The Highlander's Bride (23 page)

Father Lanaghly was enchanted. When he saw her ride in with a proud back and golden hair flying all around her, he thought he knew why the laird had finally broken his vows of eternal bachelorhood. But now, seeing her eyes and her lovely expression, he was certain he understood.

“Hush, now. I suspect you are right about our laird. But like all tempers, his will subside. I think it’s time you go to bed now. I suspect you will see the laird as soon as he arrives.”

“Thank you, Father.” She climbed the stairs to the keep, unable to stop the tears from forming. It had not been her intention to have the men search for her again. She just wanted to help her friend.

She prepared herself for bed, stripping down to her shift, and began combing her hair in the chair by the fire. When would she and Conor be able to work
with
each other? It seemed that unless she was in his arms, they were arguing about something—everything.

Conor was told of her safe return by soldiers sent to intercept him and his guard. Relief flooded through him. Snow was just coming down and the ground would be covered in white before daylight. And, just like last time, his fear was quickly replaced by matching levels of fury. Asleep or not, she was going to have to explain herself.

He strode into her room, searching her empty bed. When he didn’t see her, he hollered her name so loud that the windows shook. “Laurel!”

She had been asleep when he entered, curled up on the chair near the fire, awaiting his return. His yelling made her jump out of her skin.

Suddenly, Laurel appeared out from behind the hearth chair. “I’m here, Conor.”

So much of him wanted to cross the room and pull her into his arms. Instead, he exploded. “What did you think you were doing going to Hagatha’s? It’s snowing outside! Didn’t you notice the weather? Do you constantly roam the world without a care for anyone but yourself? You once again forced my men to hunt you down. Never again, Laurel! Never again! Do you hear me!”

She was tired and cold and wanted to cry. Only pride enabled her to keep the tears from falling. “I was thinking of Aileen when I went to Hagatha’s. I didn’t know it would take so long. I’m sorry that you felt you had to send your men after me, but I assure you that I can take care of myself.”

“Well, you had better be able to! Another stunt like this one, and you’ll be someone else’s concern. In the past week, I have twice had to run out after you. I have never seen anyone more self-centered. You have used your charm and beauty to get me to back down and give in to your desires, but no more. Do you hear me! No more. So take those blue eyes that make men do your bidding and point them elsewhere.”

All of Laurel’s fury, temper, and pride vanished at his words. Never had anyone cut her more deeply than he. She had thought he loved her, but no one could say such things to someone he cared about. She lowered her eyes and looked at the wood seams in the floor. “I understand. The next time I leave, it will be for good.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

Yes, there would be. Come spring, she would leave and never return. Maybe she would have a chance in Ireland if she hid her ancestry, she thought to herself. She turned around so that her back faced him and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

Conor knew he was being unfair. He just felt so damn powerless around her and so worthless when she was in harm’s way. In the past, women had used many different ploys to entice him to do their bidding. When he was young, it had worked. But then he caught on to their selfish, conniving ways. He’d thought he was immune to the ploys of such women. But today, he came back to find out that Laurel had abused his goodwill. Oh, she had left word of where she was going. And she had an escort, but she knew,
she knew
, that he wasn’t going to approve of her trip to Hagatha’s. Her blatant deceit was inexcusable.

“Do not leave this tower, Laurel. Do not try me again,” he stated in a flat voice. She heard him close the chamber door. His footsteps retreated down the stairs.

She collapsed onto her knees and wept for several minutes. How could he think so little of her? When would he ask for an explanation before attacking her motives? She wiped her tears and hugged herself. She needed to think. So, she started the climb up to the tower battlements. It was cold, but she didn’t care. She was already numb.

“Hey, look!” cried Fergus. Gilroy looked up to see what his friend was yelling about. “It’s her! It’s our angel sent down to warm us on this cold night.”

