Only a highlander will d.., p.4
Only a Highlander Will Do, page 4
“Woo her?” Though he had been a warrior most of his life, he’d been around his fair share of women. When he wanted companionship, he never seemed to be without an eager partner.
“The kind of woman who would make you a good partner doesn’t like to be told what she is supposed to do. Women like to have choices.”
“I’m supposed to give her the choice to die at Alex’s hand or to survive as my wife?” Tormod asked incredulously.
“It’s not as simple as that, and you know it,” Graeme replied.
Tormod released a harsh breath. “How do I get Fiona to come around to my way of thinking?”
Graeme offered him an easy smile. “That’s easy. Show her who you are. Not the warrior who conquers all, but the gentleman inside.”
Tormod raked his fingers through his hair. “How can I show her who I am by tomorrow morning?”
“Perhaps you should think about doing things more traditionally so that she has time to come around to your way of thinking.” Graeme shrugged. “Posting banns might help.”
“And give the MacDonalds three weeks of warning about my intentions? If that is how we are to move forward, I might as well go to war against them tonight.”
“Perhaps not three weeks, but you have some time before the MacDonalds discover Fiona and her guards are missing. Then, since there were no witnesses, you have a few more days before they start to suspect interference.”
Tormod knitted his brow as his thoughts raced. Perhaps there was something to what Graeme said. Tormod could offer Fiona a little more time to get to know him, to trust him, before they were wed. “You are right.” He straightened and pushed away from the balustrade. “I need to go find my soon-to-be bride. There are things we must discuss before supper.”
Chapter Four
After they had finished their tea, Gwendolyn and Rowena escorted Fiona to the second floor where the family bedrooms were. She felt a little awkward taking a room within the family fold, but Gwendolyn had insisted. When Gwendolyn also offered to send a maid up to help Fiona get ready for their evening meal, she refused, saying she was used to tending to her own needs. Which was the truth. With so few servants at Ulster, Fiona was often left to her own devices when it came to dressing or styling her hair.
It didn’t take long for Fiona to put away the four dresses she’d brought with her. She chose a simple sapphire gown that had also been her mother’s to wear for dinner. The gown not only fit her well, but the exquisite stitching at the hem, sleeves, and bodice gave her an extra dose of confidence she might just need when she encountered Tormod MacLeod in the great hall.
As she readied herself, Fiona thought back over the tea she had shared with the two women. They’d been very kind to her so far, and she had to admit she felt a surprising kinship with both Rowena and Gwendolyn despite her awkward situation. The MacLeods couldn’t be as terrible as she’d feared if the two women were as pleasant as they seemed to be.
Sitting on the bed, Fiona brushed out her hair, then plaited it. She tied it with a ribbon just as a knock sounded on the door. She crept off the bed when the door of the chamber opened. Brilliant dark eyes captured her from across the chamber.
The warrior. His big body completely filled the doorway, and suddenly the chamber around her seemed to grow smaller. He took a step forward and smiled grimly, holding one hand behind his back. “May I come in? We have business to discuss.”
“I’m hardly in a place to object.” Fiona felt the muscles of her stomach clench as he drew closer. He was not beautiful, as many of the men were portrayed in the fairy stories she’d been told in her youth or the ones she’d read when she was older. But there was something about him that intrigued her as much as it set her on edge.
When he’d confronted her in the forest there had been only a raw sense of power. At their first meeting his white muslin shirt gave evidence of the massive shoulders beneath, and the flesh not covered by his tartan revealed the strength of his thighs and calves. He was dressed now in a pair of dark breeches, a dark muslin shirt, silver waistcoat, and a midnight-blue surcoat. The image, instead of barbaric, was that of refined elegance, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a woman blush.” An indolent smile tugged at his lips. “I hadn’t expected that after our encounter in the forest. You’ve proved yourself to be a worthy opponent, as the bruises on my legs and chin can attest.”
