The Highlander's Reward (7 page)

Arbella bit her lip and spared a glance at the men, afraid they might resent that she and their leader were given a roof and a bed and they a bed of straw. The warriors only nodded, accepting and not seeming at all perturbed.

“My thanks, Father,” Magnus said.

“Ye can go behind the stables now to wash up. There’s a tub of water that our men use to clean up before the meal.”

Magnus nodded and he and his men disappeared behind the stables.

“How are ye feeling, lass?” the abbot asked. He looked at her through hazy, tranquil eyes.

She couldn’t help feeling more peaceful in his presence. “I am well now. Laird Sutherland has provided me with safety.”

“Aye. He is a good man.”

“Do you know him well?”

The abbot nodded. “He and his brothers usually pass through here on the way to market or some such other business.”

Knowing that a man of God trusted Magnus made her feel a lot safer.
Even if they were both Scottish.

The men quickly
returned, their looks and smell greatly improved. They continued on, following the abbot through the cloister until they reached a plain wooden door which opened into a dining hall. Most of the tables were filled with somber-looking monks. They sipped a watery soup from wooden spoons. No one spoke.

The abbot pointed to a lone table against the far wall that was empty. He didn’t speak, but they understood from his gestures they were to go and sit there.

They shuffled quietly through the dining hall toward the far table. Arbella was impressed with the monks’ show of solitude. No one spoke or looked at them. She had been aware previously that they ate in silence and reflection but having never seen it done was quite amazed at their ability to remain in such a state of peace.

As they sat down
, several monks came to their table bearing bowls, spoons and cups. Once their places were set, the monks left, returning with a cauldron of soup and a jug of ale. As soon as their bowls and cups were filled the monks retreated to their own tables to resume their meal. Arbella mouthed thank you, not quite sure how the silence worked. When one of the monks shook his head, she realized she should simply incline her head next time.

She stared down into her bowl of broth, barley and vegetables and breathed a sigh of relief.
As uncommon as it was, Arbella abstained from eating meat. The habit stemmed from childhood when she’d wandered into the butcher’s shop to see a precious piglet slaughtered. The vision had stayed with her, and she’d lost her taste for flesh.

Arbella sipped at the soup, surprised with its flavor. She detected several herbs and even a hint of salt—an expensive commodity.

After the very quiet meal ended—not at all what Arbella had in mind for her wedding feast—the monks took up their place settings and brought them into the kitchens. Arbella, Magnus and the warriors did the same. There was no amount of service provided to them here. All of them were God’s children in the service of God.

Once back into the cloister, Magnus took her arm again and placed it through his. She found she liked the comfort his solid form gave her.

He whispered, “When we reach Sutherland, I shall see that ye’re provided a proper wedding feast. One in which ye are allowed to speak.”

Arbella laughed softly. “I do admit
’twas not what I’d had in mind for a wedding feast.” She gazed up at him thoughtfully, wondering when a good time would be to tell him she would probably not enjoy the feast his cook prepared. Mayhap when they reached Sutherland she would mention her food preferences. “But I must also confess I enjoyed the peacefulness of it.”

Magnus tilted his head slightly and studied her. “Have ye not known peace much in your life?”

“’Tis not that at all. I was mostly mesmerized by their ability to sit in silence. Most meals I’ve ever attended with so many present are boisterous and overwhelming.”

“Aye.”

They walked around the cloister, past a modest garden until they reached the small guest house. By this time the sun had started to lower in the sky—a point where the horizon was orange and the sky still blue. It would be dark within the hour.

“Here we are.”

Prickles ignited along Arbella’s arms and legs. Even the hair on her head seemed to stand on end.
’Tis pretend
, she told herself.
You will retain your innocence and return home
.

The problem was, the more hours she remained in Scotland—with Magnus—the more she didn’t want to return, however absurd it was.
There was no logic to it, but she felt a sense of peace here, deep within her soul.

He held the door open for her and Arbella entered the darkened house
, the only light coming from the doorway. She stepped aside as Magnus entered, his bulk momentarily blackening the room.

He rummaged by the door until she heard a sizzle and saw a spark as he lit a ca
ndle with a flint. Holding it up, the small candle dimly illuminated the room. Along the back wall was one tiny window and below it a rickety looking table with two stools.

