My Highland Love: Highland Lords Series (41 page)

With a nod in response to Father Brennan’s
statement that the Menzies clan was rumored to be raiding land to
the north, Iain slid a hand along his horse’s neck. The beast
nickered and shifted beneath him. Behind him, one of his men’s
horses whinnied in answer. Careful not to give away his intention,
Iain slid his gaze across the heather covered hills beyond the
abbey and covertly monitored the woman’s progress as she strolled
along the grounds, a book in hand. Another moment and she would be
off Montrose Abbey.

She slowed.

Annoyance flared. Curse the archaic law that
kept her safe on holy ground. What if he ignored the civilized
directives instilled by his education and simply took her? He
dropped his attention to the intricately carved leather wristband
that covered his arm from wrist to elbow. A deep scratch spanned
the leather, a reminder of the battle that almost took his arm, had
taken the lives of many good men, a battle fought in the name of
justice
.

Iain looked up in response to Father
Brennan’s report that four Menzies clansmen had passed the abbey
yesterday afternoon. He was in no mood to encounter marauding
Menzies on his return home, particularly considering his change in
plans. He breathed deep of the Scots pine scent carried on the
keening wind. The law forbade him taking the woman while on holy
ground, but sanctioned the kidnapping once she entered the outside
world. No law would be broken, no war begun when he claimed
her.

Ticking off the seconds in his mind, he
gauged her progress away from the grassy expanse that marked the
distance needed to intercept her race back to the monastery. Any
resistance would be hampered by the heavy skirts of her expensive
brocade dress. She took the last fateful step. Iain flashed Father
Brennan a grin as he grasped the hook on his claymore’s scabbard
and unhooked latch from hook. Sword and scabbard dropped to the
ground. The priest’s eyes registered surprise, then understanding.
He whirled as Iain dug his heels into the horse’s belly and broke
ranks with his men.

“Run!” the priest shouted.

She looked up from her book. In seconds,
Iain drew close enough to discern the expression of a doe catching
first sight of the bowman. His heart surged. Mayhap the wide-eyed
stare wasn’t fear, but fascination? Understanding lit her features
and Iain laughed at his folly. The doe realized the bowman meant to
have her after all.

She dropped the book and yanked up her
skirts to run. Iain veered right and leaned from the saddle as she
darted left. He seized her waist. She gave a muffled “oof” and
kicked when he dragged her against the side of the galloping beast,
her legs tangled in her skirts. She screamed. The horse snorted,
his gait faltering with the uneven burden. He steadied and Iain
hauled her across his thighs.

His groin pulsed with the weight of her
derriere across his lap. He laughed to himself. If she understood
the pleasure her struggles afforded him, she would cease. His horse
snorted and Iain threw a leg over the lass’ shins, hugging them
close to the belly of the beast. She grunted with the effort of
trying to slide from the saddle, then stiffened with his firm grip
on her thigh.

“Iain,” Father Brennan said in a loud
voice.

Iain forced his attention from the
disheveled mass of velvet hair that cascaded down slim shoulders
and looked to where the priest had retreated onto holy ground.
Father Brennan motioned him forward. Iain

smiled and gave a shake of his head. The
hand at Father Brennan’s side fisted.

Good.
The priest understood no
MacPherson would set foot on holy ground today.

The woman’s muscles tightened in another
attempt to throw off his leg, and Iain gave the flesh a warning
squeeze without breaking eye contact with Father Brennan. The
priest ran the back of a forefinger in a slow line along each side
of his mustache. Iain understood his shrewd look, but the curiosity
in his eyes was a surprise. He strode toward them, and the warriors
who had ridden in with Iain drew up alongside as the priest
neared.

“It doesn’t seem she is taken with your
charm, Iain,” Father Brennan said.

“Charm?” his captive snapped. “What madness
is this?”

“Patience, lass. It is a simple mistake.”
The priest looked pointedly at Iain.

“Aye,” she blurted, “and this barbarian
would do well to release me before he discovers just how grave a
mistake.”

Iain glanced at his companions when someone
unsuccessfully stifled mirth.

Father Brennan clicked his tongue with
impatience. “Iain, you cannot take her.”