“I will not apologise for that,” she said, trying desperately to force the heat from her cheeks. “Am I a guest or a prisoner here at Dunvegan?”
“You are a guest, but with certain limitations.”
“Such as?”
“You cannot leave the castle without an escort by either myself or one of my brothers.” He came forward as his gaze shifted from her face to her body, lingering on the length of her torso and down her legs. His gaze was a tangible thing—warm and assessing.
“That sounds very much like a prisoner to me.” She resisted the urge to look away. She could not show weakness.
“It is not my intention to be harsh. I am only thinking of your safety. I’ll not hand you over to be abused or killed by Alex MacDonald.”
“So instead, you’ll sentence me to death at your hands.”
He drew nearer. “I mean to marry you, not kill you.”
“Same thing.” She stared at the man, hoping he could read the anger in her eyes. But instead, her breath caught at the sudden vulnerability in his.
“I am sorry you see this arrangement as a punishment. It is not meant as one.” The hand behind his back came forward and lifted to her hair. “I brought you a gift. A small token, really.” He leaned closer and slipped the bloom of a pink wild rose behind her ear. His gaze fastened on hers as he drew his fingers away. “You smelled like sunshine and flowers in the forest. Dunvegan has many flowers around the estate. You are free to wander and pick as many as you like.”
The flower was unexpected. His words even more so. “Why do you want to marry me?” she asked, hoping to break the sudden tension between them. He unsettled her. He intrigued her. But he was still her enemy.
“I will marry you in order to keep you from harm.”
“That is the only reason?”
His gaze narrowed and he took a step closer. “You expect my marriage to you will come as a sort of revenge against the MacDonalds?”
“Won’t it?” Fiona forced herself to breathe as Tormod came even closer.
“Revenge is the last thing on my mind at the moment.” He slipped his hands around her waist, keeping her close.
She felt his grip, like iron, against her ribs. Would her wildly thumping heart give away her fear? She steadied herself as she tipped her face up to look at him. “How is marrying a MacDonald any different than marrying a MacLeod?”
“Do you know anything about the MacDonalds? Did your father not prepare you for what binding yourself to Alex MacDonald might mean for your longevity?”
Fiona studied the strong lines of Tormod’s jaw and the strength of his neck. She swallowed roughly. Heavens, the man was all muscle. “I was not consulted or given any information about my betrothed. I know just as little about you as well. How do I know you are not a beast of a man?”
A momentary sadness lingered in Tormod’s dark eyes before it vanished. “I cannot force you to believe me, but it is the truth that Alex MacDonald is an animal who will show you no mercy in your marriage bed or outside of it.”
Heat flooded her cheeks at the intimacy of his words. “And you? What are you?”
His eyes flared. “I am a man who is willing to make your surrender as peaceful as possible, if you will hear me out.”
“I’m listening.”
“I will not force you to marry me on the morrow. I will give you three days to make up your mind about the kind of man I am. If, after three days, you do not think you will be better off with me I will allow you to marry a male of your choosing from this clan.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You will not send me back to my father?”
He shook his head. “This is war, Fiona. Someone has to lose. Today that was you and the MacDonalds.” He held her gaze. “Can you accept those terms?”
“If I must.”
Instead of releasing her, he pulled her closer against the solid strength of his body. Suddenly his eyes were smouldering. “Then let us seal that bargain.”
Before she could so much as object, his mouth descended on hers. Parted lips, tender and insistent, stroked hers, moulding and shaping them to fit his, and then the kiss deepened abruptly while his hands tightened on her back and shoulders, caressing and possessive.
A soft moan sounded in the silence, startling Fiona since it had come from her throat. Instead of breaking away, she reached up, her hands grasping his broad shoulders, clinging to them in a world that had suddenly become a swirl of exquisite sensations, where all that mattered was the feel of his lips against her own.
When finally he dragged his mouth from hers, she could see the ragged rise and fall of his chest, and the unguarded expression in his eyes. “Fiona,” he whispered.
