Highlander's Sword (19 page)

   "Now I understand ye," said Aila sarcastically even as she shook with fear. "This is the part where ye threaten to hurt me if I dinna lie still."

   "What?" MacLaren stopped immediately.

   "We can do it gently or no'. Either way, ye'll enjoy yerself. Is that right? Yer just like McNab."

   "What did he do to ye?" MacLaren's voice was chilling.

   "He tried to… he wanted to… What do ye care?" Aila sputtered, and tears began to run down her face. "Oh, I ken, ye want to know if I may be carrying his child. Well, nay, ye need no' worrit about that. But even if I told ye I was still a maid, ye woud'na believe me. So go ahead, do whatever ye like, I dinna care anymore." Aila turned away from him and sobbed. MacLaren watched helplessly as Aila cried, wondering what he was supposed to do. He had heard the report that Aila had been kidnapped and how she escaped, yet trust came slowly. Her virginity was rather easily proven, and her lack of understanding in these matters only confirmed her innocence. He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. He did not know what to do with a crying lass.

   "Did ye go willingly wi' McNab?" he asked, trying to sound gentle.

   "Nay," Aila answered him through her tears.

   "Did he…" MacLaren shifted his position. "Did he try to take yer maidenhood by force?"

   "Aye." Aila sobbed anew.

   MacLaren's anger burned. When he caught McNab, he would make his death slow and painful. "Tell me ev'ry body part o' his that touched ye, and I'll cut it off and make him eat it before I kill the whoreson." Aila stopped crying and turned to him, hiccupping in a way that almost sounded like a laugh.

   "Truly?"

   "Truly, m'lady. I'll kill the bastard any way ye like."

   Aila tried without success to suppress a smile. "'Tis uncharitable to wish another's death."

   "Then I have lived a verra uncharitable life."

   Husband and wife looked at each other for a long moment, married yet still strangers to each other.

   "What are ye going to do wi' me now?" Aila asked quietly.

   MacLaren gave a heavy sigh and rolled onto his back. "I will no' force ye, if that's what ye're asking."

"Do ye mean that?"

   MacLaren propped back up on his elbow and looked at her. "I swear to ye on the grave o' my father, I will no' force ye to my bed. May my words condemn me on the day o' judgment if I speak ye false."

   "Thank ye," breathed Aila and relaxed into him. MacLaren froze as she cuddled beside him, her head resting on his chest, her knee on his thigh. She was soft and warm, and his body responded instantly. He gritted his teeth and regretted his moment of charity. He had the right to take her, willing or no, but he knew he would not be able to force her. He wanted to touch her auburn hair, to shake it loose from its plait and bury his hand in her mass of curls. Desire pounded through him with every heartbeat, but he kept his hands firmly by his side, not wanting to risk the temptation. She was either completely innocent or a master manipulator—he wished he knew which one.

   "Sorry," Aila murmured and started to move away.

   "Nay," said MacLaren with a sigh, putting his arm around her gently. "Ye're my wife. 'Tis right ye rest yer head on my shoulder and no' on the ground." He should have let her pull away, but he wanted her close; he wanted her very close. "I dinna ken how soon I would regret my oath to ye."

   Aila lifted her head, worry in her eyes, "Are ye going to…"

   "Nay, I'll keep my promise to ye. Besides, a man shoud'na have to force his own wife."

   "I… I'm sorry."

   "Now dinna worrit yerself." MacLaren reached his

other arm around and soothed her head back on his chest. "Ye're a verra beautiful woman. I'd have to be dead no' to notice." He started playing with her hair, slowly unbraiding it.

   "Beautiful? Do ye mock me, sir?"

   "Nay, 'tis only the truth, as I am sure ye are well aware." MacLaren buried his fingers in her thick hair. He was playing with fire, but despite the warnings his brain kept sending, his body seemed to have a mind of its own.

   "My mother has told me the truth, that I am verra unappealing to men."

   Could this be true? Could Aila somehow not know how attractive she was? Impossible. MacLaren felt her relax and snuggle closer to him, letting out a contented little sigh. He needed her… now.