Iain responded with a raise of his
brows.

“Aye, then,” Father Brennan muttered, “you
can take her, but ’tis not fair play. I had not informed her of
this
tradition
. A tradition long dead,” he added with
asperity.

“I believe it was you who said ignorance of
the law is no excuse,” Iain reminded him with a low laugh.

Father Brennan hesitated. “You must know she
is English. Are you sure you want her?”

The lady gasped. Iain started to demanded
explanation for the slur, but forestalled at something unknown in
the priest’s demeanor and replied in an unruffled tone, “If I did
not want her, I would not have taken her.”

Relief flickered in Father Brennan’s eyes,
but his voice remained insistent. “This is wrong. She did not know
it was unsafe to step from holy ground.”

“Unsafe?” Iain echoed.

Father Brennan’s expression darkened. “You
heard what I said, Iain MacPherson, unsafe.”

“Is she entering the convent?” Father
Brennan’s frown deepened, and Iain added, “It is, no doubt, a
grievous sin to lie about such matters.”

“
By the saints.
Nay, you scoundrel,
she has no such intentions.”

“Why is she here?”

“Sweet Jesu,” the lady cursed. “What concern
is that of yours?”

Iain shifted his gaze to her. Fury ruled her
gaze, but it was the challenge in the lift of her chin that gripped
his heart. “Where is your husband, lass?”

Silence hung thick in the air, and every
nerve stood ready for the answer he dreaded, hadn’t considered,
until this moment.

“In a grave in England,” she answered at
last.

That was unexpected and Iain wasn’t sure
whether to praise God she was free or feel compassion she had lost
a loved one. Guilt surfaced with the realization that he gladly
chose the former. He wheeled his horse around.

“Nay!” She kicked the stallion’s belly.

The beast reared. Iain yanked back on the
reins, but she kicked again. The stallion reared a second time.
Iain seized the pommel, but felt their bodies slipping from the
saddle. He rolled, hugging her close so that she landed on top of
him as they crashed to the moist ground. She shoved away from him.
He held tight, laughing in spite of the dull pain in his shoulder
when she growled. She jabbed an elbow into his ribs. Pain lanced
through his gut. His grip faltered and she broke free. The closest
of the warriors shot after her and was upon her in a few short
strides and grabbed her.

Iain leapt to his feet and lunged after her.
“Release her!”

The man dropped her. She jumped up, tripped
on her skirts, and barely scrambled up again as Iain brought her
down like a wild animal.

He flipped her over and straddled her. “I
should have let you break
my
fall.”

She grabbed his shoulders and dug nails into
the hard muscle. Iain seized her wrists and shoved them above her
head. He slid his body along hers until he covered her length and
his face was an inch from her mouth. She continued to struggle.

His groin thickened. “At least you might
have been knocked senseless long enough for me to get you to my bed
and shackle you there.”

She stilled, eyes wide. Regret stabbed at
him. He had enjoyed the thrust of her slim hips against him.

The lower edge of Father Brennan’s scapula
came into view beside them. “Let her up, Iain.”

Iain shook his head. “Nay. I am enjoying
this more than anything else this morning.”

A round of approving grunts and laughter
went up from his men. As an afterthought, Iain lowered his mouth on
hers. She stiffened, but the scent of rose water mingling with the
heather crushed beneath her assailed his senses and he breathed in
the arousing scents. Shifting, he found the curves of her body held
the expected promise. He couldn’t help a glance in the direction of
the forest where privacy lay but a moment away.

“MacPherson,” the priest growled.

Iain jerked his gaze back onto her. Fear
tinged her expression. A twinge of guilt gave way to the desire to
kiss away the small tremor on her lower lip.

“
Iain
.”

“Aye.” He rose, pulling her to her feet. She
bolted, but he yanked her to his side.

“
Please.”
She worked to pry his hands
from her arm as he led her in the direction of his horse.

The desperation in her voice halted Iain’s
march. Father Brennan gave her a fatherly pat on the arm. “All will
be well, lass.”

She scowled. “What an absurd statement.”

Iain laughed and received a kick to the shin
for the offense.