Gilroy and Fergus looked out through the night’s snowy sky and saw a white vision walking along the Star Tower battlements. At first, several of the men had scoffed at them when they mentioned the angel who appeared and disappeared as a spirit in the moonlight. Then, when several others also saw her, their post became quite crowded for a while. It had been several days since their angel had last appeared, so—once again—it was just them doing night guard duty.

Gilroy and Fergus sat and watched their angel move about the battlements for several minutes in silence. There was very little light as a snow storm had settled in, and it was hard to make her out. Her arms were moving more animatedly than normal.

“She dancing?” asked Gilroy.

“Don’t know. Kind of hard to tell,” Fergus replied, squinting.

They continued to watch her for a long while before sleep snuck up on them both.

Down in the great hall, Father Lanaghly was doing an excellent job of making the great McTiernay chieftain feel about two inches tall.

“Whatever got into you? Why do you McTiernays let your tempers run away with you when it comes to your loved ones? First, you practically destroy your keep in teaching a lesson to your brothers. Now, you accuse a woman loved by all, including you, of being conniving, selfish, and spiteful. She is a beautiful miracle. Look all around you! Do you hear the laughter? Look at yourself! Is it going to take another miracle to admit you were wrong?”

Father Lanaghly had expected Conor to be angry with Laurel. Everyone had anticipated that. But no one imagined the laird would be so harsh. Many had overhead his comments. Everyone near the Star Tower certainly had and had passed the word. When Brighid arrived, she tried to defend her lady with explanations of their trip, claiming that they would have been back sooner if she were a better rider. Already the clan was beginning to splinter off into groups backing either the lady or their laird.

Conor felt miserable. He had come down from Laurel’s chamber and started drinking ale from the buttery. When Father Lanaghly had first approached him, he still felt himself rightfully angry at Laurel’s deceit. Only after the priest forced him to listen did he realize how completely cruel he had been.

He remembered her last words. “The next time I leave, it will be for good.”

He dropped his head into his hands. The dark void of his nightmares had come, but now he knew what it was. He was not going to lose Laurel, but her love. What had he done? A new fear flooded him.

Conor knew that he had abused Laurel’s trust and her love, but he had all winter to make up for it. He would convince her to stay and forgive him, just as he had persuaded her to marry him. If need be, he would use the ruse of protecting her grandfather to force her hand. Anything, he promised himself, anything to get her to give him time to make it up to her.

Loman trudged up the guard tower stairs to the curtain wall leading out to the night guardsmen. It had been a stressful night and, the way things were looking, it was only going to be worse in the morning. He knew his laird had never been this emotionally raw before. And because of that, Loman realized that everything his laird had said, had been said out of fear. Conor’s fear for her, fear of her—that she was like the others—and fear of himself. Loman shook his head as he saw the two sleeping guards.

He kicked Gilroy and Fergus awake. “What are you two idiots doing? You’ll freeze to death. I’m switching the guard every hour until the snow storm is over.”

“Hey!” yelled Gilroy, nudging Fergus. “Our angel is still with us!”

“What are you two blubbering about?” Loman asked.

“Our angel,” smiled Fergus. “She comes and visits us at night. Usually she only comes when the stars are shining, but tonight she came in with the snow.”

“You two are daft. Come on, let’s go.”

“Look for yourself.” Fergus pointed towards the Star Tower.

Loman gave a sideways glance towards the tower, expecting to see nothing but snow. However, he could see movement up there. It looked like someone trying to bang something. It was very difficult to see. Who would be up there in this weather? Then he saw the long golden hair and instantly realized who that was.

“That isn’t an angel, you fools!” And he started running.

Loman didn’t stop when he glimpsed Father Lanaghly and Conor emerging from the hall. He pushed them both violently out of his way and began climbing the tower steps two, three at a time. He reached the battlement doors. The weather had made the wood expand, and they were frozen shut. After several hard blows, they swung open.

Laurel was on the stone floor, frozen in a ball. Her hair felt like icicles on his skin. He picked her up and was heading down the stairs to her chambers when he collided into Conor.