   MacLaren groaned and pushed her away. "Och, lass, ye're driving me mad. I want ye bad but no' quite enough to roast in hell for ye. Now ye've amused yerself at my expense, and I want something in return."

   "Did I do something wrong?" Aila looked at him, wide-eyed.

   "I want ye to swear to me ye'll tell me the truth, always, no matter what I ask ye."

   "But o' course I'll be honest wi' ye. Ye're my husband."

   "Aye, but ye seem most intent on denying my rights, so I'll have yer word on this. I give ye leave to deny me yer body but ne'er the truth."

   "Ye shame me, sir." Aila's voice shook.

   "Yer word, if ye please."

   "I swear to ye, Sir Padyn MacLaren, that I will always speak to ye the truth. If e'er I speak ye false, I release ye from the promise ye made to me this eve."

   MacLaren smiled. He rather liked this promise. All he needed now was to catch her in a falsehood, and onto her back she'd go. MacLaren reached over to put his arm around her, expecting her to pull away, but she did not. Encouraged, MacLaren tried to think of a question to trip his wife into a lie.

AILA LAY NEXT TO PADYN MACLAREN IN THE moonlight, her emotions for this man rising and falling with every breath. She didn't know what to feel when she was with him, but even if she had been given the chance, she wouldn't want to leave.

   "Why did ye go to St. Margaret's yesterday?" MacLaren's voice was calm and his eyes gleamed at Aila.

   Aila took a deep breath. It was time to confess. "I left to ask for an annulment and join the convent. It had always been my mother's wish that I join St. Margaret's, and I have prepared myself to be a nun my whole life. Marrying ye was… verra unexpected. When ye dinna come for me on our wedding night, I feared ye married me only for my inheritance and would treat me wi' cruelty once ye took me away from Dundaff. Forgive me, sir. 'Twas cowardly, I admit."

   "Do ye still fear me?"

   "Nay, well, no' as much."

   "I dinna want ye afeared o' me. I will ne'er treat ye cruel. Do ye trust me?"

   The warmth of MacLaren's body radiated to her, drawing her closer. He had given her his word and was honoring it. It was more than her due and she knew it. In her gut, she trusted him. "Aye, I trust ye. Do ye trust me?"

   That was another question altogether. "Ye must earn my trust, Aila, and ye have already acted in some ways that make trust difficult."

   Aila lowered her eyes. The truth of that statement was undeniable, but still, she would like to have a second chance. She was unaccustomed to being thought of as false, and she disliked the feeling intensely. "I did run to the convent, I admit that. But I was confused. I was there only a few hours afore I realized my mistake and went back home. Or at least I was on my way until McNab and his men abducted me."

   "Ye made it to the convent. Ye could have annulled the marriage and joined the sisters. What made ye come back?"

   "I talked to Sister Enid, and she told me to pray." Aila hesitated. Other than Sister Enid, she had never told anyone else about her prayers or the verses. "Sometimes when I pray or listen to God, a particular verse comes to my mind. I believe God may use these verses to speak to me." Aila glanced at MacLaren, wondering if he would laugh at her.

   "Ye take yer faith seriously, then?"

   "Aye, sir."

   "Do ye have any verses in mind now?" asked MacLaren softly.

   Aila closed her eyes to think, and a verse flashed immediately to mind. "Oh!" She opened her eyes wide.

"What is it?"

   "Well I'm no' sure these verses are from God. They may be naught but my own thoughts."

   "What is the verse?"

   
"Fraglantia unguentis optimis oleum effusum nomen
tuum ideo adulescentulae dilexerunt te."

   Padyn frowned. "Perhaps I should have spent more time studying Latin as a lad. Is it something about love and a mouth?"

   "'Tis from Solomon's Song of Songs. It translates to something like,
'Let him kiss me with the kisses of his
mouth—for your love is more delightful than wine.'"

   "Well." MacLaren smiled with surprise. "God's will be done."

