Stolen Vows (11 page)

When dawn finally broke over the Scottish highlands Roan was utterly exhausted.  He hadn’t fully recovered from the rough treatment he’d received at Castle Cameron, and another sleepless night rendered him almost completely useless.  He wanted nothing more than to crawl home to his bed and sleep for a week. 

Sadly, Roan knew that he wasn’t going to be allowed that luxury until he and Isla had their audience with the Laird and had done some very serious explaining.

Isla was curled against his side.  She had dozed fitfully throughout the night, waking every hour or two, until she had been assured that he was still there.  At least she had slept a little, though.  Roan was bothered on her behalf that the trip had gone so badly. 

He felt like he’d let her down.  Roan knew that Isla had turned to him, at least in part, because he had represented a stability and security that she craved and had been lacking.  He hoped she wasn’t regretting her choice, even as he realized that it shouldn’t matter to him if she did.

“Morning already?” A drowsy voice murmured, interrupting Roan’s thoughts.  He smiled down at his wife and nodded. 

“Dawn at any rate, but we may as well get moving as soon as we can.”  She looked pale, he realized with a guilty pang. There were dark shadows under her usually bright eyes and the bruises that he’d thought were healing seemed to stand out more vividly than ever.

“What’s wrong?” Isla asked, biting her lip when she caught his worried stare.

“Naught,” Roan said quickly, having known too many women to fall into the trap of answering honestly.  He brushed a kiss against her cheek.  “How are ye feeling?”

“Fine, I suppose,” she mumbled, looking at him suspiciously and then trying to work her fingers through her tangled hair.  Roan frowned when he noticed the scratches crisscrossing her skin.

“Isla,” he sighed, catching one in his own hand and examining it closely.

“Tis naught,” she murmured, tugging her hand away again.

“I am sorry, Isla,” Roan blurted before he could stop the words from tumbling out.

“Tis nae yer fault we were stuck here all night,” she shrugged, but she didn’t sound hugely convincing.  “I just wish I looked more presentable,” she groaned, picking at a hole in her once fine skirt.

“Isla ye look -“

“Like some sort of beggar woman!” she interrupted shrilly, rousing the old coach driver, who woke with a splutter.  “What are they going to
think
, Roan?” she cried.  “Yer mother?  The Laird?  What are they going to think of me?” she repeated tearfully.

“I would trust that they both ken better than to judge ye solely on yer appearance,” Roan said, a little tersely. 

He had a great deal of respect for both Laird MacRae and his mother, and usually considered their opinions on all things to be sound.  Graem’s endeavors to forge a sustainable peace with the Camerons being the one exception.

“But I wanted to make a good impression!”

Roan had to bite his tongue to keep from reminding her that no matter how she might look, she was going to be hard pressed to make a good first impression, for the simple fact that she was a Cameron.

“The impression ye make will nae be based on the neatness of yer hair or the cleanness of yer dress, Isla,” he said at length.

“Which means they will all hate me regardless!” 

“They will nae
hate
ye,” he said, softening his voice considerably.  “It may take them awhile to accept ye,” he admitted honestly.  “But ye have me and -”

“I dinna deserve to be accepted,” Isla sniffed.  “I deserve to be hated for what I did.”

“
Dinna
start that again,” Roan said, sharply and swiftly.  “Ye do
nae
deserve to be hated!” he growled firmly.  He frowned.  “If anyone gives ye any trouble at Erchlochy Castle yer to come straight to me, ye understand?” he instructed decisively.  He didn’t know exactly how he’d deal with them, but he’d do
something
.

“I’ll be running to ye every five minutes if I do that.” 

“Isla,” Roan sighed heavily.  “Twould nae hurt for ye to try and be a little positive.  Ye will have to make an effort,”

“Ye think I’m nae going to make an effort?” she shrieked. 

“I think ye sometimes act before ye think,” Roan growled angrily. He had known his wife for less than a week, but that facet of her character was already clear.

“Well I think
ye
always have to be right!” she spat back in annoyance.

“I am always right!”

“Oh, really?” Isla asked, prodding his chest.  “Were you
right
about our journey?”

“Hell woman! I
kenned
ye blamed me for the damned tree falling over!”

“Ye said the roads would be clear!”

“Ye dinna
want
the roads to be clear!” Roan bellowed.  “Ye never wanted to leave Castle Cameron!”

“Well of course I dinna!”

“Well maybe ye should have thought of that before?” Roan snarled. He was hurt by Isla’s positive loathing of the thought of Castle Cameron, even though he understood that, if their positions had been reversed, he wouldn’t be jumping over the moon about it.

“That’s nae fair, Roan!” Isla argued.  She turned away from him, and walked a few paces outside the little clearing where they’d spent the night, into a denser patch of woodlands. 

Roan felt a twinge of guilt; it
hadn’t
been an easy twenty-four hours on his wife.  Apart from their imminent arrival at Erchlochy Castle to worry about, Isla had been forced to cope with sleeping in the cold. Just because he was also tired and hungry didn’t mean that he should forget that Isla had been suffering.  