As Magnus raised the light around the
space, he paused on the small bed in the corner.

“’Twill be a tight fit,” he said with a chuckle.

Arbella’s lips twitched in the semblance of a smile, but truthfully she was too nervous to smile genuinely. His words only brought to mind the fact they’d been married before the eyes of God and even with his promise to keep her virtue intact, he was legally her husband and if he chose to, he could demand his husbandly rights.

He set the candle down on the table and started to disarm himself. A large pile of various weapons formed on the floor beside the table.
A rather messy heap. She had to stop herself from organizing the pile into a corner where it wouldn’t be in the way.

Then
he sat down and started to unlace his boots completely pulling her thoughts from anything but his actions.

“What are you doing?” she
asked, her voice a little shrill. They were supposed be pretending, not truly undressing.

He glanced at her briefly before returning to his task.
“Taking off my boots.”

“Why?”

He exhaled loudly and sat back, his eyes narrowing on her. “What’s wrong?”

“You are undressing.”

“Aye.”

“But you promised.” She wrapped her arms around her stomach, trying to keep the soup down.

“And I intend to keep my promise. But that doesna mean I’m going to sleep in my boots with my sword strapped to my back.”

His words made sense and with the confused and annoyed expression on his face she understood she’d been overreacting.

She nodded and turned toward the bed. They would both never fit on the small mattress. Perhaps if he was a normal sized man, but Magnus was a giant. “Well I intend to sleep fully clothed.”

“Whatever suits ye, lass.”

He was so close his voice startled her. Arbella whirled around to see that he stood a foot away from her—nude.

Her eyes glued to the muscles of his chest
, the light sprinkling of hair, his shoulders and she dare not look further.

“I prefer to sleep in my skin.”
He walked around her and she caught a glimpse of his sculpted arse.

Her mouth
fell open, breath caught. She’d never seen a man’s arse before…and never dreamed it would look so…look so…nice. Arbella snatched back her wayward hand that had reached out to touch him.

Magnus dove onto the bed, his
head buried in the pillow, his arms beneath it. His face was turned away from her and she took a moment to observe his long legs, his strong back. But looking at him only made her blood burn hot. Her desire for him stronger.

She chewed her lowe
r lip, her gaze focused on his god-like body.

“Will ye join me, lass?”

She jerked her gaze up to see his eyes on her and full of merriment.

“N—No.”

With quick movements she grabbed a blanket and pillow from the bed and curled up on the floor, mortification running hot through her blood.

Damn the man! Being married to him in name only was turning out to be a lot harder than she planned.

Chapter Seven

Arbella woke up, warm and cozy. She snuggled deeper in the blankets and the warmth of Magnus’ body.

Wait-his body
?

Her eyes popped open. Indeed, she was in the little bed, her back fitted perfectly to his form. His arm was flung over her waist, his legs entwined with hers. He breathed softly on top of her head.

And something long and hard was pressed to her buttocks. She knew
exactly
what it was too. The intimate contact made her skin hot and cold at the same time. Arbella tried to scoot away but he grunted and hauled her back, this time his hard member pressed even more firmly against her rear.

She bit her lip hard, stifling both her embarrassment and the tingling sensations such a touch brought.

How had she ended up here?

A
vague memory of shivering on the floor in the middle of the night came to the forefront of her mind. Magnus waking, picking her up and tucking her in with him. She hadn’t argued. It’d been too cold and she too tired, and the warmth of his skin had soothed her immediately. She’d fallen asleep before her argument could pass from her lips.

But now, she felt completely different. This would only lead to
a bedding and she was not ready for that.

Arbella
lifted up his hand and flung it over her hip behind her, then as quickly as she could, she disengaged her legs from his and scurried from the bed. A small bit of light filtered through the small back window, but even that wasn’t enough to light up the tiny house.

Finding
the flint, she lit the candle, relieved to see the blankets covered Magnus’ male parts. She wasn’t ready to fully view
that
. Wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready. If she had her way she wouldn’t have to either. As soon as they reached Dunrobin Castle she would pen a note and have it delivered quickly to her father.

Arbella’s
blood slowly ran cold. She didn’t know where her father was and if he was even alive. Sending a missive to Stirling would only invite Marmaduke to the Highlands. She shook her head and gazed out the window at the peaceful morning. The man was likely to be livid that she was stolen away. If she alerted him to her whereabouts she’d be putting everyone in the Sutherland clan in danger. That was unthinkable.