Conor looked at the frozen girl in Loman’s arms. His greatest fear was being realized. He was going to lose her. Loman handed Laurel over to his laird, panicked that she wasn’t moving. Conor ran, carrying her the rest of the way down the stairs to his solar and placed her on his bed. From behind, he could hear Loman and others running and shouting.

Soon, there were buckets of warm water and blankets being flown around. People were surrounding Laurel, trying to rub life back into her limbs, but she was not responding. Conor just stood there holding her head, mentally pleading with her not to leave him. He could not find his voice.

After what seemed to be an eternity, she blinked her eyes. Her lips were still a scary shade of blue, and her eyes looked hollow. “Love, you are all right now. Loman found you.” He kissed her cheeks, her lips, her hands. All were much too cold.

“I know you didn’t mean it.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper barely loud enough to hear.

“Shh, love. Don’t talk now.” Tears were streaming down his cheeks. He felt like she was leaving him. Her words reminded him too much of those who had spoken similar phrases on their deathbeds.

He grabbed her face in his hands. “Don’t leave me, Laurel. Please don’t leave me. I will hunt you down no matter where you go and bring you back. Do you hear me? You are mine, and without you, I am incomplete.” He held her close, swaying gently back and forth, murmuring words of love into her ear.

The men and women rubbing Laurel’s limbs, trying to bring circulation back into her arms, legs and feet, were all silently praying. When Conor saw Father Lanaghly, he immediately assumed the worst. No one was giving last rites to his heart and soul. She was not going to die.

“Get out of here, Father. Your services won’t be needed tonight. Leave us alone.”

“I’m not here for her, son, but for you. I’m praying just as hard as the rest that this generous soul remains with us.”

Conor spent the next several hours overseeing Laurel’s care. Her limbs started regaining color, but she remained very cold. Her body often would shake uncontrollably no matter how many layers of bedding were placed upon her. Eventually, he sent everyone away, stripped them both down, and held her as close he could. Finally, she seemed to respond. Her lips now looked pale, not blue. Her fingers and toes all had some color within them.

But, just when he thought the horror had passed and that she would survive, a fever took hold. Never in his life did he feel more lost and out of control.

For the next several days, she wandered in and out of lucidity as she raved about his inability to trust her or lean on her. Throughout it all, he never left her side.

One time, she woke and sat straight up, demanding that he explain why she was conniving. After he explained how wrong he was, how he didn’t mean it, she contradicted him, going into a lengthy discourse on her childhood. In it, she described several events that proved he was right. When she was five, she intentionally charmed the cook into letting her have extra desserts every night. She had cajoled the stable master into teaching her to ride and hunt on bareback. She had even convinced her brother that he would be better off if she left England.

“So you see, you are right in your assessment of me, Conor. You will be much better off without me.” And with those words, she went back into a fretful sleep, her fever rising to terrifying levels.

“She can’t go on this way,” he moaned to Hagatha, who had arrived down the day before.

“Aye, she can and will. You can and will.” She bathed Laurel’s brow trying to keep her cool. “You best be eating something, laird. Once she recovers you will need all your strength to convince her you won’t be changing her ways.”

The next day, her fever broke. Her throat was parched, and she was extremely weak, but she was no longer burning to the touch. Conor’s spirits lifted.

Laurel felt as if a herd of horses had trampled her. When she reached up to massage her temples, she moaned aloud. Every muscle in her body ached, and every joint screamed in pain. Her head was pounding. Immediately, Conor was by her side.

“Don’t move, love. Just tell me what you need.”

“Water.” As she watched him move to bring her a cup of water, she noticed how haggard and withdrawn he was. Her giant had lost a lot of weight. “Conor, what happened to you?”

He smiled at her and sat down. “He hasn’t been eating is what’s wrong,” Hagatha said from across the room. “You’ve been feverin’ for five days. This one,” she rotated her thumb towards Conor, “refused to leave. Practically had no sleep, and what little food he ate was forced.”

