A Highlander's Home Read online

  Raine knew he was going to be stubborn, regardless of what their topic of discussion would be, but she was determined. This wedding had to be stopped. She would make him understand. She met his gaze without flinching, and had the flitting thought that his eyes were the same color as the sky above them.

  She dove in. “We cannot get married. You realize this. I know you do. I am not from here, and I know that sounds a bit insane, but you do believe me somewhat. I have to find the stones and go home to my land, my time.” She shook her head and added softly, “You know this. Deep down, I know you know it. I don’t belong here.”

  He straightened to his full height and looked down at her. At his vantage point, he had a completely uninhibited view down the front of her bodice. She was wearing a lovely deep green velvet dress his mother had provided to her from one of her many luggage trains. The color complemented her eyes to the fullest, which drew attention to her full lips, which drew his attention to her breasts. She looked earnest in her plea to him to stop the ceremony, but she also looked very womanly, too womanly. He had broken his engagement to Lady Brighton, saved her from his cruel cousin, and had given his word to the Queen that he would indeed marry and produce sons.

  “Lass, we no longer have a choice, regardless if I believe you or not.” He ran his hand through his hair and rubbed his neck. Raine resisted the urge to smooth down the errant curls he had loosened.

  Before she could object, he continued, “I have given my word to the Queen herself, and all the people. I must marry. And I must marry ye.”

  Green eyes blazed with anger at him as she protested, “But – “

  He turned away, and then spun back to her. He grabbed her by the arms and held her to meet his eyes. Through gritted teeth he ground out, “But nothin’! Did ye not hear me, lass? The Queen! I obtained permission to break my betrothal in order to save ye from my cousin. God knows why because I don’t!” He nearly shook her as he spoke.

  With feet dangling a few inches from the ground, Raine could only stare at him, but was calculating her next protest. “But I do not belong here! When I get to the stones at the solstice, I will leave. I have to. I cannot stay here in a place that I do not belong.” She put her hands on his arms as he continued to hold her in the air. “Please. Understand that.”

  A groan escaped him as her words burned his soul, but when she touched his arms, he let go. She tumbled backwards at the unexpectedness of it, grabbing at him and catching the hem of his shirt. He grabbed her wrists and pulled her upright, causing her to collide with his chest.

  She pleaded with him. “I am not trying to be difficult or make you unhappy. I barely know you or your people or your Queen, but I do know that I am a stranger here and was not meant to be here. It was an accident, a fluke of nature. The Professor made a mistake by saying the words that unleashed this craziness and put me here.” She sighed, but continued even though his frown was deepening and his eyes had turned the color of hard blue steel. “I cannot marry you. You cannot marry me.”

  Fingers made strong by years of hard work tightened their grip on soft flesh until her slight gasp slapped him back to reality. His voice as cold as his eyes, he rasped, “I will marry you, and you will marry me. Stranger or not.”

  His lips were not warm and welcoming as she had remembered them from the barn during the rainstorm. His hands were not skilled and caressing her to make her forget how to breathe. Instead his fingers dug into her arms, pinning her against him. His lips were hard and painful as he ground his mouth into her soft one. Even her gasps of displeasure and the taste of blood did not deter him. He stopped only when he heard his men approaching.

  His breathing was as ragged as hers but from anger, not pain. “Lass, ye fell on me in the woods that day. I saved ye. Remember that. The wedding goes on.”

  Chapter 11

  Leith ran his hands through his dark hair and was tempted to pull out a fistful or two. Any other woman in the entire country would be falling over themselves to wed him and be mistress of his keep, but not this one. He had to pick this one, this obstinate, independent, demanding, stressful, angry blonde with flashing green eyes that could make his heart stand still. If she had not been running through the woods – his woods he added to himself, he would be happily preparing to wed and bed Lady Brighton who had not a thought in her head and would never dream of refusing him.

