Unwilling (5 page)

After a tense moment, Roderick only
smiled at him, point made.  “Ye canna let her go, brother.  I doona think you
realize the misery ye’d both be doomed to suffer.”

Lowering his head, Connor released
his brother.  “Christ, I’m done for.”

“Nay, this is just the beginning. 
Now, go hence and seduce yer woman.  Win her love.  Once ye have it, treasure
it and make the choice every day to love her and treat her with kindness and
respect.  I promise she’ll return the favor… and then some.”  Roderick smirked.

Connor heard the truth in his
words.  How did Roderick get so wise?  Wasn’t
he
supposed to be the
elder brother, the Patriarch of the MacLauchlan clan? 

He worked his jaw a few times,
narrowing his eyes and squelching his pride.  “How does one go about seducing a
woman?”  Usually, willing lassies just made themselves undeniably available to
him.  Talking a woman into wanting him was uncharted territory.

Roderick just shrugged again,
before leaning to pick up the wrack of pole arms.  “I didna even have to speak
to Evelyn, she was seduced just by looking at me.”  He threw his arms wide and
looked down, as though that should be explanation enough.

Seizing the opportunity, Connor
landed a punch in his midsection, knocking a breath from him.  “I liked ye
better when ye were mute,” he muttered.

They strode from the armory out
into the bustling sun-lit square of Castle Lauchlan.

“I’ve been told that from time to
time.”  Roderick snatched an apple from a cart and tossed a coin to the
vendor.  “But that’s usually when I’m right.”

Chapter
Nine

Connor wiped clammy hands on his
tartan and paused in his pacing to stare expectantly at the bedroom door.  She
should return any moment now.  After he’d given Lindsay the night to settle
into her castle chamber, he’d suggested that Evelyn take her to the village. 
Harvest market had commenced a week hence and the ladies could peruse many
local and imported riches.  In her absence, Connor solicited the aid of the
household staff in adorning her chambers in a manner would serve that of a
noble bride.  After much amusement on the part of the maids at his attempts to
help, he was shooed away and assigned the task of making himself presentable. 

To him, that had meant a through
scrubbing and a clean tartan. 

He had to admit, they’d done a fine
job.  Wreaths of flowers adorned the thick oak bedposts and any other
previously unoccupied surface.  Innumerable candles threw a golden glow about
the room.  He’d drawn the thick purple drapes to block out the sunset and amassed
a light but decadent supper.

His eyes kept drifting back to the
bed, spread with lush violet silks and a heavy fur blanket to ward against the
autumn chill.  It matched her amethyst eyes.  She would look perfect draped
upon it, her golden skin glowing in the candlelight, her hair tangling with the
silk. 

His body responded instantly to the
image.  Blood heated and sped through his veins, spreading the warmth through
every extremity until he vibrated with anticipation.  His cock became heavy and
full, torturing him with an exquisite ache.  Gods, he would worship her. 
Starting with that gloriously full mouth and reveling in a kiss he’d long
denied himself.  Then, her breasts would be his next conquest.  He’d stroke and
kiss them, awakening her senses and making her skin dance with sensation.  Once
she was begging, he would lay relentless siege to the sweet cleft between her legs
with his hands, and then his mouth.  He would pleasure her so thoroughly, she
would lose all coherence. 
Then
, and only then, would he spread her thighs
wide beneath him and –

“What’s all this?”

Startled by the pique in her
melodic voice, Connor dragged his gaze from the bed to the very object of his
fantastical musings.  She was breathtaking.  Even with her glossy hair captured
in some kind of netted contraption and covered with a thin veil.  His hands
fisted at his sides, longing to release it and plunge deep into her soft
tresses.  She wore a borrowed gown of soft blue and lavender with a golden
girdle at her waist, and an expression that could have frozen a charging stag
in his tracks.

“Did ye enjoy yer visit to
Strathlauchlan?” he asked, trying to ascertain the cause of her ire.  If
someone had mistreated her, he’d see them drawn and quartered, their limbs
displayed in the castle square as a dire warning.

“It was lovely,” she answered
shortly.  “Evelyn is marvelous pleasant company, in fact, the best I’ve
encountered here.”  Raising a meaningful eyebrow, she examined the room through
narrowed eyes, taking in the efforts of the afternoon. 

