neighboring baron and, twice, the baron died before the wedding took place. The first died in battle, the second from old age.

It wasn’t until her father’s death that Laurel felt the weight of her bleak future lessen. Her brother was disinclined to give her a dowry and find her a husband. He consistently let her know that she was either too tall, too slender or too clever with her tongue to interest any man. But when Ainsley secured his own marriage to a neighboring woman who would give him access to power, money, and connections, his sister became a liability.

Recognizing her opportunity, Laurel approached Ainsley carefully with the idea that he discard his familial responsibilities without repercussions. Only after several months of cunning work did he agree to let Laurel go to her grandfather’s. He made only one stipulation—she had to promise never to return again. His words still rang in her ears.

“Fine—be a filthy Scot. But neither I, nor any of my family, will ever welcome or acknowledge you again. Once my men have successfully escorted you to your precious Scotland, my duty towards you will be forever ended.”

She had quickly agreed. The moment Laurel crossed into Scotland, she had mentally and emotionally shed all things English and fully embraced her Scottish heart.

She blinked a couple of times, aware that she had been preoccupied for some time. The brothers’ conversation had ended and everyone had prepared for sleep except her. Laurel looked around for Conor, but only his younger brothers were in sight. She saw that someone had found Conor’s plaid and arranged it for her to lie down.

Several hours later Laurel was dreaming of being chased, and again she was saved just as she was giving up. She awoke and realized Conor was caressing her hair and soothing her with soft, reassuring words. As he lured her back to sleep, Laurel wished he would always be there to save her from her nightmares in both sleep and reality.

Laurel woke a second time in the middle of the night, but this time not because of a dream. Conor was gone. She knew he must have just left her side as the plaid was still warm. She glanced around and saw Conor and three guardsmen gathering their horses to leave. They were speaking Gaelic to a fourth man—Loman. They were going to bring back something from a nearby cabin. Loman was to have the camp broken and everyone ready to ride by dawn. They would leave immediately upon their return.

Laurel quickly laid back down, feigning sleep. She did not want them to realize she had overheard—and understood—their Gaelic conversation.

Conor and his men were going raiding. While he did not consider raiding truly dangerous, it had not been a planned activity for their trip home. Conor would have preferred to not to have his youngest brothers so close to potential danger. But they would be safe enough, he mused, and Laurel needed her own horse. He needed Laurel to have her own horse.

When she fell asleep against him while riding this afternoon, Conor found it difficult to focus on potential dangers. Her scent made it near impossible to concentrate, and each time she shifted to rest more comfortably against him made his mind contemplate ways he would like to touch and distract her. She seemed to fit him better than his armor. It was as if she were made only for him and would fit just him.

He dismissed the idea of having her ride with someone else. At first, he told himself that his brothers were already lovesick over the woman, and that he didn’t want to distract his guardsmen, either. But, that evening, when he held Laurel in his arms, comforting her in her sleep through one of her many nightmares, he realized that he didn’t want anyone touching her or holding her like he had. She was his to protect and to hold and he was not going to relinquish that right to anyone, not even to Finn—his happily married commander who apparently was the only man alive immune to Laurel’s charms.

Hence, they were going raiding. Just a small raid. A fast moonlight ride, a quick plunder, then one horse would vanish and they would disappear back to the north.

Earlier, Conor had spotted a small farmhouse with several stout horses, isolated from its neighbors. Tomorrow, that farmer would be short one gray horse. He had been waiting for just such an opportunity. Dwellings near towns had added obstacles to be surmounted. Towns were more secure and tended to be well defended with local watches, and the livestock was often brought in at night.

However, this farmhouse was not near a town, and the Stirling clan was still recovering from their recent losses at the Battle of Falkirk and Robert the Bruce’s last successful siege against Edward I to regain these lands. It was highly unlikely anyone would avenge the pinching of a single horse.

Conor plotted his time and their route, and prepared his assault.

Late the next morning, Laurel was still somewhat shocked to be riding her own horse. It was a beautiful gray stallion that was sure-footed despite being unshod. Conor assured her that it would be strong, swift, and only need limited grooming. Although the highlanders cared for their animals, Laurel had noticed that grooming was not something that any of them particularly enjoyed.

She decided to name her horse Borrail. Borrail was one of her grandfather’s guards who had been charged to watch over her when she was young. He, like her new horse, fit the name, which in Gaelic meant swaggering, boastful, haughty and proud. Ironically, though, when translated into English, Borrail was pronounced Borrel, which meant a man was plain, rude and a boor. Laurel had often wondered as a child why so many Gaelic words had opposite meanings in English.

Finn, after speaking with Conor, fell back to ride next to her.

“Conor said that you might be interested in our progress and our lands.”

