The Highlander's Bride Page 4

  “You’ll think what you want no matter what I say. It saves you from your own guilt.”

  He fisted his hands. “I loved Alaina and would have done anything for her.”

  “You didn’t love her enough.”

  “How dare you say that? You know nothing about Alaina and me. You don’t even know a thing about love. No man wants you. You had to force me to wed you.”

  That blow she felt, though she didn’t react. Besides, it was true, so how did you argue against the truth?

  “Our marriage arrangement is a fair one,” she said, “and not different from many arranged marriages today.”

  “Our bargain is nothing like an arranged marriage,” he spat out. “I do what I must to get my son, nothing more.”

  Sara quickly defended herself. “I don’t recall asking you to care about me, to protect me, to love me.”

  “I love only one woman and will always love only one woman.”

  Part of her ached to feel a mere pinch of a love so strong that it transcended death. It was a foolish ache, and an ache she knew she would probably carry to her grave.

  His chin went up. “While you’re my wife I will protect you—it’s my duty. I will see you’re kept safe.”

  That rattled her dander, and she let him have it. “Don’t bother. It’s not part of our bargain, and besides, I don’t need you to look after me. I can take care of myself.”

  “Not too good, since you wound up at the abbey against your wishes,” he reminded her with a smug grin.

  She retaliated swiftly with her own grin. “I’m not at the abbey anymore.”

  “It took you long enough.”

  “Patience pays off. I got a man that doesn’t smell.”

  Cullen abruptly laughed, which broke the contentious mood, then shook his head. “You’re a marksman with your tongue.”

  “I’m the same with a bow and arrow.”

  “What aren’t you skillful at?”

  “Mating.”

  “Do you wish to be skillful at it?”

  His candid question stunned her, though it didn’t stun her silent. “Are you offering to teach me?”

  “Not part of the bargain,” he said, and stretched out on the blanket, his head cushioned on his folded arms. “We’ll have at it and be done with it.”

  “That’s fine with me, but not tonight. I’ll let you know when,” she said, and stretched out on her own blanket, wrapping her cloak tightly around her.

  “Fine by me. I’m too tired tonight anyway,” he said on a yawn.

  Sara’s temper bubbled like a pot left over the flames too long. Maybe it was only part of their bargain, but he didn’t have to treat it so flippantly, as if it was unimportant, meaningless.

  But it was. Their coupling would merely serve to seal their vows. She couldn’t expect anything more then We’ll have at it and be done with it.

  She glanced over at him. His eyes were closed, though she didn’t think he was asleep. His anger had apparently returned, his jaw rigid, his lips locked tight. He obviously was annoyed and mulling it over. She didn’t have experience when it came to seducing men but had watched enough women work their wiles on them. It hadn’t appeared difficult; the men seemed to fall under their spells fast enough.

  She didn’t like the We’ll have at it and be done with it or I’m too tired tonight. Her womanly pride had been stung, but then, she set herself up for the sting, so had no one to blame but herself. Of course, that didn’t mean she couldn’t ease the sting and practice her womanly wiles. Who knew when such knowledge would come in handy?

  She had never shied away from learning anything, even when it seemed too much of a task or burden. Actually, the more challenging the lesson, the more she embraced it.

  Could she seduce Cullen? Was it fair of her? Or was it unfair of her not to try? She’d never marry again; she couldn’t. Her husband would disappear one day, but as far as the clan was concerned, she’d still be wed. This could very well be her only chance to enjoy a man, and at her convenience, without any ties that could possibly make things messy.

  Besides, she’d feel more in charge, and he wouldn’t have to worry that she’d want more from him. She wasn’t looking for love, though she had hoped…

  Sara shook her head, a sadness swelling in her chest. She had resigned herself to the fact that love just wasn’t in her future. She would make the most of what she had and enjoy it. At least she was free of the confines of the abbey, and soon would be free of her father’s demands. Her life would then be hers, and that filled her with joy.

  “What did you mean I didn’t love Alaina enough?”

  She knew he hadn’t been sleeping, so he didn’t startle her, though his question did. “It’s not important,” she said.

  He turned on his side to glare at her. “It is to me.”

  For a moment the fire’s light made his brown eyes appear as if he’d recently shed tears. Had he shed tears for Alaina? It was hard to imagine this big, brute of a Scotsman crying. He appeared a warrior who could withstand the harshest battle, but battles of the heart could be the hardest of all battles to conquer.

  “I loved Alaina like…” He shook his head. “I can’t describe it. It was an ache in my heart, a twist in my gut, endless thoughts in my head, and Alaina…” He smiled. “…she was the cause and the solution. With her, everything felt good, right, perfect. She was my love, my heart, my life.”

  “I’ve wondered if love is worth finding,” Sara said. “I’ve seen and heard how one suffers when love is lost and I ask myself if the pain is worth it.”

  “Well worth it,” Cullen confirmed with a strong nod. “I would not give up the short time I had with Alaina for all the coins in the world.” His nod turned to a shake. “That is why I can’t understand why you remarked that I did not love her enough. That’s just not possible, so I wonder why you thought that.”