His face fell, along with his hopes
for the evening.  The lass didn’t seem in the least pleased; in fact, her
chilly demeanor vexed him severely.  He’d prefer her fiery temper and brash wit
to this.  Mayhap she was hungry.  He tended to be a mighty bastard when
famished, and she’d been out at the market for several hours.  Gesturing to the
spread of supper and surfeit of overstuffed pillows, he made a desperate
attempt to salvage the effect.  “I thought to join ye for a repast, perhaps we
may better acquaint ourselves.”

Her mask of indifferent scorn
slipped a little as she glanced at the sea of candles and fragrant wreathes of
Scottish primrose and heather before finally resting on the platters of fresh
bread, cheese, fruit, smoked herring and a fine imported cask of wine.  He
glimpsed a moment of hesitant longing and his hopes rose again. 

Until her features hardened.  “This
is how you were planning to do it?” she asked in a stony voice.  “Lure me with
practiced seduction so I will
accept
you as my mate?”

Connor wasn’t sure he didn’t
swallow his tongue along with his shock.

“That’s right,” she hissed.  “I
know what you want from me, Connor MacLauchlan.  I know that I must agree to be
your bride before you gain more power.”

Struck dumb, Connor just shook his
head.

A mirthless laugh escaped lips
drawn thin and white with anger.  “I didn’t believe it at first, when Evelyn
told me about magic, despite what I witnessed of you on the road.  Until
this
.” 
She held out her wrists, free of bandages.  Healthy, lily-white skin glowed in
the candlelight, and where raw wounds had been before, fine blue veins pulsed
with vitality beneath the translucent flesh.  She’d healed overnight, as Connor
had known she would. 

“But, Evelyn also explained that,
though I am your mate and you have brought me to this place against my will, I
do not have to accept your hand unless I want to.”

Connor saw now, that he’d made a
mistake encouraging the two women spend time together.  He’d thought that his
loyal sister-in-law would work to soften Lindsay’s heart toward him.  Instead,
Evelyn rallied to the side of her maltreated compatriot and gave her all the
pertinent information with which to make a decision.  Now Lindsay understood
that, though she was technically his captive, she wielded all power over his
future happiness.

Women!   He ran a hand over his
head, trying to figure his next stratagem.  Gods but she was beautiful when
angry.  Her breasts heaved against the bodice of her gown, challenging the
constitution of the seams.  Connor blinked, forcing himself to concentrate on
the problem at hand.  If he wanted to do more than
look
at her beauty,
he’d need to pacify her ire.

She had to know that he didn’t just
need her, he wanted her. 

Planting her wee fists on her slim
hips, she glared at him, the ice in her eyes at once turning to violet fire. 
“I refuse, Connor MacLauchlan, I refuse to be wed to a high-handed, mercenary,
overbearing, tyrannical
brute
with more strength than wits, so that
you
may become a more powerful berserker.”

A sensation akin to hurt lit a fire
in his chest and anger thundered through the weaker emotion, ready to do
battle.  “When I found ye, ye were en route to marry Angus Mackay, the
villainous, pillaging murderer of the Highlands.” 

“I had no choice in that,” she
spat.  “And I only have hearsay and your word to his character, which isn’t
much to me at this point.”

“Aye?  And would ye rather me
deliver ye into his hands?  Perhaps
then
ye’d know the meaning of the
word ‘tyrant’.”  He advanced on her then, wanting to shake her until she came
to her senses.

“The fact that you would even
threaten that validates my opinion of you.”  Lindsay stormed to the door and
threw it open.  “Get out!”

Not a chance.  He was Laird of this
castle and he would be denied access to no corner of it.  The lass was daft if
she thought she would order him about.  She may have found that she wielded a
little more power in their damnable situation, but that didn’t mean he’d let
her lord it over him.

Crossing his arms over his chest
and planting his feet, he towered over her, daring her to issue one more
command, to push his temper one more notch.

“Very well,” her eyes showed no
fear, no hint of retreat.  “Enjoy your evening, my lord,
alone
.”  With
that, she stalked out in a pastel storm.  The breeze created by the slam of the
heavy door extinguished a preponderance of the candles, leaving his world
infinitely darker.  

Instant regret smothered the fire
in his veins like a damp and weighty blanket.  He may not have given her any quarter,
but he certainly had not emerged the victor.  In fact, he lost ground this
night.  Lindsay wasn’t the only one who’d been forced into this situation, but,
he had to admit, his shackles were sweeter than hers.  He gained an exquisite,
hot-blooded mate and the powerful boost to his abilities that would grant an
abundance of safety and security to all those under his protection. 