She stared at him, transfixed. Never had she imagined the warrior would be so gentle or so open with his emotions. With a start, she pulled out of his arms and began smoothing imaginary creases out of her dress. “I appreciate the extra time to get to know you and your clan better.”
The desire in his eyes faded and a deep frown marred the lips she had so recently kissed. “You only have three days.”
Her hint that she might find someone else in his clan to be more tolerable than him annoyed him. She took great pleasure in the thought as she continued to appraise him. She might be a prisoner here at Dunvegan, but Tormod had just given her a slight measure of power over him. “Three days will be plenty of time to learn a man’s nature. Your friend Graeme seems agreeable.”
The lines between Tormod’s brows deepened as he inhaled, anger growing in the clench of his teeth. “He is not for you.”
She couldn’t hold back a grin. “You made no such stipulations when you sealed our bargain. Now, will you take me to the great hall for supper, or am I to be locked away for the next three days?”
“My word is my deed. You are free to move about the castle as you like and talk to whomever you wish. The sooner you talk with Graeme, the sooner you will realise that the two of you would never suit each other.” Tormod held out his hand.
She glanced at his hand but did not accept it. Instead, she walked past him to the door. “I am an excellent judge of character. I know when someone is being true and when someone is pretending to be agreeable.”
He sighed as he kept moving forward. “What has happened to you in your life to make you so distrustful of others?”
She flinched at his words. Feigning indifference, she squared her shoulders, refusing to let him see he had plucked a nerve. “Trust must be earned.”
He guided her down the stairs and to the doorway of the great hall. “Then it is a good thing you have three more days to learn to trust me.”
*
Tormod’s blood raced with the heat of his irritation as he led Fiona to the great hall. How dare she turn his bargain back on him by claiming interest in his friend? The red-haired woman walked tall and proud before him as they entered the chamber. He inhaled the scent of the rose he’d given her and it made his heartbeat thud deeply. Damn her for affecting him so. He had planned to remain as aloof and disinterested as she did, but her nearness was making that impossible.
Inside the chamber, she tensed at the sight of his family gathered about the hearth, their voices rising above the soft strains of a mandolin. At the sight of the two of them, the noise ceased and Gwendolyn separated herself from the crowd.
“Don’t you look lovely,” Alastair’s wife said. She slipped her arm through Fiona’s and led her away, towards the rest of the group. “Let me introduce you to the others.”
Tormod hung back as Gwendolyn presented Fiona to his brothers Alastair and Orrick first, followed by Graeme and Callum, then her siblings Arabella and Samuel, and finally reintroducing her to Rowena.
While the others conversed with his soon-to-be bride, Orrick broke away and came to Tormod’s side. “What do you hope to accomplish by bringing Alex MacDonald’s bride here?”
Tormod frowned. He’d been acting impulsively since the moment he’d seen her in the forest. Usually his mind was as sharp as an arrow when it came to battle situations, but not today. Something about the woman, surrounded by MacDonald guards, had eradicated that focus and filled his head with thoughts the like of which he’d never experienced before. He’d wanted to be her saviour instead of her executioner. “She is no longer his bride, but mine.”
Orrick nodded with a smug smile. “So you desire her.”
“Nay,” Tormod said. Orrick raised an eyebrow and Tormod glared at him. “Nay,” he repeated. “I am protecting her from a violent future. She will wed me and join this clan in order to save her life.”
“What if she refuses to say the vows? For she must say them aloud and witnesses must hear her speak her troth to wed you.”
“She’ll say the words willingly, for I intend to woo her for the next three days.”
Orrick laughed. “Woo her? And with a time limit nonetheless? Honestly, Brother, do you know anything about women?”
“And you are suddenly an expert?” Tormod said.
“It doesn’t take an expert to see that that woman would rather stab you than kiss you.” Orrick turned to look at Fiona. “But then again, I think you might enjoy that challenge. You never were one for docile women, if I recall.”