Perhaps she should wait a few weeks and then send a note to her home in England asking about the whereabouts of her father and telling him she was safe and wanted to come home.

But then who was to say her father wouldn’t then make haste to Stirling and bring Marmaduke with him? Sadness enveloped her. Anyway she looked at it, someone was bound to get hurt.

She glanced back at the man who slept soundly. He would probably be killed.

As soon as the thought entered her mind not only did it fill her with anxiety, but also a fierce doubt. The way he’d barreled down on her, and warriors both English and Scottish alike had parted for him, showed her that people were not likely to kill him. He was a fierce warrior. A man who scared the wits out of other warriors.

She’d never met Marmaduke though. And she imagined he too was a fierce man.
A cruel man. He would stop at nothing to find her and to assuage his wounded ego at having his bride taken. No one would stop to consider that Magnus had saved her. That if it weren’t for him she would have suffered a slow death at the hands of the rebels.

“What are ye thinking?”

Arbella startled, her eyes meeting Magnus’ as he sat up in bed.

“What?”

“Ye are so deep in thought. I wished ye good morning several times but ye didna hear me. Are ye all right?” He stood with the thin blanket wrapped around his hips.

She thanked him silently for that small gesture of kindness.
Walking over to the pile of his scattered belongings, he pulled a small pouch from within his sporran.

“So, what were ye thinking about?”
From the pouch he took out a tiny green leaf and offered her one.

She glanced from
his extended hand back to his face. He looked truly concerned for her.

“’Tis mint.”

She took the proffered treat and put into her mouth, letting the mint flavor explode over her tongue. “My father. I do not know if he survived.”

Magnus chewed his own mint,
then drank from his water skin, offering her a sip. “I can send a message to find out.”

Arbella shook her head and took a deep gulp, surprised at how different the water tasted after having chewed the mint leaf.

“Why not?” He frowned in her direction and reached for his plaid, exchanging the blanket for the tartan fabric.

She watched as he pleated it and kept it in place
around his hips with a belt.

“For a woman of many words, ye are not so talkative this morning.”

She found it hard to concentrate while watching him dress, but she also didn’t want to speak about her father. She had so many decisions to make and too many burdens to bear.

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“And ye think sending word inquiring about your father will cause harm?”

She nodded. “He would dispatch an army to your lands.” She couldn’t tell him about Marmaduke. That would only be giving
Magnus permission to issue her death.

A slow smile spread on his face and he came to stand within a foot of her. “Ye care for my safety, lass?”

She shook her head quickly, her hair flicking her face. She tucked the errant strands behind her ears.

“No?” His smile deepened and he reached out to touch her hair.
“’Tis pretty. And soft. I like it down.”

Arbella
watched, mesmerized as he twirled several strands around his finger, pulling her closer gently. She liked this touch, like him touching her hair. No one had ever complimented the softness of her hair—well Glenda didn’t count. A
man
had never issued her a compliment. Her heart warmed and her belly flip-flopped.

When she was only inches away he dropped her hair and stroked her cheek.

“I want to kiss ye, Arbella.” The way he said her name…how it rolled off his tongue with his burr sent shivers racing along her spine.

She wanted him to kiss her too, but she couldn’t allow it.
Magnus caressed her cheek, her neck, then threaded his fingers through her hair until he held the back of her scalp and massaged her head. She grew limp and relaxed, her eyes closing. Wondrous sensations filled her, made her skin tingle and sing.

Taking a step
closer, her boots touched his bare toes. She wished she’d taken her boots off when she went to bed. An overwhelming urge for their bare toes to touch like this as he caressed her so familiarly took hold.

“Will ye let me?”

He was a gentleman even if he didn’t want to be. This Scots barbarian was really no more of a barbarian than she was. Legally he was her husband. He could take from her what he wanted and no one would think twice. She would have to allow it. But he didn’t take. He asked for it. And she wanted to give it to him.

Her eyes still closed, she nodded her head, tilted her lips toward his.
And waited.

An eternity seemed to pass
before his lips landed on hers. He brushed gently at first, a whisper of a caress. Long fingers continued to massage her scalp.