What did she get from the bargain? 
A fragmented and militant berserker with more growl than gentility.  Well,
there was a castle with plentiful coffers.  But, no doubt, her dowry was enough
to render that moot. 

With a foul curse, Connor plucked
up the cask of wine before searching out his own chambers. 

Chapter
Ten

The next night brought the first
successful week of harvest market to a close.  This was to be marked with
festivities that would have invoked Mabon himself.  Lindsay had strolled with
Evelyn through fire jugglers and acrobats, bards and puppeteers, amusing
herself despite the fact that she’d awoken to a dark mood.  Distraction seemed
to lift her spirits.

They wandered with the crowd toward
the planks that had been assembled in a cleared field for dancing and carousing. 
The full harvest moon was bright enough to light their revelry and reflected
off Loch Fyne with glittering brilliance.  Long torches had been staked to the ground
and lanterns corded around the makeshift plank floor casting dancing shadows
about the night. 

The evening was chilly, but hot
food and free-flowing ale warmed the cheeks and blood of the Lachlan clan.  Now
they gathered about, their merry voices drifting through the night as the cheerful
cacophony of tuning pipes, flutes, and fiddles rose in their midst.

As though drawn by an innate
awareness, Lindsay immediately picked Connor out of the gathering crowd.   He
and Roderick stood at least a head taller than their kinsman who surrounded a
massive barrel of ale perched on an oak table.  Connor wielded a heavy mallet
while Roderick steadied a tap at the base of the enormous cask, pretending to
fear for the safety of his extremities.  Riotous laughter ensued as Connor
drove the tap home with a one-handed swing. 

Lud! But his strength never ceased
to astonish her.   

Were they not afraid, these fierce
highland warriors?  Did they not worry that Angus might, even now, be plotting
retribution?  A tremor stole through her.  What if she was the unwilling cause of
a deadly quarrel of clans?

A brawny highlander handed Roderick
the first tankard, congratulating him for his bravery with a hearty laugh.  The
next one was granted to Connor for performing the honors.  He toasted his
brother and tilted his head back and drank deeply. 

Lindsay tried not to watch the
cords of his neck work over the swallows, or notice the flex in his arm as he
lifted the tankard to his lips.  His impressive body was well displayed wrapped
in a tartan and naught else but his boots.  Across his chest, dark tattoos of
knotted design spiked and wended through the cords of his flesh, branding him a
chieftain in the old way.  Likewise bands of knots encircled his biceps.  They
entranced her for a moment before she broke the spell with a blink.  She
resented her awareness of him and this vital, inescapable connection between
them.   

Evelyn linked arms with her and
steered them toward the men as the music began in earnest.  “They’re
magnificent, aren’t they?” she purred.  “I know you’re cross with Connor at the
moment, but I wish you’d at least lose yourself in the festivities.”  She cast
Lindsay a suggestive look from beneath her lashes.  “Berserkers are excellent
dancers.  It must be some primitive, innate rhythm they’re in tune with.”

“Indeed?”  Lindsay didn’t dare to think
about it.  Something about the words ‘primitive’ and ‘rhythm’ sent a dangerous
thrill through her.

Roderick’s entire demeanor lit from
within as they approached, “Evelyn,
mo chroi,
I hope ye doona mind that
I promised the first dance of the night to another.”  Several masculine sets of
appreciative eyes turned toward them, and Lindsay ignored one burning glare, in
particular. 

“And who would that be?”  Evelyn
asked with a sweet smile as she accepted a sip of ale from her husband’s
tankard. 

“This lovely lass, here, has
requested a dance of me and she’s so charming I canna refuse.”  He swept his
hand toward a gangly girl dressed in a clean, but shabby dress.  She couldn’t
have been more than eleven, and when she offered a shy smile a few spaces
showed that she’d recently lost the last of her child’s teeth.   

“Well.”  Evelyn winked at the
child.  “I can’t say that I blame you, but don’t expect me to be sitting here
waiting for you to return to me.  I’m going to accept the first invitation I
have to dance!”

With a possessive kiss for his
wife, Roderick swung his dance partner to the floor and opened the evening’s
festivities.  Immediately, a handsome MacLauchlan cousin offered his hand to
Evelyn and she succumbed to the call of the pipes and drums. 