  But being the knight who always insisted on rescuing the damsel in distress, he had to speak up and save her from Alistair. He thought of her wide green eyes, sparkling in their fear, as she was airborne before she knocked him off of his feet. He smiled in spite of himself. He was still knocked off of his feet whenever he was able to watch her from afar without her knowing. The way she smiled at a child passing, or picked up one of the many kittens prowling the grounds.

  He had planned a wedding, picked a bride, and wanted sons. He gritted his teeth and fairly growled at the mess he was in. The entire village, the Queen, and his mother were expecting a wedding - and a wedding he would give them. He grinned as the thought of the wedding night started to play out in his mind. The village, the Queen, and his mother would have the wedding they expected, but he – the Laird – would have his green-eyed vixen in his bed and all to himself. His grin spread ear to ear. Anyone watching would have likened him to a wolf about to devour his prey.

  The wedding went off without a hitch, much to the dismay of the bride, who could not help but flash angry eyes at her soon to be husband. He in turn simply stared stoically at the priest, occasionally flicking a smoldering glance her way, promising of mysterious things to come later that she was sure to enjoy, infuriating her even more.

  She did not know why she allowed this shenanigan to irritate her so. In the spring she would find the stones, repeat the words that would send her home, and then she would wake up in her own bed and all of this would be behind her. No more cumbersome dresses, no more stone castle, no more medieval men in charge, no more him. That would be the best part, she nodded to herself as the priest droned on in what she thought was Latin. Her arguments had been valid and presented in a very convincing way as far as she was concerned which the broken vase and her sore vocal chords could attest to. She would not have to take orders from this giant brute. She stole a glance at him from beneath her lashes. No more Lord of the Manner to tell her what to do or control her every move. Who cares about those blue eyes that could stop her in her tracks? Or send the butterflies low in her belly into a chaotic dance? Or those lips as they pressed down hard on hers?

  His mother, the Lady MacGregor, was of no support to her cause either. Raine would sometimes find the Lady staring at her with eyes shining and deep dimples showing for all to see from her most impish smile. The Lady would nod her head in Raine’s direction, and then gracefully glide away, but the woman fairly glowed with happiness. She did not want to be the cause for that happiness. Any mother would want her son and heir to marry and have heirs of his own, but she was not meant to be the mother of those heirs. This was not her world, not her time, not her era. These people did not understand that. They would put their hope in her, a stranger, and then she would be the source of their utter disappointment in the end.

  Unfortunately, she was the only one in this entire country who was of that mind. Everyone else was absolutely in agreement with their Laird. He needed a wife, and she was it. Like it or not.

  Grudgingly, she had to admit that she was a site to behold in the gown Leith had given her. Rather than the standard white she was expecting, it was a flowing mass of red satin layered under black crushed velvet with shiny black silk strands crisscrossing over one another that caused the bodice to wrap snuggly around her. The rounded globes of her breasts were in danger of spilling over the squared material if she breathed in too deeply. The sleeves, form fitting from shoulder to elbow, suddenly burst open to hang in waves about her wrists. Despite herself, she permitted herself a slight smile – she really did feel like a princess.

  Raine couldn’t help
but admire the castle. It had been overwhelming when she had first seen it looking like a massive fortress with its stone walls and guard towers. But now it resembled something out a fairy tale, the bright sunshine illuminating it in a surreal glow. Banners of all shapes and colors hung from the wooden rafters. Fresh lavender had been added to the rushes and strewn about the floor and wafted through the air. Long wooden tables sagged with the weight of the piles of food stacked upon it. Barrels of ale balanced precariously in the corners. The thought occurred to her that the people who had prepared all of this might possibly have given the last of their winter stores for this feast.