“I am to blame, child.” Father Brennan
sighed. “I did not warn you to remain on holy ground when we had
visitors
.”

Iain angled his head in acknowledgment, then
faced her. His brief inspection earlier suggested her long skirts
hid feminine curves and shapely legs. Yet, her carriage had
intrigued him above all. A woman of intellect and gentle breeding,
she would suit him well. To his surprise, she had spared but a
cursory glance in his direction before turning back to her
book.

He touched the spot where cheekbone met
eyes. “As blue as the waters of Loch Ericht.”

Startled understanding appeared in the blue
depths and satisfaction rippled through Iain. Luck was with him
today, luck and his captain’s suggestion that he visit Montrose
Abbey to investigate rumors of trouble with the Menzies.

Her eyes narrowed. She shoved his hand away
and faced Father Brennan. “You are saying that because I took one
step too many in the wrong direction this…this
man
can take
me and I have nothing to say about it?”

“Well, ’twas more than one,” Father Brennan
corrected.

She gave an unladylike snort.

“Lass,” Iain cut in. “I am Iain MacPherson,
leader of my clan. I will provide you a fine home and swear by God
to keep you safe.”

Her severe expression turned with
deliberation on him. “King are you—”

“Clan chief,” he corrected. “A difference
King James is sure to appreciate.”

She raised a scornful brow. “
That
gives you the right to take me prisoner?”

“Nay, my lass.” Iain yanked her to his
chest. “The fact I am a man gives me that right.”

Determined fury darkened her eyes. He
tangled a hand in the soft tresses behind her neck and pulled her
mouth to his. She shoved at his chest. Iain tasted her with slow
consideration, not forcing the tightly clamped lips apart, despite
the compelling desire to thrust his tongue inside. The length of
him hardened to near pain and his heart pounded at breakneck speed,
but he ended the kiss. She twisted in an effort to free herself,
yet Iain didn’t miss the tremble in her body.

“Nathan, fetch my horse.”

The young warrior broke from the band and, a
moment later, brought the horse up alongside with Iain’s sword
strapped to its side.

“Hold fast the reins.”

Nathan complied and Iain lifted her. She
braced her hands against the horse’s ribs, but he hoisted her into
the saddle.

“You will keep her?” Father Brennan crossed
his arms over his chest.

“Aye.” Iain kept an arm around her waist as
she tried to slide down the opposite side.

The priest nodded. “Since you take advantage
of her stepping from holy ground, you will abide by the law and
wait until she consents.”

“She will wed me of her own free will,” Iain
stepped into the saddle and encircled her waist as he took the
reins that were handed to him.

“That is not what I mean and you know it.”
“I do not force women,” Iain replied. “Perhaps because no woman has
ever refused you before?”

Iain locked gazes with the priest. “Beware
that your good intentions do not take you too far, Father. You know
I have never taken an unwilling woman.”

“Liar,” the lady interjected.

Iain leaned her back in his arm and stared
into her eyes. “You do not know me, lass. Why say such a
thing?”

“I am unwilling, yet you force me to go with
you.”

For an instant her logic confused him and
memory of another woman made captive by a man who claimed love
flitted through his mind. “Aye,” Iain agreed, through tight lips.
“But you will choose to marry me.” He gave a quiet order to one of
his men and pulled on the reins, once again wheeling his horse away
from the abbey. “Come to us in ten days, Father,” Iain threw back
before they were out of earshot.

“He will only come to bring me back,” she
said through clenched teeth. “I will never marry you.”

Chapter Two

A drop of moisture splattered on Iain’s
forearm. He looked heavenward. Gray clouds edged past a sun that
hung low in the western horizon, but no rain threatened. He reined
in his horse and leaned the woman back in the crook of his arm.
Tears distorted the blue irises that stared back at him. She pushed
wildly at his chest as if to scramble to a far corner of the
saddle, and he realized his arm had tightened around her.

Iain cursed under his breath and gathered
the edge of the sash that hung around his shoulder. He dried the
tears pooled in each eye, then traced the fabric down where tears
streaked her face. His manhood pulsed in sudden awareness to the
agitated rise and fall of her breasts.