Laurel visibly brightened. “Oh, yes. The variation of your land is fascinating and beautiful.”

Finn noted her sincere appreciation. “Ah, lass. You have not seen beauty until you see the highlands. And then, the most majestic sights of all are the McTiernay mountains.”

Laurel smiled and replied, “Conor feels the same.” As he nodded in acknowledgement, she asked, “Finn, where are we now?”

“We are now approaching Scotland’s ‘waist’ where our country is the narrowest.” Laurel looked around, but could see no narrowing. The “waist” must not be that tapered for neither coastline was in sight.

“We will be entering Forth Valley soon, which acts as a gateway to the highlands. The Stirlings are our allies. They fought alongside us with Wallace and our king, Robert the Bruce. Only a few years ago did Robert lay siege to their castle and regain it from the English.”

Apprehension stirred within Laurel. “Will we be visiting Stirling Castle?” She had hoped not. Finn said they were Conor’s allies, but someone might spread word back to the Douglasses if they saw her traveling with them. Besides, how would she explain her appearance?

“No. I tell you so that if you see their soldiers, you will not be afraid. They know Conor and respect him. They will let us pass.”

Laurel wondered about Stirling Castle. It was an old fort dating back before Alexander I. The battles waged between the English and the Scots, especially those of William Wallace, were well known. She wished to see it—if only from a distance.

Soon they crested what seemed to be a small, insignificant peak, but then the mighty River Forth the men had described during the morning meal came fully into view. This powerful river was the source of the swift cool streams she had bathed in just that morning. Once winter came, the streams the large river fed would be dangerous to pass until the water receded after the spring thaw. To the northwest, she saw a beautiful stretched piece of land. Not hills, but waves of smooth grass-covered country full of natural beauty and partially hidden bodies of water.

“Finn, what’s that area called?”

“The Trossachs, milady. Aye, ’tis pretty. But if you are waiting for true beauty, wait until we reach the McTiernay mountains nestled in the highlands. Rolling lands rivaling the Trossachs await us there nestled by powerful enduring peaks capped with snow. Aye, pure majesty hits the eye from the seat of the McTiernays.” Finn nudged his horse then moved forward to join Conor.

Laurel watched the two well-built men discuss something and wondered about Conor and the McTiernays. They seemed to be such a proud, close clan. The respect and admiration they had for their laird—both guardsmen and brothers alike—was almost tangible. She suspected that all Conor’s men responded to him similarly.

The way they spoke of their highlands, specifically McTiernay lands, made Laurel think she would like to live there until winter had passed. Would it be possible? Would she, an Englishwoman, be accepted? Cole was beginning to warm to her, but he had been forced to accept her company.

During their noon meal, Conor called a longer halt to give their mounts a rest. They had ridden the horses fairly hard for most of the morning. He also wanted to check on Laurel, her ribs, and how she was faring riding alone.

“Laurel, walk with me.” Conor commanded. His tone did not indicate that she had any option but to follow. He started walking away from the group towards some rocks surrounded by brush and elm trees.

“Yes, laird,” she retorted, responding cynically to his authoritative tone of voice.

He abruptly stopped and turned around. For some reason, he did not like Laurel calling him laird. Granted, that was how all the women of his clan referred to him. But when it came to Laurel, he wanted her to use his proper name. He didn’t want to be just laird to her. The idea that she saw him only as her protector and temporary leader unsettled him. Agitating him further was the concept of being disturbed by what a woman—especially an Englishwoman—called him.

“You will call me Conor,” he instructed, looking straight into her eyes. Would he ever get used to their ever-changing brilliance? One minute they were dark as a sea storm, and then the next moment they were as they were now, crystal clear, luminous, like the sun sparkling on a Scottish loch. The lass was bewitching his very soul.

“But Finn said that everyone refers to you as laird or Laird McTiernay, never as Conor.”

Conor’s jaw tightened. “Laurel, understand this. You will not call me laird. I am not your laird. To you, I am Conor.” He turned and started walking briskly towards his original goal.

Laurel was unsure whether this was a good thing or not. Not her laird? Was he not her protector? The hero who saved her each night in her dreams? She decided to look at his demand more positively. His brothers sometimes called him Conor. Maybe he only allowed those close to him to use his given name. No, Finn was definitely close to his chieftain. Mayhap, it was because she was a woman.

She frowned at the thought. It was unsettling to think of the many women in his clan calling him Conor. It seemed…intimate. “Does anyone else besides your brothers call you Conor?” she asked his back as he continued to lead her deeper into the woods.

“Of course.”

Her heart dropped suddenly and quickly. “Umm, do any females call you Conor?”

“You do.”

“Yes, yes. But besides me,” Laurel said, frustration mounting.

“Besides you what?”