  She turned her attention back to the man in front of her. What on earth could the priest be speaking about that could possibly be so important that it would take so long? Did marriage vows really need to drag on this long? Not that she was in a rush to be married to this oversized thug standing next to her, but surely they had been standing here for an hour or more. The giant oaf was standing as solid as if he were an oak tree with roots that ran a mile deep, staring intently at the priest. His hair was thick and lay in soft black curls around his shoulders with the longer parts pulled loosely together with a leather string. His white jacket collar was high but not tight, allowing her a wonderful view of his neck and a little glimpse of the beginnings of some nicely bronzed chest.

  She jumped at the ripple of pain in her fingers. Her gaze flew upwards to find him gazing down at her, an eyebrow cocked, still squeezing. Eyes narrowed, she jerked out of his grasp. Without missing a word, the priest gently took her hand and repositioned it, continuing his monologue. When she looked up again, a small grin was tugging at the corners of his mouth as if to whisper, “See? You’re mine.”

  And maybe she wanted to be.

  What? Where had that thought come from? Biting the inside of her cheek, her scowl deepened as she reprimanded herself for such thoughts. Her entire life she had prided herself on the amount of independence she had acquired. Everything in her life was organized, controlled. Being here, shifted through some kind of time warp, in the fifteenth century, in Scotland, being married off to a brute – no matter how handsome – was not organized, and she was most certainly not in control.

  Raine tasted the faint metallic flavor of blood in her mouth and released the pressure from her cheek and stole a sideway glance at the huge Scottish statue next to her. She sighed, a pitiful sound. Who was she kidding? He resembled one of her Greek statues in the museum that she admired so much, and she was having a most difficult time curbing her thoughts away from what it would be like to be wedded and bedded by this medieval brute.

  Leith squeezed her hand and made a sound deep in his throat. She looked up, then over at the priest. Both stared at her.

  She cocked her head slightly, realizing that the priest had finally become silent.

  Clearing his throat and looking at her as if she were daft, the priest asked her, “My child, do you?”

  The crowd was silent, expectant. Leith’s gaze was boring into her. Her mind was blank. She waited for him to elaborate but when he continued staring at her, she mumbled, “Do I what?”

  The pressure on her hand increased. She tried to jerk it away, but that giant of a man had a firm grasp.

  His voice was a low rumble from somewhere in his chest. “Do ye take me to be yer husband.”

  It was not a question.

  For a moment, things were suddenly surreal. The sun shone brightly through the beautiful stained glass windows, casting colorful displays on the opposing walls, as if a child were playing with a kaleidoscope outside of the walls. She breathed deeply and caught the soft, sweet scent of lavender wafting over the crowd of people that had gathered to witness what to them was the event of their lifetime. The man standing next to her, squeezing her hand almost painfully but not quite was the most beautiful man she had ever laid her eyes upon, with his broad shoulders and wide chest threatening to split the seams of his hand sewn shirt that did a poor job of concealing the sinewy muscle underneath.

  And those eyes. Oh, yes, she could see the desire in his eyes when he looked at her, not even bothering to try to hide it when she caught him staring at her. But unlike the men in her life in the past, those eyes the color of the sky held a hint of something else, something she was unsure of. Was it…serenity? Protection? Seduction? The promise of the love of a lifetime?

  This was not good. She could not marry this man. She did not belong here; she belonged in the twenty first century, studying history, not being an actual part of it.

  Squaring her jaw, she met his eyes. In a clear voice that rang throughout the castle, echoing off the stone walls, she answered, “I can’t.”

  The priest shifted his feet and looked at Leith. In all of his years of marrying people and encountering reluctant brides, never had one of them actually voiced their refusal at the altar.

  He replied, levelly, his voice holding a note of danger. As if he were speaking to a child, he answered, “Yes, lass, ye can. That is why we have gathered together in my castle….to wed.”

  In his castle. It just wasn’t right. She should not be here. Everything screamed at her that she didn’t belong here. She said, shaking her head, “No. I can’t.”

  “Yes, ye can,” he returned, slightly louder. The muscle that ran along his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth.