Laurel squinted, trying to focus. “Hagatha? What are you doing here? You hate leaving your cottage,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

“Glad you appreciate me sacrifice.”

“I need a bath.” Laurel felt grimy and unclean but completely powerless to do anything about it.

“Aye, you do,” replied the old midwife. “But not for a couple of days, and no arguments. Now, I’ve got to go see the cook about some broth.”

Moments later, Conor and Laurel were alone.

Laurel turned her head and gazed at the man who had so deftly stolen and then shredded her heart. He was standing by the window sill just staring at her. His hair was matted, and his clothes were wrinkled and unkempt.

“What happened? I feel as bad as you look,” she commented.

He smiled, walked over, and stroked her hair, tucking it behind her ear as he was so fond of doing. She was going to be all right, he said to himself. She was still Laurel. She was still the same woman who had unexpectedly stumbled into his camp that fateful day. Relief spread like a summer day’s warmth all over him.

“You were stuck outside in the snow on top of the tower.”

“I remember. I wanted to think, and that is where I go when I need to clear my head. I was so cold, and the door would not open. I tried and tried, but it was jammed, trapping me outside. I called out, but no one heard me. I thought I was going to die.”

“Shhh.” He closed his eyes and cradled her in his arms. “You are never going to leave me. I won’t let you. I would follow you anywhere to bring you back to my side. Don’t you know that by now?”

She fell asleep in his arms. Conor held her until Hagatha made him go eat and rest himself. Over the next couple of days, Hagatha oversaw their recuperations. On the third day, she declared that she was going home.

“Thank you, Hagatha.”

“I told you to call me midwife.”

“I know, but you are so much more than that. You are the McTiernays’ precious own Hagatha.” And she reached up to give the redheaded woman a hug.

“Now, you stay in bed until your strength returns. You can get up for a bath, but only limited activity. This kind of weather brings on sickness that fills the lungs to those that are weak.”

“I promise.”

“Don’t worry. She’s not going to do anything to risk her health,” Conor promised as he came up and put his hands on Laurel’s shoulders. She craned her head to look at him.

“You’re worse than she is,” Laurel said, shrugging his hands off, unconsciously rising to challenge him.

“Aye. I will be.”

“Will be! You already are.”

Hagatha left while they were still squabbling over Laurel’s recovery. She chuckled to herself as she descended the tower stairs. Those two will be fine, she thought. They will be just as she was with her man. Always debating something, but always making up, too. Aye, the McTiernays have finally gotten a lady again to help lead the clan.

Upstairs, Conor and Laurel had not even noticed Hagatha’s departure.

“I think you should rest now, Laurel.” Conor buried his hands in her hair, twisting his fingers in the silken tresses, hugging her to him.

“I’m going to take a bath.”

“Maybe tomorrow. You have already exerted yourself too much today.”

“Conor, I’m going to exert myself a hell of a lot more by throwing you out that window if you keep this up.” She tried to shove him out of her way, but he refused to be budged. The effort exhausted her.

He picked her up and carried her back to the bed. “See? I told you, you are too tired.”

“I wasn’t until you manhandled me,” she grumbled back. “Conor, I don’t think you understand. I feel awful, but mostly because I feel unclean. If I could just have a bath and wash my hair, I would feel so much better.”

“Will you behave and stay in bed for the rest of the day?”

She hated convalescence. She was rarely sick and always recovered quickly the few times she had succumbed to illness. But, knowing she should take any opportunity where Conor appeared to be the least bit compromising, she caved. “I promise.”

“Fine. I’ll have the bath drawn up for you this afternoon. Meanwhile, sleep.”

She squinted her eyes at him. He was so arrogant. “You are insufferable.”

“So you have said many times before.”

“Not that it has done any good.”

“Aye. I doubt that it will make a difference to my habits, but if it makes you feel better to say it, then do so.” He was tucking her in now. She was tired, but didn’t want to give in so easily without receiving something in return.

