Claimed by the Highlander (14 page)

He stood before her, waiting for her to speak.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Angus’s chest was heaving. He wet his lips.

“Will you at least tell me what Colonel Worthington said?” she asked.

“What are you hoping to hear? That he threatened me and ordered me to leave Kinloch? That if I disobey, King George will return with an army of redcoats and drop an anvil on my head?”

“Now you’re mocking me.”

He backed away. “It was pointless to send this message, lass. The English have more important matters to contend with than a disagreement between two clans. Colonel Worthington said so himself. He doesn’t wish to become involved. What were you thinking? That they’d come and defend your dead father’s claim to this territory?”

She moved away from the bed. “I don’t know. I thought that our loyalty would mean something to him. We are Hanoverians and we defeated an army of Jacobites two years ago. I thought the King would defend our lawful possession of these lands, which we earned in defense of his Crown.”

Angus palmed the hilt of his sword. “You know nothing of politics and war, lass. The Whigs wanted my father dead, and your father took care of it for his own personal gain. He was offered Kinloch as a prize, and that’s why he invaded. It had nothing to do with honor or loyalty to any Crown. It was about land and power, nothing more. That’s what it’s always about, when one man tries to take another man’s home.” He crumpled the dispatch in a fist and walked to the window. For a long time he looked out at the surrounding countryside. “I have taken back what belongs to me, and Colonel Worthington has no interest in challenging my rule here. He made it clear it’s a clan issue, nothing more.”

“He’s not worried that you will try to raise another rebellion?”

“I gave him my word that I will live here in peace.”

“And he believed you?”

Angus swung around to face her. “You seem to take promises very lightly, lass. Does a man’s word mean so little to you? And do you have no care for your own?”

She was overcome suddenly with shame. She walked slowly to a chair and sat down. “My honor means everything to me.”

“But you broke the promise you made to me when you negotiated terms of surrender. You promised to be loyal.”

She bowed her head. “Does this mean our agreement is annulled?”

Perhaps he would not even wish to marry her now. If he felt he could not trust her, he might imprison her. Or perhaps simply banish her. And then what? She would be forced to leave her home and the members of her clan, while they would remain here to be ruled by a MacDonald. As things stood presently, she at least had an opportunity to rule beside him and petition for the rights of her own people.

Perhaps her mother had been right all along. Perhaps she should cease these futile efforts to oppose him, and find a way to submit and exert some influence, through her position as his wife.

It was not as if it would be wholly unpleasant. Heaven help her, she had been anticipating their wedding night with a surprising degree of curiosity and desire. And from what she’d witnessed from his behavior thus far—especially today—it would not be a life of beatings and torment. He had every reason to punish her after what she’d done, but he had not done so. At least not yet. He’d proven himself over the past week to be a fair chief. And he was handsome. Despite everything—she was attracted to him.

Acutely aware of his movement across the room, even while her eyes were downcast, Gwendolen awaited his decision. He approached and stood before her. His kilt brushed against her knees, and her heart began to race. His presence was overwhelming to her in ways she could barely comprehend, and she found herself hoping that he would not call off their marriage.

He cradled her chin in his callused hand and lifted her face. Her heart pounded erratically while he looked down at her, as if he was trying to decide whether or not he could ever trust her again.

She gazed into his eyes and spoke with straightforward sincerity. “I was wrong to betray you, but if you will give me another chance, I promise it will not happen again. I have learned my lesson, and I will pledge myself to you now, if you like.”

He slowly brushed his bruised thumb over her lower lip, and his touch caused something inside her to tremble with unease. Or perhaps it was desire. She couldn’t seem to make sense of her feelings.

Without responding to her apology, he backed away. There was a grim shadow of resentment in his expression. Was it possible he no longer wanted her as his wife? Perhaps there was not even a single shred of hope for a second chance.

Not yet ready to give up, she took hold of her skirts and moved forward off the edge of the chair to her knees. “I, Gwendolen MacEwen, pledge loyalty to you, Angus Bradach MacDonald, as Laird of Kinloch. I promise to serve you faithfully and devotedly, and provide you with heirs.”

A raven flew past the window, screeching noisily. Gwendolen waited through the rush of her anxiety for Angus to say something.

“What about your brother?” he curtly asked. “If he returns, will you honor this pledge to me?”

She met his clear blue eyes. “I give you my word that if he comes, I will not betray you, and I will do my best to encourage peace between you. You once said you would offer him land…?”

“Aye.”

“Then I will hold true to my pledge. I will do my best to convince him to accept your offer.”

Something dark continued to simmer in his expression, but his words delivered another message. “Then I accept your oath.”

Profoundly relieved, she gathered her skirts in her fists and stood. “You still wish to marry me?”

“Aye. We’ll exchange vows in four days.”

She blinked. “That soon.”

“There’s no reason to delay.”

He stood motionless, staring at her, then looked down at the crumpled dispatch he still held in his hand. For a moment he seemed lost in thought, then he moved to the desk, lit a candle, and held the parchment over the flame.

“No one knows you are the traitor who sent this,” he said, as her letter slowly turned to black ash and disintegrated before her eyes, “except for the woman in the kitchen. Can you keep her quiet?”

“Of course.”

“It’s best if the clans believe that you are a faithful bride of Kinloch. To behave otherwise is to encourage rebellion, and I want peace here.”

“I want that, too,” she assured him.

He lifted his eyes briefly and glanced at her.

Gwendolen suspected he was not yet convinced of her trustworthiness. He would be watching her very closely in the coming weeks.

The flame devoured the dispatch, and when it was gone, Angus blew the ashes off the desktop and wiped it clean. “We will not speak of this again,” he said, making his way to the door.