Trying her best not to feel
abandoned, Lindsay offered a polite and inviting smile to the gathered Highlanders,
still avoiding Connor who loomed like a threatening shadow.  Perhaps one of
them would offer an escape to the dance floor. 

Instead, they simultaneously seemed
to find something rapturously fascinating in their tankards.  Mayhap it would
be more decorous to stand with the women?  Lindsay had noticed a rakish
disregard for certain societal strictures out here in Strathlauchlan, but one
could never be certain of which rules could be adhered to or discarded in the
space of a few nights. 

Wandering past the Laird she still
refused to acknowledge, she ambled toward the opposite side of the floor where
local and visiting ladies chatted and preened in hopes of catching the eye of a
handsome reel partner.  Though they gave her a few curious looks or polite
smiles, the women weren’t abundantly friendly.  In fact, Lindsay felt a
distinct chill from more than a few, especially those wearing the Lauchlan
colors. 

She looked down at her borrowed
gown of deep, royal blue.  In honor of the Clan Lauchlan, she’d wound red
ribbons in her hair.  She hadn’t donned their tartan, as she was still a Ross
and
not
wed to a MacLauchlan, but she’d thought the gesture of wearing
the colors had been a friendly one. 

Feeling uneasy, she turned toward
the dance floor and sought Evelyn.  To everyone’s riotous amusement, Roderick
reached out and swatted his wife’s backside as they crossed each other on the
floor.  Before she could exact her revenge, their partners swung them wide and
they were lost amongst the dozen or so other couples.  Lindsay joined in the
laughter, thoroughly charmed by the happy couple.  A melancholy weight kept her
from completely enjoying herself.  What Roderick and Evelyn shared was rare and
magical.  She’d never been destined for anything like that. 

Her eyes flicked to Connor before
she could stop them.  He was watching her, not bothering with discretion.  The
firelight cast shade in the deep groves of his muscle which cut an imposing
figure melded from light and shadow.  Those compelling green eyes of his
glittered across the entire dance floor, pinning her where she stood.  The
music retreated and people blurred into a cheerful mélange of faceless color. 
For a single moment, her world consisted of the unrequited desire she read in
his relentless gaze and she was transported back to the dark carriage where
he’d found her.  The things he’d done to her.  Not just to her body, but to her
soul.  Lindsay found herself inexorably altered by his skillful touch.  She’d
spent the past nights in sleepless dishevelment, tossing restlessly with
fevered need.  When she closed her eyes, the blackness reminded her of his
stark, possessive eyes as she’d shattered beneath him. 

How had he played her so easily? 
How had he turned fear into desire and then intense pleasure?  She was so
ashamed.  Not only because of what she’d allowed him to do, but because of what
she yearned for him to do again.

Overwhelmed by the thought, she
broke their connection with a prolonged blink and focused her gaze on the
distant lake, hating herself.  Hating him.

“Can I take ye round the floor,
lass?” 

Stunned, Lindsay turned toward the
masculine voice.  It belonged to a light-haired, stocky young lad she
recognized as one of the castle men-at-arms.  “Oh, I—”

“Of course ye can, Jamie, I’ve been
making eyes at ye all day.”  A hand snaked from behind her and clasped Jamie’s. 
Smiling, the man pulled a young maid, who’d been standing behind Lindsay,
toward the dance floor.

Embarrassed, Lindsay shook her head
and tried to focus on the merriment around her.  She avoided Connor’s eyes,
they held too many of her secrets to acknowledge right now. 

As the night wore on, ale and
whisky flowed freely, causing men to become bold and wend their way to claim a
dance from a willing lass, and more if they were lucky.  Time and time again,
Lindsay watched with a desperate hope that one of them would offer her the
kindness of his hand.  As it stood, she was fair certain she was the only woman
under four score who’d yet to take a turn.  It was as though each of the men
went out of their way to avoid her eyes, nay, her very vicinity.  In fact,
other women had seemed to realize as much, and inched away from her to increase
their chances of acquiring a partner.  Heart pounding, Lindsay watched the
steadily increasing berth around her person widen.  What was this about?   Had
she offended the highland Lachlan’s in some way she couldn’t have foreseen?  In
ballrooms from London to Glasgow she’d always been a highly sought-after dance
companion.  What was wrong with these people? 