  Sara looked directly at him. “If you loved her as much as you claim,” she said, “then you would have walked away from her, for your love put her in harm’s way.”

  Chapter 6

  Cullen set a grueling pace the next day. He wanted this over and done with. He wanted his son safe in his arms. He wanted to be standing on his brother’s ship bidding farewell to Scotland and bitter memories forever.

  And Sara?

  He didn’t turn and look back to where she rode behind him. He didn’t want to acknowledge her presence. She had made herself known early this morning, talking as soon as her eyes opened and not stopping until they mounted their respective horses and took to the road.

  The woman could find anything to talk about, and it annoyed him that he found her topics of discussion interesting. Not that he joined in willingly, but damned if she didn’t have a way of forcing a response from him.

  Still, he was very perturbed with her unkind statement last night, especially since he’d thought the same himself. If he had loved Alaina as much as he claimed, why hadn’t he walked away from her?

  It was a question whose answer was not quite definable. He had tried on several occasions, but never got far. Besides, somewhere deep inside he believed, truly believed, that perhaps he and Alaina could be different. That they could manage to sneak away and share a life together, even against all odds. He had believed—Lord, how he had wanted to, needed to, ached to believe—that they would succeed. That their love would demand it, have it no other way. They would make it. They would be different.

  He was angry with Sara for being perceptive and voicing her opinion. And what she’d said was valid, whether he wished to acknowledge it or not. If he’d had the courage to walk away from Alaina, she would be alive now. And yet, Alaina would have been the first to remind him that such a life would not be worth living.

  He had fought both sides until finally realizing that Alaina had been right. Life would not have been worth living without each other. Life would be empty, meaningless, a grueling repetition of nothingness without each other.

  So they took a chance
and seized life with a firm grasp, and now, looking back, he would not have given up a moment of the brief time he’d shared with her. He had known true happiness, and would cherish the memories of their time together and their love, which had produced their son.

  Alexander was all that mattered now, nothing else. His life would be for his son, and he would see that Alexander grew into a fine young man Alaina would have been proud of.

  “It feels like a snowstorm might be brewing,” Sara called out.

  Cullen gave a glance to the gray sky, noticed the decidedly sharper nip to the air and had to agree. Winter might just dump one last snowstorm on them before spring buds bloomed.

  “Any shelter along the way, if need be?” he asked without turning around.

  “If the weather holds until early afternoon, we’ll reach an abandoned farmhouse. Might be worth settling there for the day.”

  He agreed with a nod. It wasn’t wise to be caught in a snowstorm, especially an early spring one. They hit fast and furious, dumping enough snow to trap travelers and freeze them to death and leaving just as fast. He had a good reason to keep himself alive—his son.

  Not that only a few months ago he would not have preferred death. When he saw Alaina lying on the ground, blood gushing from her stomach, he wanted to scream. It hadn’t been fair. They were so close to freedom, and when he held her in his arms and realized how near to death she was, he wanted nothing more than to perish with her.

  Alaina had changed all that when she struggled to tell him of their son.

  We have a son—Alexander.

  He would never forget her words. Fighting through pain and her last breaths, she had spoken the words clearly. She fought to let him know that he had to live. She knew him well. She knew he would want to die along with her, and also knew he couldn’t. He had to find their son. The child conceived from their love.

  “Snow!”

  Sara’s shout startled him, though the heavy snow startled him even more. He’d been so engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed it had started snowing and was now accumulating on the ground. It was falling hard and fast, and they had hours yet to go before they reached the farmhouse.

  “We should pick up the pace!” Sara shouted to him.

  He turned around to see that she had fashioned her shawl around her head, face, and neck to protect her from the storm. She was quick to respond to a problem, asking no help, yet offering sound advice.

  He nodded and didn’t bother to ask if she was all right. She obviously was, having kept up the arduous pace and now suggesting that they set an even more exhausting one.

  The storm intensified, and the two riders and their horses were worn out by the time they reached the farmhouse. What remained of a partial stable was enough to house the horses against the storm.

  Before Cullen could order Sara to take shelter in the farmhouse while he saw to the animals, she was already seeing to the care of her mare. Once both horses were secure from the elements, Cullen took hold of Sara’s arm and, huddling together, they made their way to the farmhouse.

  The wind whipped the heavy snow around them, stinging their faces and near blinding their path. With a gentle hand, Cullen eased Sara’s face into the crook of his neck to protect her.

  Once at the farmhouse, he gave the door a hard shove with his shoulder, and with an arm around Sara’s waist, rushed her inside and fought the driving wind to latch the door shut.

  They both immediately took stock of the room. Small but sturdy, it looked to have withstood its abandonment with little decay. A broken table missing a leg lay on its side, while a lone wooden chair remained unscathed. A narrow, lumpy bed, but its stuffing still intact, hugged the wall to the right of the cold fireplace, which was cluttered with debris.

  “Break up the table for firewood,” Sara directed, rubbing her hands. “We need to get warm.” She reached for a barely usable broom tucked in a corner and began clearing the rubbish out of the hearth.