“If I am going to sleep, you are going to eat.”

He smiled at her stratagem. All the times before when she had argued with him, he thought of it as defiance—something she intentionally did to force his anger. It suddenly occurred to him that it wasn’t defiance at all, but pride that spurred such a reaction from her. She was bold, and like him, did not want to appear weak. He smiled to himself, satisfied that he finally had figured out one of his bride’s many little mysteries.

“Aye. Because you have requested it.”

His apparent acquiescence made her feel better, and she closed her eyes and slept for several hours.

“Absolutely not, Conor McTiernay.”

“Do you want a bath or not?”

“You know I do. But not with you giving it to me.”

“It’s either a bath with me, love, or no bath at all.”

“What about Brighid?”

“What about her?”

She was getting more than just a little frustrated with his intentional dim-wittedness. “It isn’t appropriate! Men don’t bathe women.”

“This man does if the woman is you.”

“But you are a laird.”

“And you are my woman.”

“First of all, no, I am not. Second, I am unmarried. There! What would everyone say if they found out their laird bathed an unmarried woman?”

“I’m sure they would be glad that I had personally overseen the health and safety of their future Lady.”

She was not winning this argument at all. He was leaning against the mantel, totally calm and relaxed. There was no yelling, no anger and certainly no flexibility. She was desperate.

“Conor, it just simply isn’t done. You cannot demand this of me,” she pleaded intensely.

He walked over to her and drew her up to his side. He held her there for several minutes, just loving the feel of this woman in his arms. Whether it was proper or not, only he was going to oversee her activities until she was completely recovered.

“I almost lost you,” he said and then kissed her hair. “I thought I had when you went to Hagatha’s, and then when Loman found you…my whole reason for living disappeared until you came back to me.” He framed her face with his hands and lifted her head so that he could look into her eyes. “Until I am completely assured of your recovery, I’m going to act a little unorthodox, and very possessive, love. I ask you to indulge me.” The kiss that followed confirmed the words he had just uttered.

It was deep and long, conveying the need and passion he felt for her. Laurel responded in kind. Her arms stole around his back, and her hands began to massage his neck muscles. No matter what arguments they may have had or would have in the future, she would always love this man with all of her heart and soul.

“Now,” he said smiling, raising his head and ending the kiss. “About your bath.” He swung her into his arms and walked over to the hearth, which was now blazing.

Slowly, he undressed her, stopping every once in a while to take a taste of exposed skin. She loved the way he touched her with gentle, feather-light caresses that filled her veins with liquid fire.

Once she was naked, he quickly put her in the warm tub and began to rub her body down with her lilac soap. Suddenly, Laurel’s list of reasons why he shouldn’t do this vanished. Sensation took over. It wasn’t exactly a sexual stirring, although passion and attraction were definitely there. It was love. Conor touched her and bathed her as if she was the most precious thing in the entire world.

When he began to wash her hair, Laurel decided she wanted to do the same for him. She turned around and reached up, grabbing his shirt and lifting it over his head.

As she rose slightly out of the water, Conor was momentarily stunned at the sight of water glistening on her skin in the firelight. She was perfection to him. Seconds later, he realized that she had also removed his belt as his kilt fell to the floor, free of its strap.

“It’s my turn to wash you.” Her voice was husky with desire.

Tight and hard with arousal, he allowed her to pull him in, falling with a splash. She grinned at him. “I think that you, too, are in need of a bath.” Somewhere in his mind, he realized as she started lathering him that he was going to smell like flowers, but didn’t care.

“Ah, love. You will be the death of me yet.” He bent his head, aiming to capture her lips with his own.

She dodged him. She nibbled on his earlobe instead. “Hmmm. How’s that?”

“Well, if I don’t die tonight from the wanting of you, I’m sure my men will humble me into nonexistence when they get a whiff of me in the morning,” he said as he moved to return the favor by nuzzling her neck.