Balancing on tiptoes, she scanned
the crowd, hoping to find the safety of Evelyn’s company.  But, the woman was
nowhere to be seen.  After several rounds of frolicking, she seemed to have
disappeared.  Roderick’s broad form was likewise missing.

“Och, newlyweds.”  The familiar
graveled baritone caressed her ear and sent shivers of aroused awareness
coursing through her entire frame.  Hot breath teased at her ear causing her to
want to arch like a cat seeking a fond stroke.

Connor
. 

Hadn’t he just been across the way? 
How
did
a man so large move with such stealth? 

“It’s rude to sneak up on someone,”
she scolded, turning to face him.  “Especially in the dark,” she told his
chest.  “Aren’t you supposed to be over
there
lording over all you see?”

“I didna sneak.”  He sounded amused
again.  Damn his eyes.  “Ye would have noticed me if ye werena trying so hard
not to.  Everyone else did.”  A furtive glance about verified that the
assemblage seemed either very interested in what was going on with them, or
trying equally hard
not
to appear so.

Lindsay had to step back from him;
the proximity was making her light-headed.  The tension coiled in his muscles
caused an irrational fear that he might just throw her over his shoulder, carry
her into the castle and spend the night ravishing her.

She risked a glance at his face and
her mouth went dry.  Judging from the storm in his eyes, they might not even
make it to the castle before the ravishment commenced. 

“Dance with me, Lindsay.”  It
wasn’t a question. 

She shook her head, trying to
capture her wits more than refuse him outright.  Her name sounded like a sin on
his tongue and a traitorous part of her wanted to do anything he commanded as
long as he said her name like that.

“Ye doona have to talk with me, ye
can even stay angry with me if ye like.  But I can see ye’ve been aching to
dance.”

Was she so transparent?  Had the
men who’d avoided her company this night sensed the desperation from her and
been repelled? 

“Besides.”  He closed the gap
between them and pressed against her.  Their breaths sped in tandem and she
felt as though she could hear her heart beat in her ears.  Or was it his?  “Our
bodies seem to communicate better than our mouths.”

He was right.  About all of it. 
But she couldn’t bring herself to tell him so.  Instead, she put her hand in
his and followed him to the floor.  The crowd made ample space for them, and
they faced each other while the musician began the reel. 

Connor bowed to her and she forced
herself to return the favor.  She’d be damned before showing him any fealty,
but the dance dictated it, so she acquiesced.  The intricate steps took much of
her concentration and Lindsay was grateful she could focus on them instead of
the dangerous currents jolting her wherever their skin touched.

“My colors look good on ye,
Lindsay.”  The possessive authority in his voice piqued her simmering temper.  She
looked up at him sharply.  He really must desist saying her name as though it
were a provocative word.  It was merely a
name
, an ordinary one at that,
and it passed from his lips like a delicious profanity.

The dance circled them away from
each other to momentarily trade partners.  The bearded man in front of her took
her hands in a hesitant grip but refused to meet her eyes as he spun her.  In
fact, he cast anxious glances at his Laird until he could hand her back to him,
shoulders sagging in relief. 

Lindsay frowned.  “You say that as
if one could declare dominion over a color, my lord.”  If anyone would be
foolhardy enough to try, it would be the warrior in front of her. 

“’Twould be easier to claim than
ye’ve been, lass,” he said with a teasing smile. 

Despite her ire, Lindsay’s heart stopped. 
Momentarily fascinated by the uncharacteristically boyish dimple in his left
cheek, she didn’t notice how closely he’d moved until their bodies almost melded. 

“A clever man would have given up
by now,” she pointed out, a bit more winded than she would have liked. 

His large hands spanned her waist
and she found herself breathless for the second time that night as he lifted
her in a spin.  She had to admit it delighted her to be lifted higher and more
effortlessly than the other women.  Locked in his grip, she felt absolutely
stable.  There was no danger of him dropping her— or letting her go. 

“Well,” he said as he deliberately
slid her down his hard, warm body.  “I’ve always been attributed with a great
deal more brawn than brains.”

Lindsay found herself smiling at
that, and she reveled in the answering glimmer in his eyes.  She supposed she
could relate.  He had a strange way of stoking her temper, then disarming her
in a way that left her completely bewildered and off balance.  The longer she
remained in his arms, the less capable she felt of making rational decisions. 
It seemed she could dissolve into an absolutely primitive creature, unaware of
reason or consequences.  A creature of pure physical instinct, only
concentrating on fulfilling the next primal need.