Laurel pursed her lips together. “You are by far, the most aggravating, infuriating, large man. You think because of your size you can tell people what to do and they will do it. Well, I have news for you, laird, I will never be one of those people. You may be a giant, but I am not afraid of you.” She stopped and glared at him. When he didn’t respond and continued his march forward, she prompted, “So…?” Still no answer.

“Conor, are you trying to be obtuse? Are you trying to make me angry?” Laurel practically shouted at him. When he did not answer, she went over to a rock and refused to budge, letting her aggravation become even more evident. When he stopped and looked back at her, she gave him her most challenging smile.

In truth, Conor was not only interested in her train of thought, but the spirit she was exhibiting. He had only seen this bit of fire to her personality when they first captured her and she fought to free herself.

He suspected that this trait had been suppressed the past few days. She had been tired and in pain for most of the trip. That combination would typically make a person complain, whine, and, if they had it in themselves, allow their tempers to rise and take over. Conor was quite sure that Laurel had a temper, and a fiery one at that. Her ability to restrain it thus far in these harsh traveling conditions gave him a strange feeling of pride.

“Laurel, if you want to ask something, do so, straight forward.” He deliberately paused. “Or are you a coward?” he gently teased, goading her further. But once he saw the result, he realized that he had just put himself in serious danger. Laurel was beautiful and tempting in any state. But angry? He had never seen the like. Even the highlands could not compare.

Suddenly, she was standing right in front of him, gold hair waving in the breeze, the sun capturing its strawberry highlights. Her hands were on her hips accentuating her heaving bosom as she took deep breaths trying to calm her anger. But the soothing effects did not reach her eyes, which sparkled with fury. Gone was the innocent English maiden. In front of him was a gorgeous vision of regal defiance. If he didn’t leave immediately, he was in danger of grabbing her and giving her one more reason to be mad at him.

Laurel struggled for composure. “No one, not a laird nor a baron—not even you, Laird McTiernay—can ever call me a coward.” She meant what she said. The seriousness radiating from her was palpable. For some reason, the concept of her being called or considered a coward was completely unacceptable to her.

He smiled and ran his fingers through his hair. “Aye, my love. You are no coward. Indeed, you have shown more courage and strength of spirit than men have shown in similar circumstances.”

Laurel looked down to the ground absorbing his words. Relief poured through her veins. Of course he didn’t think her a coward. Conor would not allow a coward to travel with him, or would he?

“But, love…” The pitch of his voice forced Laurel to look up, her eyes widening. “…I will call you whatever I choose.” Conor then resumed his march, walking ahead towards some unknown destination.

She watched him, still refusing to move. “Conor,” she began, having regained her calm composure, “you underestimate me greatly.” Her words were spoken slowly and deliberately, laced with indirect warnings. She stood there for several more seconds before following him.

They were starting to do some light climbing now. Not anything too difficult, although the pain in her ribs was rising due to her heavier breathing. As he climbed ahead of her in silence, she again appraised his well-formed physique.

He really was quite a large man. Yet, when he stood close to her, she didn’t feel overwhelmed. Instead, she was reassured by his solid presence. He was gentle, yet firm. Controlling, yet giving. He was a man she could love quite easily.

His legs were bare and extremely distracting. They were powerfully strong, as were his arms and every other part of his body. Even his buttocks looked firm and hard under the thick pleated plaid skirt. She could see the strength in his shoulders and arms through his white linen shirt and had the crazy notion of taking her hand and caressing his back. No, the reality was she wanted to touch him anywhere—everywhere.

She imagined twining her fingers in his dark wavy hair and wondered how it would feel. Was it as thick and soft as it looked? It was such a perfect shade of dark brown and well suited to his skin tone, which was still slightly bronzed from the summer sun. His hair and skin coloring made his silver eyes even more mesmerizing. He was so intensely, overwhelmingly male. How was it that this gorgeous man was unmarried? Then she remembered. He didn’t want marriage, or any type of commitment.

She had thought his viewpoint on matrimony would stop her from desiring his company as they rode, or from enjoying his voice when they conversed. But she was wrong. Laurel had never been around anyone who made her feel so alive just by being near.

She felt torn between wanting to spend time with him and wanting to keep her distance. Every moment she spent in his company just made her desire him even more. But it was all pointless; she knew there was no future for them. Why would there be? Two days protection and a kiss were far from a commitment of the heart. And that was exactly what she would have before she vowed herself to any man. She had experienced emotional isolation throughout most of her childhood. She would be foolish to do so as an adult.

Knowing the forgone conclusion of their separation, she wanted him to kiss her just one more time. Just one more time to savor the feel of his lips against hers, forever capture his scent, and remember his touch. Each night, she fell asleep knowing that he would join her sometime while she slept, for he always seemed to be there when the dreams came. Oh Lord, maybe she already was in love with him.

