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  Clenching his jaw, he ground out a greeting of, “Lady Brighton, I presume.”

  He grasped her wrist and twirled her in an about-face, marching her down the aisle towards the door.

  Twisting in his grasp and uncaring as to who was listening, her voice held a shrillness that was in the vicinity of madness. “This is my wedding! Mine! Unhand me immediately. My father will hear about this, I swear it!”

  The door slammed behind them. In one accord, all heads in the congregation turned to the front dais. Raine blinked. Staring, she blinked again. Even the priest was looking at her. Her grip on the red roses in her bouquet increased until her knuckles were white. She threw a weak smile at the priest, not knowing if she should run out through the kitchen or remain cemented to her spot and claim her Scotsman in marriage so that all the townspeople as well as that looming brunette knew that he belonged to her.

  She shook herself mentally. This could actually be a good thing, she reasoned. The original fiancé was here, so this might mean that Raine was free to go. Perhaps now he would take her to the stones, and she could get back to the twentieth century where she belonged.

  Picturing the anger in those beautiful blue eyes, the pursing of those full totally kissable lips, the roughness of his giant hands on her skin as he scolded her for rebelling against his wishes. She smiled as the thought of his lips pushing onto hers entered her mind.

  As if he read her thoughts, the priest gave her a lopsided grin and said drily, “If you run, my dear, he will catch you.”

  She gave a small, nervous, laugh, as if to counteract his interpretation of her own thoughts. Releasing her grip on the roses, she brushed the back of her hand across her forehead. The sun must have decided to shine a little extra this afternoon. Was anyone else feeling the warmth in this room?

  Glancing over her shoulder, she wished that she could see through the thick wooden door that shielding her from the couple that could decide her future…her immediate future anyway.

  With hazel eyes flashing, Lady Brittany Brighton was holding nothing back. She was the laughing stock of London because of this idiotic Scottish brute. Her father had practically forced an agreement of marriage from her to some little known border lord who happened to be in the good graces of the Scottish Queen, who happened to be in negotiations with the English Queen. Since Brittany’s father was trying to get the English Queen’s ear, his daughter’s marriage to the Scottish border lord was the perfect solution.

  She had cried, screamed, whined, trying to change her father’s mind but nothing had worked. Usually she just had to make her plump bottom lip quiver, and she was the victor.

  Running his fingers through his thick hair, he addressed her with a sigh. “Lady, my deepest regrets to ye and ye’re family. No disrespect was intended to ye’re father’s name.” He moved his gaze to the castle. “But this is my wedding.”

  When she made no movement, but continued to glare at him, he tried to clarify himself. He motioned to the keep, and cleared his throat. “And ye are interrupting it.”

  Stomping her slippered foot, she yelled at him. “How dare you!”

  Her eyes narrowed until they were no more than slits on either side of her nose. “Perhaps you were not aware, my lord, that I protested our marriage. But that was in the beginning.” She decided to exclude the weeks of pleading her case to her father that she would prefer to marry a baboon than a sheep-loving Scotsman.

  “I have since come to the conclusion that since the union of our families is acceptable to Her Highness, the Queen,” she almost choked, “then it is acceptable to me.” The fact that that skinny twerp standing on the altar, in her spot, ready to become the lady of the keep and all the power that comes with it, had nothing to do with it.

  Lady Brighton’s earliest memories was that of her mother telling her that the only way for her to loose the yoke of male authority that hangs on the neck of all women was to marry a man of substance who is tolerable. Brace yourself for the duty of the marriage bed, bear him a son or two, and hopefully he will leave you in peace for his mistress while as the Lady of the keep, she can have as much charge over her life as is possible. Even though this Scots border lord was not of the status that she had hoped for in a husband, he did have substantial lands and a title. That accounted for something.

  And Leith MacGregor was that man of substance. He would not escape and ruin her plans for a future of freedom.

  “My lady,” Leith began, “as was explained in my letter, our situation has, er, changed. The money has been returned to ye’re father, as was extra funds for compensation.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “I care not for the goings on between my father and you.” Her index finger poked his chest. Her voice was husky with barely controlled anger. “I was betrothed to be married, and married I will be.”

  “Ye may be married still, lass, just not to me.”

  In the shadow of the castle, her hazel eyes stirred a feeling of unease in the pit of his stomach. The lights and shadows caused her eyes to appear gold, like a wolf’s, and somehow he sensed, just as dangerous.

  Her smile was slow coming, but when it appeared, the sour feeling that had started as a twinge deep inside his stomach was now spreading. She stepped towards him, her hand lying like a whisper on his forearm causing the muscles to twitch.