He’d already taken a kiss from her delicate lips. Was a blade in the chest soon to follow? Tormod’s gaze followed Orrick’s. Jealousy heated his blood as Tormod took in the blossom of colour in Fiona’s cheeks as she gazed up at Callum. Tormod’s hands fisted a moment before he forced them to relax. “Then you also know I don’t give up easily.” The great hall was no place for fighting. He drew a deep breath and calmed his mind as he often did before a battle. He returned his gaze to his brother.
“Nay, you do not yield easily.” Orrick’s features instantly sobered and an empty, haunted look entered his eyes.
Orrick was remembering the time they fought side by side in the West Indies. They’d joined the conflict between Britain and Spain in order to escape Scotland and their father’s dominance of their lives. Once there, they’d had entirely different experiences as mercenaries. Orrick had not come back the same person who had left the shores of Loch Dunvegan, but then neither had he.
Tormod reached out and placed a hand on Orrick’s arm, bringing his brother back to the present. “By marrying the girl I am trying to avoid another senseless war.”
“Or you will start one,” Orrick countered.
“Once the girl and I are wed I will release the MacDonald men, unharmed. And you and I both know Alastair will find a way to smooth all this over, as he always does. By the end of the week we could be signing a peace agreement with the MacDonalds.”
Orrick stared at him, his mouth agape. “Did you hit your head in the forest?”
“Nay.” Tormod brought his hand up to smooth the back of his perfectly normal head. “Why?”
“Because those are the most delusional words I’ve ever heard you utter. The fires of the war between our two clans are now stoked and a blaze will soon emerge over who possesses this girl, just you wait and see.”
Tormod set his jaw. “If it comes to that, then I will be ready and eager to end this dispute once and for all. Can I count on you to join me?” Only minutes apart in age, and neither of them being the first born, there had always been a bond between the two of them. They had always protected each other’s backs both in and out of battle. Loyalty to each other had been forged at birth. But somehow, Tormod knew in this moment, that loyalty was about to be tested.
“I’m not sure I can ever fight with the intent to kill again,” Orrick admitted, and Tormod saw the ghosts of the past in his brother’s brown eyes.
“If you were attacked. Would you defend yourself?” Tormod asked, alarmed at his brother’s confession. Was it the attack on the village and Orrick’s failure to save more than he had that made his brother want to lay down his sword?
“Aye. I would defend myself and those we love. But to be the aggressor again, I am not so certain.”
Tormod wanted to explore the subject more deeply, but their cook, Mrs Honey, and several of her kitchen helpers entered the chamber, announcing supper. The two brothers were forced to join the others who had already started to gather at the long table at the front of the room. None of their men who dined with the family were present. As Tormod took his seat beside Fiona, he frowned and asked, “Where are the others? Are they not joining us for supper?”
Alastair smiled at his wife. “Gwendolyn thought perhaps a more intimate meal might make Fiona feel more welcome. Mrs Honey and her staff will serve the men in the newly restored barracks tonight. It was time to break out the long tables anyway as we start our preparations for the Samhain celebration and our collective birthdays.”
“The three of you were born on Samhain?” Fiona asked as though startled by the revelation.
“Aye,” Tormod replied. Did she fear the Samhain for the same reasons he did? He loved the celebratory moments of Samhain but was uneasy about the other-worldly aspects so many others enjoyed. Ghosts and fairies were already a part of the MacLeods’ everyday lives. They did not need to seek out any more possible encounters as the barrier between the physical world and the spirit and fairy worlds broke down.
As if his thoughts had conjured her up, a frothy grey mist entered through the doorway and crept closer. The mist coalesced into the shape of a woman, her image growing more solid until finally she stood beside where Alastair and Gwendolyn sat. No one truly knew when or why their mother’s ghost appeared to them, but she seemed to come without fail when one of the castle residents were in need.