Laurel took a firm grip on her resolve. She had to stop fantasizing about him. He may be attracted to her, but he didn’t want her—at least not as a wife. And while she admitted to herself that she definitely wanted him in ways she never had dreamed of, he was not her destiny.

She just needed a place to recover and some time to figure out a way to warn her grandfather of Laird Douglass’s threat. With Keith Douglass dead and her disappearance, Laird Douglass was no doubt preparing war against her grandfather’s clan—the MacInneses. She didn’t know why God had sent the handsome highlander to aid her, but he was her only hope for survival. Her clan’s future rested on the ability of this highland chieftain to keep her safe.

But until she could develop a plan to advise her grandfather about Douglass, she would allow herself the unwise joys of being with, talking with, and watching her miraculous dark-haired champion.

Conor could feel her looking at him, assessing him. He could feel her eyes boring through his skin, peeling away the layers to his soul. What she was thinking? Did she find him unappealing? She said she was not married, but there could still be someone important to her, someone she was intended for. Was he being compared to another man? Someone she preferred, whom she wished she was with? His fears were beginning to take hold when she called out.

“Conor, slow down!” Conor had suddenly picked up the pace, and Laurel was finding it difficult to keep up. Where were they headed anyhow? They had long since passed many places that might have provided privacy for a discussion.

“Just a bit farther. I wanted to show you something.” Conor wasn’t exactly sure why he wanted Laurel to see this particular vista. He had found it years ago, when he was a guardsman to his grandfather’s best friend, Laird MacInnes. It was special, and somehow he instinctively knew that Laurel would appreciate it once she was there.

“Could you…just slow down…a bit?” Her breathing was labored, and the pain in her side was throbbing.

Conor looked back and felt instant guilt. Her ribs! And all of this climbing—what was he thinking! Since she entered his life two days ago, he had not been acting himself. He had deliberately provoked her anger earlier when in truth, he just wanted to be the one who made her smile. Instead of bringing her to a place of joy and pleasure, he had caused her pain. He wouldn’t blame Laurel for lashing out at him and demanding to go back. He turned around and began to return to the camp.

“Conor, what in the name of all that is holy are you doing?” She looked at him with a perplexed expression. “Do not tell me that we climbed all this way and are now turning around because I need to slow the pace. I want to see what you were going to show me. You said it wasn’t far,” and then a thought occurred to her, “or are you lost, Conor? Is that it? You don’t know where we are?”

The combination of her question and her indignation were just too much, and he laughed aloud. She actually thought he could be lost!

He beamed her a look of delight. “No, love, I am not lost. Nor will I ever be with you.” Conor didn’t realize how telling those words were until he uttered them aloud. She looked at him with such longing, as if she felt as he did.

“It is just beyond those trees. But I know you are hurting so we will turn around.”

Laurel straightened her shoulders. “Nonsense. To the trees it is. I just didn’t want to run there, Conor. While you may not be lost, I would be if I lost sight of you.”

“I would find you,” Conor said in a gentle but reassuring way. “I will always protect you, Laurel.” He completed the thought with a mental promise: You are mine. Conor felt his whole body tighten with desire.

Just then Laurel walked past him and ducked carefully under a brush to see what was beyond. The beauty that extended before her was stunning. She had thought her lands in Northumberland were beautiful, especially the North Sea coastline, but they could not compare to this.

From this vantage point, her view of Scotland was unhampered. She could see for miles. Out beyond were fingers of land, each jutting out to the sea in its own way. Some covered by trees, some with cliffs that seemed to go on forever. There were dozens of lochs nestled between. Some of the trees seem to touch the sky, and the rock formations were unlike any other. Wisps of clouds settled here and there, giving the whole scene an otherworldly look.

Conor watched Laurel absorb the beauty of his lands. Her eyes drank in everything. Her smile spread over her whole face, and her entire body seemed to relax. Conor had known by Laurel’s previous interest in the land and beauty around her that she would understand his love for this place.

“It is beautiful, Conor. I have never seen the like. Is it always like this?”

“Aye, at least every time I have been here.” Conor was not watching the beauty around him, but the vision in front of him. She was slim and delicate, and her golden waves of hair were pulled back by a tiny bit of lace. Her eyes were the color of the lochs she was viewing. It was amazing how often her eyes changed depending upon her mood. He wondered what they would look like all full of passion. Then he wondered if someone else already knew.

Laurel was completely unaware of Conor’s brazen gaze. “There is a magical quality to it. It’s like this place is frozen in time. And that you and I, here together, are separated from all the evils of the world,” she mused aloud.

Conor dropped his arm to her shoulders. They stood for a long while watching the sun begin to set over the distant mountains. No words were said—no words were needed.

