A Highlander's Home (14 page)

             
She jumped at the ripple of pain in her fingers.  Her gaze flew upwards to find him
gazing
down at her,
an eyebrow cocked,
still squeezing.  Eyes narrowed, she jerked out of his grasp.  Without missing a word, the priest gently took her hand and repositioned it
, continuing his monologue
.
  When she looked up again,
a small grin was tugging at the corners of his mouth as if to whisper,
“See?  You’re mine.”

             
And maybe she wanted to be.

             
What?
Where had that thought come from? 
Biting the inside of her cheek, her scowl deepened as she reprimanded herself for such thoughts.  Her entire life she had prided herself on the amount of independence she had acquired.  Everything in her life was organized, controlled.  Being here, shifted through some kind of time warp, in the fifteenth century, in
Scotland
, being married off to a brute – no matter how handsome – was not organized, and she was most certainly not in control. 

Raine tasted the faint metallic flavor
of blood
in her mouth and released the pressure from her cheek and stole a sid
eway glance at the huge Scottish
statue next to her.  She sighed, a pitiful sound.  Who was she kidding?  He resembled one of her Greek statues in the museum that she admired so much, and she was having a most difficult time curbing her thoughts away from what it would
be like
to be wedded and bedded by this medieval brute.

             
Leith
squeezed her hand and made a sound deep in his throat.  She looked up, then over at the priest.  Both stared at her. 

             
She cocked her head slightly, realizing that the priest had finally become silent. 

             
Clearing his throat and looking at her as if she were daft, the priest asked her, “My child, do you?”

             
The crowd was silent, expectant.  Leith’s gaze was boring into her.  Her mind was blank.  She
waited for him to elaborate but when he continued staring at her, she
mumbled
, “Do I what?”

             
The pressure on her hand increased.  She tried to jerk it away, but
that
giant
of a man
had a firm grasp. 

His voice was a low rumble from
somewhere in his chest.  “Do ye
take me to be
yer
husband.” 

It was not a question.

             
For a moment, things were suddenly surreal.  The sun shone brightly through the beautiful stained glass window
s,
casting colorful displays on the opposing walls, as if a child were playing with a kaleidoscope outside of the walls.
 
She breathed deeply and caught the soft, sweet scent of lavender wafting over the crowd of people
that
had gathered to witness what to them was the event of the
ir lifetime
.  The man standing next to her, squeezing her hand almost painfully but not quite was the most beautiful man she had ever laid her eyes upon, with his broad shoulders and wide chest threatening to split the seams of his hand sewn shirt that did a poor job of concealing the sinewy muscle underneath. 

And those eyes.  Oh, yes, she could see the desire in his eyes when he looked at her, not even bothering to try to hide it when she caught him staring at her.  But unlike the men in her life in the past, those eyes the color of the sky held a hint of something else, something she was unsure of.  Was it…serenity?  Protection? 
Seduction
?  The promise of the love of a lifetime?

             
This was not good.  She could not marry this man.  She did not belong
here;
she belonged in the twenty first century, st
udying history
, not being
an
actual part of it
. 

             
Squaring her jaw, she met his eyes. 
In a clear voice that rang throughout the castle, echoing off the stone walls, she answered,
“I can’t.”

             
The priest shifted his feet and looked at
Leith
.  In all of his years of marrying people and encountering reluctant brides, never had one of them actually voiced their refusal at the altar.

             
He replied, levelly, his voice holding a note of danger. 
As if he were speaking to a child, he answered,
“Yes, lass, ye can.  That is why we have
gathered together in my castle….
to wed.”

             
In his castle.  It just wasn’t right.  She should not be here. 
Everything
screamed at her that she didn’t belong here.  She said, shaking her head, “No.  I can’t.”

             
“
Yes, ye can,”
he returned, slightly louder.  The muscle that ran along his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth.

             
Panic had finally set in. 
Raine turned her gaze to the priest.  Maybe he would listen.  He was a man of the cloth, after all.  “I’m sorry.  This isn’t right.” 

He stared at her in what she
could
only
interpret
as confused amazement. 

She turned to face the Laird.  “I cannot do this.”

             
The rafter’s shook when he thr
ew
all propriety to the lavender-scented wind and
bellowed, “Yes, ye can, woman!”

             
All was silent
for a few seconds, before a clear and what Raine could only characterize as haughty voice rang through the castle.
  “I believe I agree with her.  No, she cannot.”

             
In one accord, a
ll heads, including Leith
’s
and Raine’s, turned to the main
foyer
.
  In all her glory, t
here stood Lady Angela Brighton, Raine’s future husband’s fiancé.