   MacLaren leaned over and gently brushed his lips against hers, sending shivers down her spine. He touched his lips to hers ever so softly then with drew. Repeating the pattern, he touched his lips to hers again, a little longer this time before pulling away. Aila leaned forward, wanting more. MacLaren chuckled softly. Rolling her onto her back, he kissed her firmly. For Aila, it was a strange sensation, but one she did not wish to stop. At first she just experienced his kiss then slowly started to respond. He made a guttural sound she interpreted as approval and kissed her even deeper.

   "Why is it we are waiting to do more?" he whis pered as he reached down her chemise to caress her breast. Aila drew a sharp breath at the unexpected sensation of his touch. It was surprisingly pleasurable and filled her with an aching for something more, though for what she could not name. He reached down and slowly drew up her chemise until his hand was on her thigh.

   Suddenly, she was filled with pangs of fear, embar rassment, and modesty, mixed with unpleasant memo ries of her experience the night before.

   "Wait, nay, stop, please. I need more time."

   "Arrghh!" MacLaren released her and rolled over onto his back, taking a few deep breaths as he looked toward the heavens. "If ye're trying to kill me, lass, a knife to the heart would be quicker and more merciful."

   "I'm sorry. I'm no' used to a man's touch." MacLaren said nothing, and she stared at him in the darkness, feeling small. "I thank ye for yer patience wi' me. I ken 'tis hard for ye."

   "Ye have no idea how hard," MacLaren growled back.

   "I always thought of myself as a nun. 'Tis difficult for me to suddenly become a man's wife."

   MacLaren sighed. "Is that why ye refused to come to yer wedding feast?"

   "I dinna refuse to eat wi' ye."

   "Ye've got a short memory, lass. Have ye forgotten how ye dishonored me in front o' all yer kin by refusing to share yer meal wi' me?" MacLaren's voice was gruff once more.

   "I waited all night, and no one came for me." A lump formed in the back of her throat as she remem bered the pain of that night.

   "What were ye waiting for? An escort to yer own supper?"

   "Aye," replied Aila in a small voice.

   "Why would ye need that? Why should that

night be different than any other time ye came for a meal?"

   "But I'd ne'er eaten in the Great Hall afore." Aila felt defensive and belittled.

   "Careful, lass, ye'll release me from my oath wi' words like that." For emphasis, MacLaren rolled back toward Aila and wrapped his arm around her once more.

   "I am no' untrue. Ask my father if ye doubt my words." Aila was angry. So angry she wrapped her arm around him and pulled him closer. She had no idea what she was doing, but she needed to be near him.

   "I'm warning ye, once broke, I'll no' be giving ye the same promise again." MacLaren drew his hand down her back and cupped her backside.

   Aila tingled with delight as new, strange feelings pulsed inside her. "I have always e'er eaten wi' my mother. Ask anyone ye like." He was big and strong and warm and infuriating. She was so aggravated she pressed against him and cupped his bottom with her hand, just to be even.

   Lying on their sides, face to face, their lips almost touched as MacLaren whispered, "Aila, what are ye doing to me?"

   Instantly, she withdrew her hand. "I beg yer pardon, I… I…" She rolled away from him onto her back. "I'm afraid I'm making ye a verra poor wife."

   MacLaren said nothing intelligible but snarled in a manner she took to mean he quite agreed with her.

   "Sir?" Aila asked.

   "Padyn. If ye're going to torture me, ye might as well call me by my Christian name."

   "Padyn," Aila continued. She liked the sound of his name on her lips. If only he felt something more for her than just desire for her inheritance and lust. It would be so much easier if he held any real feelings for her. "Why did ye marry me?"

   MacLaren rolled onto his back, and they lay there looking up at the stars. "As I told ye, yer father wrote me, offered yer hand in marriage in exchange for my defense of his lands from the marauders burning his crops."

   "So ye married me for my fortune," Aila said dully.

   "And the land. I need both for my clan."

   "Sounds a lot like what McNab said."

   MacLaren bristled. "McNab tried to steal ye away, and we suspect McNab of burning yer fields to force Graham to give ye to him in marriage. Are ye comparing me to that bastard?"