Despite his desire to do otherwise, Conor interrupted the peaceful silence. “We need to leave now, Laurel. It will be dark soon.”

Laurel took one last look around and nodded. In just the short time they spent there, she had found peace. It was as if her problems were now manageable. She now believed that she would be able to find and notify her grandfather without letting Douglass know.

“Thank you, Conor, for taking me here,” she whispered as he took hold her hand to guide her as they descended. “It was just what I needed.”

When they had returned to the edge of woods right before the clearing, she could hear the clashing of swords and several men fighting.

“What is happening?” Laurel murmured, then cried, “Conor! They are fighting! Someone has attacked the campsite. We must help them!” Visions of Ainsley’s men being slaughtered a few days ago suddenly filled her mind.

“Help them? They are just having a wee scrap to freshen their skills a bit. It is harmless.”

She whirled to face Conor. “Harmless?” Laurel’s chin came up angrily, her sea green eyes sparkling with rage. “Men fighting with swords is fun and harmless?”

When he just stared blankly at her, she raised her voice and said, “Fine. Someone has to stop them and I guess that leaves me.”

She collided with Conor when he stepped into her path.

“And what, love, do you think you are going to do?”

Laurel closed her eyes in brief, heated frustration. “Conor, you are being exasperating again. Having to repeat myself for you is most annoying,” she said, her voice dangerously sweet.

He continued to stand in her way. It was obvious that he was not going to budge or let her pass. So, she tried again.

“I was just going to ask them to stop. And if that didn’t work, I would use stronger encouragement,” she answered, now through gritted teeth.

Laurel was beginning to show her temper, and his rumbles of laughter were making it rise all the more. She reached into her dress and pulled out the pearl dagger she had taken when she had fled the Douglass castle.

When Conor saw the small knife she held in her hand, he could hold onto his laughter no more. His amusement at her toy was so loud that it interrupted the sword practice his brothers were having with his guard.

By the time his brothers had come to investigate Conor’s merry roar, their laird was grinning wildly. This sight in itself was enough to astonish every last one of them. For it was a rare thing for Laird McTiernay to smile, let alone laugh—and loudly. Added to their shock was the change in Laurel. She looked furious.

Her eyes were blazing and, if hostile glares could cause bodily injury, Conor would be permanently disfigured. The lass really did please him, Conor thought. He couldn’t wait until he got her home.

But just as the idea of home and Laurel in his castle and bed were taking shape, Laurel snapped. Before he knew to react, she had changed the grip on her dirk and taken the knife from his belt. She swiveled so fast that later, all present would say she was just a blur when she aimed and threw.

First, Laurel launched her dagger. Sure and swift, it hit one of the guard’s leather sporrans hanging in the trees. With the other arm, she threw Conor’s knife. The accuracy was a little off due to the unexpected weight of the hilt, but it still hit the intended log of wood next to Conor’s plaid on the ground at least thirty feet away.

The immediate quiet that fell upon the group was palpable. Everyone just kept shifting their stares from her to the blades she had wielded with such precision. Laurel knew she should be ashamed of letting her temper goad her into silencing Conor’s guffaws. Still, she couldn’t do it. Moreover, she couldn’t let well enough alone.

“I told you that I could take care of myself,” she spoke in a completely unrepentant voice.

“Woman, how did you do that?” asked Loman.

Instantly, Conor’s anger flared. He shifted his gaze for one moment to Loman and corrected him. “She is ‘my lady’ to you, Loman,” he stated in a cold tone so that none questioned his meaning.

“Conor, do not use that voice with Loman. He was just asking me a question. There is no need to take your anger with me out on him,” Laurel said, trying to redirect his anger towards its intended target.

Conor was not calmed. “I will say what I like, when I like, and how I like to him and to whomever else I choose. I am their laird,” he roared back, this time with no cheer at all. He glared at Loman until he finally nodded in acknowledgment.

Laurel watched him overawe his guardsman and refused to follow Loman’s example. “Well, you may be their laird, Conor McTiernay, but you sure as hell are not mine. Remember earlier? I thought you said I was not to call you laird. I could only call you Conor,” she shouted back.

“Watch your cursing, love, or are you not a lady?” he bellowed in return, thinking that such a criticism would surely hit its mark and force her to withdraw from the argument. But his aim missed—completely. Retreat was not what she had in mind. Laurel went on the offensive.

“A lady? Well, I guess that is all how you define a lady, Conor.”

She turned and looked at the brothers, who were standing with dumbfounded looks on their faces. They had never seen anyone stand up to Conor this way before. Anyone. Most women cowered in his presence and if he even slightly raised his voice or looked crossly at one, they slunk away, whimpering from intimidation.