  Cullen shook his head as he shed his fur cloak and hung it on a peg near the door. That she was one to take charge and capable of looking after herself was obvious, and yet when he’d offered her shelter in the crook of his neck against the wind, she hadn’t objected, but had huddled against him without protest. Her warm breaths had kept the cold off his neck, and for a brief second he thought he felt her moist lips skim his flesh. Just the thought of that now, to his surprise, sent a shot of searing heat through his body.

  With a gruff growl of annoyance, he attacked the table, breaking off one of the three legs with a vicious yank. He’d been too long without a woman, that was the problem, and Sara was his wife—he winced at the traitorous realization.

  “Did you hurt yourself?” She rushed to his side and grabbed hold of his free hand.

  Before he could stop her, she was stroking his palm. He watched her long, lean finger trace a path over every inch of his palm and he shut his eyes, lost in the exotic sensation. Lord, it felt good, so damn good.

  Too damn good!

  His eyes sprung open, and with a yank of his hand, he moved away from her.

  She caught up with him. “You may have a splinter. Let me see.”

  “You saw.”

  “Not enough. Now give me your hand,” she said, holding out hers.

  He shook his head. “No time. I need to get the fire started.” He walked around her, avoiding getting too close, broke off the remaining table legs and then attacked the chair, breaking it into several pieces. He got busy starting the fire, not that he needed any more heat. His body already generated a sweat, and it wasn’t from exertion.

  How could an innocent touch spark such heat?

  Too long. Too long. He had been too long without a woman. He needed to lose himself in a night of reckless passion and be done with it. He tossed a spindle from the chair into the flames.

  Not so.

  At one time, maybe that would have sufficed, but Alaina had changed all that.

  “Let me see your hand now.”

  Cullen glanced up from where he hunched in front of the hearth. Sara stood towering over him, hands planted on her curving hips, her bright red hair a mass of flaming curls that matched the fire’s glow.

  He couldn’t keep himself from grinning. Her unruly hair certainly matched her nature, and damned if she didn’t intrigue him. Again with the intrigue. Why did this woman interest him? The question needed an answer, and if he were wise, he’d find the answer quickly.

  “Afraid you may have to have a splinter removed?”

  An intentional challenge, and of course one he couldn’t ignore. “I can handle it myself.”

  “Don’t trust me?”

  “I don’t know you.”

  She smiled and spread her arms wide. “I’m your wife.”

  He tossed the last of the broken wood in the flames, brushed his hands off and stood tall. She was near eye level with him and didn’t flinch a muscle or bat an eyelash when he moved closer to her.

  “Not an obedient one.”

  She laughed. “You know your wife well.”

  He tweaked her nose gently. “Not yet, but I will.”

  He thought the innuendo would unnerve her, but she laughed softly, as if she found him amusing.

  “Yes, you will.” She poked his chest. “When I let you.”

  She turned her back on him, and for a moment he almost reached out, grabbed her, and spun her around to kiss that smug grin off her face. He was damned sure she hadn’t been kissed, or if she had, it was probably an innocent peck that did little if nothing for either party.

  Wait until she tasted a real kiss. She was in for a surprise.

  “I’m hungry.”

  His head jerked around.

  Her blue-green eyes rounded, along with her widening smile. “Have you any of that cheese and bread left?”

  He silently cursed his sinfully straying thoughts and nodded. “That and more.”

  “Good.” She rubbed her hands together. “We’ll picnic on t
he bed.”

  He glanced over at the single bed as he reached for the sack of food attached to the rolled bedding. They would share a bed tonight, a narrow one. Would she wish to share more?

  Cullen tossed her one of the blankets, and as if she sensed his instructions, she went to the bed and spread it out. She shed her cloak and sandals and hopped on the bed, crossing her legs beneath her skirt.

  He dropped the sack of food in front of her and caught the edge of the bed to sit, choosing to keep his feet planted firmly on the earthen floor. Sara paid him no heed. She was too busy untying the sack of food and spreading it out between them, while nibbling on pieces that just happened to fall in her lap.

  “You did a fine job on the fire.” She handed him a chunk of dark bread and a hunk of cheese.

  “I have some skills.” He took the food, realizing he was famished. He hadn’t eaten since last night, having wanted to get an early start, and then with the snow surprising them, there had been no time for food.

  “Tell me of them.”

  He shrugged. “My skills are no more, no less, than other men.”

  “There’s a good quality you have.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You don’t boast,” Sara said. “Most men boast.” She deepened her voice to that of a man’s. “I can do this and I can do that and I have this and I have that.”

  Cullen laughed. “Is that how you see men, as boastful?”

  “Pride too. Lord, there isn’t a man alive who doesn’t possess an overabundance of pride.”

  “A man should have pride,” Cullen said in defense of all men.

  “As long as he can handle it. Too much could be a detriment to his character.”

  Cullen nodded. “I agree with that.”

  “Good, so we’ve now established that you can build a fine fire, you don’t boast, and you don’t overindulge in pride. Tell me more.”

  “Enough about me. What of your qualities?”

  She laughed with such glee that it caused him to chuckle. “My father would say I have not a one, and I would say I could always use more.”