  Panic had finally set in. Raine turned her gaze to the priest. Maybe he would listen. He was a man of the cloth, after all. “I’m sorry. This isn’t right.”

  He stared at her in what she could only interpret as confused amazement.

  She turned to face the Laird. “I cannot do this.”

  The rafter’s shook when he threw all propriety to the lavender-scented wind and bellowed, “Yes, ye can, woman!”

  All was silent for a few seconds, before a clear and what Raine could only characterize as haughty voice rang through the castle. “I believe I agree with her. No, she cannot.”

  In one accord, all heads, including Leith’s and Raine’s, turned to the main foyer. In all her glory, there stood Lady Angela Brighton, Raine’s future husband’s fiancé.

  Chapter 12

  Of all the days and all the things that could possibly go wrong, it had to be today and it had to be this. For years he had listened to his mother complain that she needed grandchildren. The queen had made sure to emphasize that she preferred her border lords to be firmly endeavored as a husband and father in order to better serve the common people, and herself of course. Now, he finds a female with sun-kissed hair and eyes so green he feared he would get lost in the sea itself if he stared too long, decides to marry and breed sons, and this is how the good Lord rewards him. In the beginning, he repelled the thought of being saddled with a bride and a brood of brats running wild through his keep. Then he had reconciled himself with the knowledge that, as the laird and provider of his people, he was doing them an injustice by not producing heirs to rule after him. Finally, he agrees to wed but is reluctant to choose just any bride. The strange thought of perhaps actually liking his wife had occurred to him one day and then had slowly appealed to him greatly.

  Not only had Leith resigned himself to getting married, he had also found a sliver of joy in the fact that although he may not love his chosen wife, at least he would love the children they would produce. He had hoped that whoever his bride was to be, perhaps they might at least like each other a little. If not, Hell’s Gate was more than large enough for them to cohabitate without seeing each other for days at a time.

  His gaze travelled over Raine’s face. This strange foreigner had somehow managed to capture his attention. He had never seen hair the shade of gold as hers. She was defiant, independent...strange. Like all pretty lasses, she had gained his eye, but through some wretched feminine way she had managed to hold it, longer than any other before her. He was no stranger to the fact that the female species thought him pleasant to look upon, and he used that to his utmost advantage at times.

  Raine looked up at him
with what he could almost describe as sorrow in her eyes and an I-told-you-so frown before she quickly looked away and fixed her gaze once again on the prodigal Lady Brighton.

  He sighed, clenching her wrist a little tighter, more so to keep control from running his thumb over her finely porcelain cheekbone than anything else. This was not the way he had imagined his wedding day.

  “Father, would you excuse me for a moment?” Leith asked nonchalantly, as if nothing was askew. As if it was perfectly ordinary for a man to pardon himself from his wife-to-be at the altar to tend to his fiancé.

  The priest let out a sigh, rolled his eyes, and folded his arms over his chest, the Bible wedged in between. He cocked an eyebrow and rested his weight on one foot, shooting Raine an irritated glance.

  She blinked at him. Was she the only one who thought this inappropriate?

  Leith paused for a split second before turning from Raine, but in that moment she could sense the tension in him, the way his shoulders were drawn together like a football getting ready to be tackled by the entire opposing team. He squeezed her fingers, but only for what she could imagine was reassurance, not control. She blinked and watched him make his way down the aisle she had previously been dragged down by the redheaded Robbie. Her lip twitched slightly at the urge of possessiveness that caused her hands to clench and teeth to grit together as she watched Leith make his way to another woman.

  The entire castle was as quiet as a mouse’s lair as the occupants watched with bated breath to see what their laird would do. First he had no wife, and now he had two.

  Leith never had the chance to finish walking down the aisle because Lady Brighton met him halfway. The resounding smack from her hand against his cheek echoed off of the high ceilings, the unabashed stares of the audience flinching slightly, as if they took in the pain that their Laird refused to show.