What was transpiring between Laurel and Conor was nothing short of miraculous. First he laughed, next she demonstrated that she could indeed handle herself, and then they both were shouting at each other.

Laurel began pacing. “In England, a lady is any female born to a noble house. The word refers to her title of nobility or of other rank. Some people refer to the woman of the household as lady, meaning they are wed to men who have great houses, but are without titles. Then, again, you may be referring to women who are regarded as proper and virtuous. But all ladies should be well-mannered, considerate and with high standards of proper behavior. I sense this is the point you were making. Am I correct, Conor?”

He just stared at her. She had stopped her angry strides and stood right in front of him, daring him to counter her remarks with a wintry smile.

“Hmm? Because in case you are in doubt, I am a lady by birth, but not by action. I hunt, I ride, and I get angry. And when I am angry, I curse. My father didn’t consider me a lady, and my brother sure as hell didn’t. The only person in my life who believed me a true noblewoman was my grandfather. It is a great shame that he is not here tonight to witness and support my ladylike behavior.”

Again the silence was deafening. And again she was its cause. Laurel knew she had gone too far. She had taunted Conor in front of his guard and brothers. Her father and brother were always mortified when she exhibited anything close to an emotional outburst. The tirade she just displayed would have resulted in immediate, probably indefinite confinement. What had come over her? She had always had a temper, but could control it. What was it about Conor that provoked her so? Why did she feel free to react so naturally around him?

Laurel knew that she should be ashamed at her behavior by the looks on everyone’s stunned faces. She was still in shock herself when Finn slapped her on the back, smiled, and said, “You’ll do, lass. Aye, you will do.”

Laurel could not mask her confusion. “I will do what?”

Finn’s grin grew so that it practically went ear to ear. “The highlands! We were afraid that you would wither away or shrink to nothing with the timid act you’ve been pulling the last couple of days. The only hope we had was seeing your courage and stamina to ride through your pain. But now, well, as I said, you’ll do,” Finn replied and the others around him grinned and nodded at the same time.

She stared at them dumbfounded. They were actually happy that she had lost her temper. The youngest two McTiernays couldn’t seem more pleased at her lack of control. Conor, however, was much harder to read.

Suddenly, a both delightful and terrifying thought occurred to Laurel. “Finn, clarify for me just one thing.”

“Certainly, milady.”

“Why is it so important that I will do?”

Finn looked perplexed. “Milady, a laird’s lady must be strong, not just physically, but emotionally.”

“Aye, Finn’s right, milady,” chimed in Seamus. “It would not do to have Conor constantly tending to a weak woman sensitive to the goings on around her.”

Laurel was struggling to understand. “Weak woman? Laird’s lady?” she repeated slowly and distinctly. They could not mean what they were implying.

“What Seamus means, is that…,” began Loman when Conor cut him off.

“She understands.”

Laurel bristled at Conor’s arrogance. “I can assure you that she does not.” Laurel retorted.

“You do, love. You just have not accepted it.”

“What you are proposing…Just yesterday you said that you would never…that you refused, didn’t need to…” Laurel had trouble getting the words out. This couldn’t be happening. She was feeling elated and torn apart at the same time.

Conor also didn’t understand what was happening. His desire for her was so strong that everyone was picking up on it. Their assumption was understandable, but he recoiled from the thought of commitment and immediately went into denial.

“I am proposing nothing. Just a roof and protection.”

The alarmed side of her heart sighed in relief. But the part of her that wanted him, ached for his touch, cried as she realized that he just declared that it would never happen. Pride forced her to respond.

“Good. Because when we get to your highlands, all I want is somewhere to live for just a little while, until I decide what to do next. Just for the winter. I promise that by spring I will be gone.”

“But lass, you will be living with us,” said Craig, “at the main castle. Conor—won’t she be living with us?” he questioned, truly confused now. He had seen how his brother responded to her. She could bring him the softness and intimacy that had been lacking for so long in their laird and in their home.

Craig pressed on. “I mean she needs you, you need a wife, she’s more than pretty and…and…well—Conor, she’s not afraid of you.” He turned and directed the question to her.

“Are you? I mean, are you afraid of Conor?”

Laurel’s eyebrows furrowed at the notion. “Of course I am not afraid of Conor. What a ridiculous idea. I may be frequently aggravated where your brother is concerned, but I am not afraid of him.”

This answer resulted in a bunch of grinning McTiernays. These highlanders were really a baffling bunch.

“Laurel,” she turned to look at him when Conor spoke, “one more thing. You will be living in McTiernay Castle.”

His clarification was heard, but not well received. Her regal but defiant stance was unbending. “I will not. It would not be proper.”

“I thought you were disinterested in being a lady.”