He glanced at the driver.  The old man was making a very obvious effort not to listen to what was going on between the couple, clanking the horse brasses, muttering under his breath and generally being conspicuous.  After a disparaging shake of his head in his direction, Roan went after Isla.

“Go away,” she whimpered, when she heard his approach.

“And leave ye out here all on yer own?  I dinna think so, lass,” Roan said, his tone returning to its typical gentle drawl.

“I
want
to be left out here all my own!” she snapped. 

She was standing stubbornly with her back to him, and when Roan moved around to look at her face she deliberately avoided his eye.  “Isla,” he sighed wearily, catching her hold gently by the arms, though she still refused to meet his gaze.

“Roan, I said -” she began furiously, and in her anger she finally did raise her head.

Isla’s breath caught in her throat and Roan could instantly feel
why
.  There was
something
simmering in the air between them, sizzling between their bodies, drawing him towards her.  For a second, as he listed into her enticing heat, he thought she was going to slap him, and he knew he wouldn’t have stopped her, because the only thing he could think about was feeling her mouth moving underneath his own.

He groaned, unable to tell who had closed the last hairsbreadth of distance between their lips, knowing only that it
was
closed, and that he never wanted it to be opening again.  He kissed her, hard and deep, his anger having turned, in a flash, to a fierce passion that was fuelling his actions.

Isla seemed to be similarly entranced.  Roan grunted as she answered his advances with an intensity that she hadn’t dared before.  She was hungry and needy, and Roan wondered if there was any possible way he could have her here, in the woods, against a tree, with her clansman only a few feet away.

Not yet
…It might take every ounce of self-control he had, but he was
not
going to claim his wife like an animal in the woods…although, at the moment, he couldn’t explain why not.
Damned honor…

Roan couldn’t help himself from rocking his hips against his wife. He heard Isla gasp when the urgent hardness of his body pressed against her soft belly. The small, sharp sound sizzled through his body, fanning his need into a frenzy. He ground against her. One hand slipped behind her pert bottom, holding her flush against him while the other groped her ample breasts.

Isla whimpered as Roan cupped the curves of her bosom. His rough fingers rooted into the neck of her bodice, ferreting out her pink nipples and pinching them until she gasped again.

“Roan!”

To his ears, the word sounded like a plea. He dropped his hand to her side, bunching up the hem of her skirt and pushing her legs apart. He rolled against her again, and was shocked when she bucked away.

“Nae!”

Roan blinked and dropped his hands. Isla’s skirts fell around her ankles again. She stared down at them, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“Isla?” he asked his voice thick with a mixture of lust and confusion.

“I’m sorry!” she whispered, finally peeking up at him. “I dinna ken what happened, I -”

Roan realized that he had pushed her too far. “I should nae -” he began, but Isla laid her finger across his lips.

“Ye
should
have,” she insisted. “I wanted it, only…” she bit her lip. “When Tavish -”

This time it was Roan who forced the silence. He kissed Isla very gently on the lips, unable to bear the thought of hearing himself compared to the other man. Caught up in the passion of the moment, he forgot what Isla had been through. “I’m sorry,” he said, ashamed of himself.

Isla surprised him with her response. “Oh, nae!” she said quickly. “Dinna be sorry. I just…maybe we could go...slower next time?”

The shy gaze she gave him was irresistible, but this time when he kissed her, his touch was soft and tender. Relief flooded his aching body when Isla twined her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss again.

“Are ye ready to go back?” Roan asked when he reluctantly pulled away.

Isla’s rebellion had been subdued by their passion.  She gave her head a reluctant nod, and let her husband lead her back towards the camp.

Everything
went out of her mind as she sank back against the hard wooden rails of the wagon.  They felt like the softest feather bed after a night of sleeping on the hard ground.  Isla dozed off before the cart even started rolling.

..ooOOoo..

It was the sound of angry, raised voices that woke Isla several hours later.  She sat up with a start, trying to make out what was being said.

“…and I’m telling ye, nae mangy Cameron wagon is getting past these gates!  I’d as soon -”

The wave of abuse stopped.  Isla couldn’t hear what had been said to silence the furious man, but she did recognize the soft, rich tone of her husband’s deep voice.

“Roan!  Hell!  Dinna recognize ye there for a moment!”  The voice boomed again. 

Isla sank down in her seat.  They’d arrived.  She looked bedraggled and she still had no idea what Roan was going to tell the Laird to explain the matter of her being his
wife.
Her face must have reflected her feelings, because Roan shot her a glance of concern.

“Ye all right, lass?” he asked.

“Aye,” Isla said.

“Tis going to be all right,” he said, hopping back inside the wagon as it started to move again.  “Tis going to be fine,” he reiterated, which did nothing to settle Isla’s nerves.  If he could have feigned a look of confidence to accompany the affirmation it might have helped a
little
.