“Angus…” She followed him into the corridor, where he stopped at the top of the stairs with his hand on the wall. “After what I did, will you still honor the original terms of our agreement?”

With cold, seething eyes, he returned to her. She backed up and hit the wall. He braced both arms on either side of her, trapping her there.

“If you’re asking whether or not I intend to wait until our wedding night to make love to you…” He paused, considering it. “It’s very tempting to ignore the terms, since they’ve already been breached.” She sucked in a breath, and he took his time to peruse her face. “Do I make you nervous, lass? Are you afraid of me?”

“No, I am not afraid.” But she was. Heaven help her, she was.

He looked down at her lips, then leaned in for a deep, wet, demanding kiss that tested the genuineness of her surrender. One arm slid around her waist and pulled her close, while the other remained braced against the wall. The texture of his tongue sent all her nerve endings into a buzzing state of awareness, while a shock of pleasure rippled outward from her lips down to her belly. His spiky whiskers rubbed against her chin, and she marveled at the strangely gratifying pain.

Slowly, he backed away. Her eyes fluttered open.

“Don’t work yourself into such a tizzy,” he said. “I’ll honor my word. You can keep your precious virginity for a few more days.”

“Thank you.”

“Save your gratitude for our wedding night,” he said, as he turned to leave, “because I suspect you’ll want to thank me then. Repeatedly.”

He disappeared quickly down the curved staircase, and Gwendolen exhaled sharply with relief.

Chapter Eleven

Four days later, after speaking vows before God in the chapel and pledging herself, body and soul, to the leader who had conquered her clan, stolen her home, and claimed her as his bride, Gwendolen followed Angus into his bedchamber.

Dozens of candles had been lit. A hot fire blazed in the hearth. The room smelled of rose petals and wine, but not even those extravagant luxuries could calm the storm of her anxieties—for she would soon be lying naked in bed with the great Scottish Lion.

He turned and shot a threatening glance at the drunken MacDonald clansmen who had followed them up the stairs, teasing and heckling. The men halted on the spot, then backed away and stumbled into one another as he shut the door in their faces.

He twisted the key in the lock, then turned toward Gwendolen, who stood in front of the window, uncertain about what to do next. Remembering the promises she had made—to be a devoted and dutiful wife—she raised a slightly trembling hand and pulled the pins from her hair, then shook it down her back, determined to do her best to please her husband tonight. If he was happy with her, she might eventually gain his trust and secure a more comfortable, influential role for herself, where she would not fear him quite so much.

He strode forward, his eyes fixed on hers as he slid the tartan off his shoulder. He unbuckled his leather belt, along with his dress sporran, and tossed everything onto a chair. Next he pulled his shirt off over his head, and stood before her, naked.

Gwendolen’s lips parted, and she strove to control her breathing as she regarded his beautiful, gleaming body in the candlelight. Firm, thickly muscled, and marked with battle scars, he was an extraordinary image of strength and virility. Her curious eyes took in the contours of his chest, and the ripples of sinew across his torso. Down lower, he was copiously aroused, and the sight of his full male genitalia made her tremble with shock and apprehension. How was she ever going to survive this? How would she know what to do? She felt a strange heat from within, while her mind catapulted with nervous tension.

For a long while, they beheld each other, saying nothing. But what was there to say? Gwendolen knew what was expected of her on this night, and she had done everything she could to prepare herself.

Determined to relax and heed her mother’s advice—which was to embrace and enjoy this experience—she lifted her hair and piled it on top of her head, then turned her back to her husband, waiting for him to unhook her gown.

He took his time undressing her. He removed one article of clothing at a time, then lightly tossed each piece to the floor—the stiff brocade stomacher, the skirts and petticoats and wide, whalebone hoops. Gwendolen raised her arms over her head while he removed the linen chemise, then at last he stepped back to take in her naked form in the dim candlelight.

She blinked up at him timidly.

“Do not fear me, lass. I give you my word, I’ll do my best to be gentle.”

“I cannot help but fear you,” she replied. “Not long ago, I watched you fight a battle in the bailey and kill dozens of my clansmen. I saw how you claimed what you wanted—by force.”

She shivered in a sudden draft, and he held out a hand. “You’re cold. Come. Get into bed. You’ll feel warmer soon enough, and less fearful of me, I hope.”

He led her to the canopied bed and pulled back the thick covers. She climbed onto the luxurious feather mattress and slid her legs between the sheets.

Angus blew out all the candles in the room, then got in beside her. Now, there was only the firelight to illuminate his face. Gwendolen marveled at his handsome features—his unfathomable blue eyes and strong, chiseled cheekbones. She could barely wrap her mind around the fact that the great Scottish Lion, Angus MacDonald, was her husband and she had pledged herself to him today before her clan and under the eyes of God. Tonight he would seal that sacred union. He would make love to her, and perhaps put a child in her womb.

Slowly, he inched closer and laid a large, heavy hand on her belly. Closing her eyes, she thought of the lion in her dreams. Powerful, exotic, sensual, he had come to her in a meadow, rich with colorful wildflowers and thistledown that floated in bright shafts of sunlight. In the dream, she was engulfed by humid summer warmth, and never felt afraid. She longed only to stroke the lion’s thick mane. She held out her hand and lured him closer. He licked her wrist, and his tongue soon found the sensitive flesh at her neck.

Gwendolen opened her eyes when Angus settled himself on top of her, his skin hot against her own. She slipped her arms around his waist and felt the solid bands of muscle at his lower back.

“Are you still afraid?” he asked, his voice husky as he kissed behind her ear. Her body responded in a tingle of gooseflesh.

She thought of the dream again and remembered how it felt to be completely unafraid and aching to touch the lion, but dreams were not the same as reality. Her belly was tied up in knots. Her heart was pounding wildly.