“I may not be interested in society’s rules for proper conduct, but I still will not live under your roof.”

“You will.”

“No, I will not.”

Conor leaned down and whispered into her ear. “Love, trust me, you will.”

She twisted to reply. Pain suddenly ripped through her side, but it did not deter her from responding. “Conor, if you make me, you will rue the day,” she promised in return. Just as he was lifting his head to move away, Laurel grasped his shirt and kept him near.

“Conor, I really must leave,” she whispered.

Misunderstanding, Conor believed she meant to go her own way the next day, and that he would never see her again. Suddenly, he was full of panic. Although no one would know to look at him, he was seized with fear that Laurel would leave him—that she wanted to leave him, and soon. He instantly decided never to let that happen. Regardless of her wishes, Laurel was staying with him until he decided it was over.

“Never. You will never leave,” he stated with far more bite than he intended.

“I don’t think you understand. I should not have been so reckless, throwing the daggers,” she whispered back.

The daggers? What did the daggers have to do with her leaving? He decided that this discussion needed to continue in private. He gave everyone menacing glares for them to retreat to their previous activities. He then grabbed Laurel’s arm and started hauling her towards the river.

“Conor, please,” she softly cried as tears started welling in her eyes.

Immediate concern enveloped him. “Laurel? Why are you crying?”

“As I said, I shouldn’t have thrown those damn daggers. But I did. My pride always was a source of problems for me,” she sniffled.

“What about those daggers has you so wound up?”

“My ribs are killing me. I twisted too fast and the bindings gave. The pain is getting fairly unbearable. I didn’t realize how much the bindings helped, but it hurts even to breathe now. Can you—can you help me to the river and rebind them?”

Relief and then dread filled his veins simultaneously. She wasn’t leaving him at all. In fact she needed him! But his desire to touch her was barely controllable as it was. Whenever he was close to her, the elusive, womanly scent of her tugged at his insides, arousing him. If he were so near to her again, he would surely cave into his desire.

Through an extraordinary act of will, Conor suppressed his passions and led her to the river. Once he helped her unbind the twisted fittings, he waited out of sight while she bathed and prepared for the night.

He went farther down the river to bathe himself. Unfortunately, the cold water did little to calm his craving for her. Conor thought how alive he had felt the first time he had held Laurel. An overwhelming sense of rightness he had never experienced before—the need to have her—pulsed through him like fire. By the time he returned, his need for her was all-consuming. She had her all-too-feminine chemise on and was waiting for him to help with the bindings.

“Sorry,” he said roughly, referring to having kept her waiting.

“Hmm? Oh, that’s all right,” she said, staring at his shirt that was molded to his chest. He must have bathed as well and dressed while still wet. He was so solid and strong, and his semi-wet top emphasized the natural elegance of his powerful frame. The hair on his chest was dark and tapered as she lowered her gaze. She had not realized how much the loose linen shirt hid. What had not occurred to her was that she had dressed after bathing in the same wet state, her thin, lacy chemise clinging and revealing her well-formed body.

Conor, though, was well aware of her garment and how it hugged every inch of her. He could concentrate on little else. Her breasts were ample, and he could see the rosy nipples through the thin cloth. The chemise was molded to her hips, leaving him no doubt as to her curves and beauty. The tightness in his loins multiplied.

“Conor?” Laurel inquired as she innocently handed him the bindings he had used last time. “If you could assist me just one more time. I didn’t realize how much they were helping me.”

He took the wrappings and began binding her ribs once again. In doing so, he inadvertently touched her breasts several times. The sensation caused a liquid warmth to pool between her legs. All of a sudden she wanted him to really touch her, not just through fabric. She wanted to feel his skin against hers.

She couldn’t understand these cravings or where they were coming from. She didn’t love him, did she? He was an incredibly attractive man, but he was also an aggravating, insufferable, arrogant giant who deliberately set out to goad her into anger, then enjoyed her unladylike responses. She desperately sought to control herself and her behavior.

Conor knew he was playing with fire as he bound her ribs. First, he investigated the injury to ensure that she had not made things worse by throwing the dagger. He admitted to himself that he had been duly impressed when she exhibited her skills. He had never seen a woman move more deftly and swiftly with a weapon. Her skill and accuracy evoked a pride in him that he couldn’t explain. But it was there nonetheless.

Laurel not only had the traits of a real lady—beauty, charm, and grace—but she had all the requirements needed to survive in the highlands. She was smart, skilled, resourceful, courageous, and had enough stamina to outlast any female he knew, and several men.

Her damp hair smelled of highland flowers in the spring, and her skin was smooth and sensual. He hurried to complete the torturous task. As he finished, he looked up and saw gratitude in her eyes. But there was something else there. She wanted him. Aye, she was just as disturbed as he was by their proximity.