Chapter 12

             
Of all the days and all the things that could possibly go wrong, it had to be today and it had to be this.  For years he had listened to his mother complain that she needed grandchildren.  The
queen
had made sure to emphasize
that
s
he preferred h
er
border lords to be firmly endeavored as a husband and father in order to better serve the common people
, and her
self of course
.  Now, he finds a female with sun-kissed hair and eyes so green he feared he would get lost in the sea itself if he stared too long, decides to marry and breed sons, and
this is how the good Lord rewards him
.  In the beginning, he repelled the thought of being saddled with a bride and a brood of brats running wild through his keep.  Then he had reconciled himself with the knowledge that, as the laird and provider of his peopl
e, he was doing them an injusti
ce by not producing heirs to rule after him.  Finally, he agrees to wed but is
reluctant to choose just any bride.  The strange thought of perhaps actually liking his wife had occurred to him one day
and
then
had
slowly
appealed to him greatly.

             
Not only had
Leith
resigned himself to getting married, he had also found a sliver of joy in the fact that although he may not love his chosen wife, at least he would love the children they would produce.  He had hoped that whoever his bride was to be, perhaps they might at least like each other a little.  If not, Hell’s Gate was more than large enough for them to cohabitate without seeing each other for days at a time.

             
His gaze travelled over Raine’s face.  This strange foreigner had somehow managed to capture his attention. 
He had never seen hair the shade of gold as hers. 
She was defiant, independent...
strange.
Like
all pretty lasses, she had gained his eye, but through some wretched feminine way she had managed to hold it
, longer than any other before her
.  He was no stranger to the fact that the female species thought him pleasant to look upon, and he used that to his utmost advantage at times.   

             
Raine looked up at him with what he could almost describe as sorrow in her eyes
and an I-told-you-so frown
before she quickly looked away and fixed her gaze once again on
the prodigal
Lady Brighton. 

He sigh
ed, clenching her wrist a little tighter, more so to keep control from running his thumb over her finely porcelain cheekbone than anything else.
  This was not the way he had imagined his wedding day.

             
“Father, would you excuse me for a moment?”
Leith
asked nonchalantly, as if nothing was askew.
  As if it
was
perfectly ordinary for a man
to pardon himself from his wife-
to
-
be at the altar to tend to his fiancé.

             
The priest
let out a sigh, rolled his eyes, and folded his arms over his chest, the Bible wedged in between.  He cocked an eyebrow and rested his weight on one foot, shooting Raine an irritated glance. 

             
She blinked at him.  Was she the only one who thought this inappropriate?

             
Leith paused for a split second before turning from Raine, but in that moment she could sense the tension in him, the way his shoulders were drawn together like a football getting ready to be tackled by the entire opposing team.  He squeezed her fingers, but only for what she could imagine was
reassurance, not control
.  She blinked and watched him make his way down the aisle she had previously
been dragged
down
by the redheaded Robbie
.
  Her lip twitched slightly at the urge of possessiveness that caused her hands to clench and teeth to grit together as she watched
Leith
make his way to another woman.

             
The entire castle was as quiet as a mouse’s lair as the occupants watched with bated breath to see what their laird would do. 
First he had no wife, and now he had two. 

             
Leith
never had the chance to finish walking down the aisle because Lady Brighton met him halfway.  The resounding smack from her hand against his cheek echoed off of the high ceilings, the unabashed stares of the audience flinching slightly, as if they took in the pain that their Laird refused to show.

             
Clenching his jaw, he ground out
a greeting of
, “Lady Brighton
, I presume
.” 

He grasped her wrist and twirled her in an about-face, marching her down the aisle towards the door.

             
Twisting in his grasp and uncaring as to who was listening, her voice held a shrillness that was in the vicinity of madness.  “
This is my wedding!  Mine!  Unhand me immediately.  My father will hear about this, I swear it!”

             
The door s
lammed behind them.  In one accord,
all heads in the congregation turned to the front dais.  Raine blinked.  Staring, she blinked again.  Even the priest
was
look
ing
at her.  Her grip on the red roses in her bouquet increased until her knuckles were white.  She threw a weak smile at the priest, not knowing if she should run out through the kitchen or remain cemented to her spot and claim her Scotsman in marriage so that all the townspeople as well as that looming brunette
knew
that he belonged to her.

             
She shook herself mentally.  This could actually be a good thing, she reasoned.  The original fiancé was here, so this might mean that Raine was free to go.  Perhaps now he would take her to the stones
,
and she could get back to the twentieth century where she belonged. 

             
Picturing the anger in
those beautiful blue eyes, the pursing of those full totally kissable lips, the roughness of his giant hands on her skin as he scolded her for rebelling against his wishes.  She smiled as the thought of his lips pushing onto hers entered her mind.