Arbella
determined that his light kiss wasn’t enough. If she was going to give him permission to kiss her then she wanted to be kissed as he had done so outside the church. She parted her lips, prepared to ask him to do just that when he moaned against her mouth, his velvet tongue slipping between her lips to touch the tip of hers.

She sighed, sagging against him. Now this was a kiss.
Tender, yet demanding. She wrapped her arms around his naked waist, pulling her hands away with a jerk when they settled on the warm skin of his back, but curiosity got the better of her. Arbella explored his back, tracing along his spine, over the muscles from his shoulders on down. As she discovered the span of his back, she grew bolder with her mouth, touching his tongue with hers. Stroking, dueling, tasting. Her nipples ached and grew hard, a new sensation altogether. She took pleasure in it yet feared it. Low in her belly a warmth spread encircling her womb, her thighs.

She gasped as tingles covered her skin and between her thighs ached for something more. His member, hard, long, pressed against her most intimate place, his plaid and her gown not enough of a barrier to keep her from feeling, thrilling at that pressure.

When she’d seen him bearing down on her in the field, she never would have imagined they would be here in this tiny room, married, kissing, touching. And she most certainly would not have dreamed that she could enjoy it so much.

’
Twas sin, surely to desire his kiss. To relish the sensations his touch elicited.

A tapping at the door interrupted
them. Arbella jumped back as though she’d been stung, but Magnus stood still, the epitome of control. He gazed at her, need evident in his eyes. She wished the person knocking would go away, leave them to continue kissing.

“Sh—shall I get it?” she asked, her voice choked, husky. She put her fingers to her lips, never having heard herself sound so…so…full of desire. His kiss had changed her in the most basic of ways. She was no longer an innocent girl. No longer thought the marriage bed could be a place of pain and discomfort. From what Magnus had showed her so far, it promised to be enjoyable—at least up until the point of insertion. Glenda had to be right about that part.

“Nay.” His voice was equally husky and she took a certain satisfaction in knowing she had made him feel the same way.

Magnus
shifted his belt so his sporran covered the evidence of his desire. His lips curled into a wicked grin meant just for her. He sauntered to the door, opened it a crack to see who it was, then stepped through, shutting it behind him.

Probably one of his men.

While Arbella waited for Magnus to return she straightened the bedclothes and pillows. There was nothing else to tidy up, besides the pile of weapons.

She picked up the long dagger he wore on his belt and examined it.
Its length was really perfect as a small sword for her. The hilt was made of steel an intricate Celtic carving graced the metal and at its center a large ruby. ’Twas a beautiful piece. Holding it at arm’s length, she imagined an adversary in front of her. She swung it in an arch over her head and stepped forward as she’d seen her brother and his men do many times, and as Samuel had told her was good form.

Clapping from behind made her jump.

“Oh, I didn’t know you’d come back in,” she said, ashamed he’d caught her playing with his weapons.

“’Twas impressive.
Where did ye learn to do that?”

She shook her head and placed the dagger on the table. “I watched my brother and his men train.”
No need to mention Samuel had taught her a thing or two.

“Ah.” He stepped forward and picked up the dagger and held it out to her.
“’Tis yours, lass.”

“I couldn’t.” She pushed the weapon back.

“I insist. ’Tis the perfect size for ye, and I do believe ye will feel some comfort in having a weapon of your own.”

“Truly?”
The idea thrilled her.

“Aye.
Besides, the ruby is the perfect coloring for your cheeks.”

She frowned, annoyed that she blushed so much around him. She wasn’t usually so prone to heated cheeks.

“Thank you.”

“Y
e’re welcome. Now, we must make haste to break our fast and be on our way. The sun is rising and I dare not give our pursuers the chance to catch up with us.”

Alarm rang out in her mind, and she gripped the dagger tight. “We have pursuers?”

“Aye, little warrior. But they are not close enough to catch us if we leave within the hour.” He took a short dagger from a strap on his calf, and before she could protest, he pricked his thumb.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a believer of the abbot. I gave him a bag of coins for having hosted us. He will protect ye to his dying day.” He pulled back the blankets she’d straightened and smeared his bloodied thumb against its whiteness. “’Tis our marriage bed and evidence of consummation.” He flung the blankets back into place.