She looked at him, motionless, as if waiting for him to make the first move. Something primitive erupted deep inside Conor under her glittering gaze. His hand brushed her cheek as he pushed her wet locks behind her shoulders. His other hand stroked her arm as he looked all the while into her eyes. Without a word, he leaned down and brushed his mouth lightly across hers, urging her to comply.

Her lips were soft, warm and innocent. He slanted his mouth against hers, and she kissed back, increasing the pressure. Her fingers splayed across his back, and he carefully pulled her up against his chest. The effect of her roving hands and her breasts on his body caused the constant ache in his loins to grow painful with need.

He deepened the kiss and played with her lower lip, encouraging her mouth to open to him. When she finally did, he dove in, absorbing her into himself while his hands slid slowly up her spine. She tasted so good. Just like her scent, her kisses were fresh, new, and innocent.

Laurel didn’t know that men and women ever kissed like this. When his tongue first danced with hers, she wanted to retract, but he wouldn’t let her. The erotic feel of his mouth grew until she was responding in kind, kissing him over and over again. Both her hands were wrapped in his hair, keeping his head down, encouraging the embrace to continue.

Conor had no intention of leaving the sweet vulnerable warmth behind her lips. The way Laurel was responding, he knew that her desire for more was also surfacing. Slowly his hand went down her shoulder and then down her back and rested under her breasts gently on the binding he had just tied.

When she increased the intensity of the kiss, his thumbs started rubbing her nipples back and forth until they were hard underneath his caress.

Laurel was surprised at being touched so intimately and was about to pull away when he broke from her mouth and started exploring her neck. At the same time, his hands were massaging and coaxing her taut breasts, causing her to unconsciously arch her back so he would have better access.

Her response was so genuine, so unrehearsed and pure, it fueled his need. Never had he wanted a woman like he wanted Laurel. How could someone so new to the ways of love and her own passions could be so incredibly desirable?

Slowly he slipped the sleeves of her chemise down so that her breasts were freed from the linen constriction. He looked down at her, and he saw that her passion-filled eyes were an intense blue-green. Never had he seen anything more lovely nor had he ever had the desire to make love with a woman more than he did right then.

Bending down, he took one nipple into his mouth. His tongue began to dance around the firm mound and his teeth nibbled the taut nubs. She moaned in response. Never in her life had she experienced or dreamed of anything like this. The world disappeared around her as his tongue swirled again and again, teasing each hardened nipple.

The warmth between her legs had steadily been growing and was now a blazing fire. The world around her had disappeared, and all she was aware of or cared about was Conor and what he was doing to her. She didn’t know what was happening, but she wanted more, needed more.

Conor was exploding with need. Her response and her repeated moans of pleasure were causing him to forget where they were.

Suddenly, he became aware of a young male voice invading his pursuit of heaven. “Conor! Hey, Conor! Cole and Finn sent me to get you. Where are you?”

Damn. It was Craig. What did he want? Conor quickly stopped and held an unsteady Laurel in his arms. The last few moments had left them both trembling with passion. He stroked her back and tried to calm his own desires.

“Conor! I am assuming you know where Laurel is. You may want to get her and bring her back. There is some movement on the perimeter from the other side of the camp, and it doesn’t look too friendly.”

Conor called out to Craig before he reached them. “Fine. Return to camp and let Finn know that I will be getting Laurel and returning immediately. Do not do anything until I get there.”

He heard Craig mumble and his retreating steps. “Laurel, love, we have to go back.”

She still had a death grip on his shirt, burying her face into his chest. He could feel her nod in agreement.

She took several deep breaths and raised her head. Still reeling from unfulfilled sexual need, she had so many questions for herself as well as him. But she realized that neither of them had any answers. Not saying a word, they prepared to leave the river and return to camp.

Once they were back, Conor left with Finn and his guard to investigate the movement on the ridge. They were on the edge of highland country and close to several clan boundaries. However, tonight’s disturbance was just a pack of wolves looking for their next meal. By the time Conor had returned, Laurel was asleep on his plaid.

Tonight, he wasn’t going to wait until her nightmares came. He crouched down and gathered her into his arms. She instinctively turned and placed her head on his shoulder and nestled close.

The joy and peace he felt holding her in his arms was unbelievable. Earlier that evening, this captivating woman had him feeling so hard and on fire. Now, while he still wanted her with a fierce possessiveness, he didn’t want to do anything to disturb this absolute feeling of contentment.

He bent his head and kissed her hair, inhaling her sweet scent. How this Englishwoman had woven a spell around him so quickly he did not know. But he knew that he was decisively caught in her enchanting web. He also knew that he was never going to let her go. His last thought before he drifted to sleep was that Laurel belonged to him.