  “My lord.” Her voice like silk, soft and slippery, she moved even closer until her small breasts were leaning against his arm. “My lord, surely you cannot prefer her to me,” she laughed lowly. “From what is being said about her, she gallops across the countryside wearing servants clothing – boy servants, no less.”

  Her lashes fluttered as she stood on tiptoe and gave him the most seductive look. Her fingers wrapped around the nape of his neck, and her lips moved closer to his.

  Surprise and then anger, deeper and stronger than she felt before, slammed into her when Leith raised her slim, manicured, hand with its silky soft skin from his neck and then tossed it away from him as if it were diseased.

  Raine had only been here a short while and had not left the keep. To his knowledge none of his servants or townsfolk had traveled as of recently. Where could the gossip have come from and who was spreading it?

  His blue eyes were as cold as a sheet of ice. “What is being said?”

  She whirled, her skirts flaring out in perfect arrangement and falling back into place immediately, as if they feared her wrath of being anything other than utterly beautiful.

  “Does it matter? She –" her finger pointed towards the large wooden entrance doors – “is not me! She is probably some commoner trying to wed you for your title and lands! And she is not even pretty.”

  Brittany waited to take pleasure as the barbs hit the man in front of her, hoping that her words were truer than she thought, wanting to hurt him. How dare he rebuff her, her family name, one of the strongest in the country, and – as her friends were quick to tell her – she was the most beautiful female this side of the England. So it must be true.

  He stepped towards her, his breathing coming faster. “Apparently, Lady Brighton, ye have become slightly hard of hearing.” He stopped as her back met the wall, her golden eyes widening with fear.

  He enunciated his words slowly, shoving the barb home. “What…is…being…said…of my future wife, and by whom?”

  Why he felt so protective of Raine’s reputation, he reasoned, was simply because she was to be Lady of his keep. She was to be his wife, and therefore she was a reflection of him and his rule. If someone were besmirching her name, they were attacking him as well.

  The thought of lying only briefly reared its head to Brittany before she thought better of it. He was a Scottish lord. He would find out that she had lied, and then her chances would be forfeit permanently.

  She stuck out her bottom lip, and said with a practiced pout, “Lord Alistair, your cousin.”

  That one name hung heavily in the air as Leith stared at her, his gaze becoming harder, colder.
r />   Thinking perhaps he had not heard her, she repeated, “Your cousin.”

  “What has he done? What is he planning?”

  Brittany frowned, confused. “He said that she had stolen into the camp of he and his men while they were out hunting and stole some clothing belonging to one of his servants. His servant, my lord. He chased her and would have caught her to extract payment, and probably punishment as well, except that she ran onto your land – and straight into you.” She sniffed. “Literally.”

  “Ye have no business with my cousin, Lady, and I will expect ye to remember that.” He could smell the trouble in the air if his cousin and ex-fiancé spent too much time together.

  “My lord Alistair was at court, and we simply ran into each other. It happened to be the same day that I received your letter cancelling our betrothal. Needless to say, my lord, I was devastated by the news. Your cousin then told me he had already met the woman.” She sighed for effect before continuing.

  Watching him through her lashes she added with forced tears, “He offered me comfort after your dagger pierced my heart.”

  Twirling a perfectly placed dark curl around her finger, she cast a glance to the castle. Perched on the landing looking like a fish out of water, was Raine. Before Leith could turn around to notice her, Brittany threw her arms around his neck and lifted her feet, putting her full weight on his shoulders. His arms came around her waist to steady her, thinking that she had lost her balance, when she smashed her cool lips to his.

  Startled for a moment, he stood stock still, and then pushed her away. She stumbled backwards, arms flailing awkwardly before she steadied herself, but not before Leith caught the self satisfied smile that made it’s ugly way across her face as she stared past him.

  Following her gaze, he felt the anger boil inside of him as hot as a volcano about to erupt. “Ye did that on purpose.” His growl was low, but distinct.

  Brittany disregarded it. “The twit needed to know where your desires truly lay, my lord,” she replied flippantly. “And they lie with me. I was here first.”

  “And she will be the last,” he ground out between clenched teeth. Throwing propriety to the wind he growled, “She is to be my wife, not you. She will bear my sons, not you. She will be lady of my keep, not you.” He no longer cared if he hurt her feelings. The damage control he would now have to manage would be a horrific feat. “And she will be in my bed tonight.”

  He paused, his glare heavy on her. “Not you.”

  Brushing her off, he made his way back into the castle. She followed him, declaring her father’s revenge in honor of her reputation, listing her wifely attributes to him. He motioned for his men to remove her from the great hall.

  Fairly stomping down the aisle, he took Raine by the arm, his grasp firm, and fairly dragged her to a halt in front of the priest.

  “Finish this.”

  The wheezing noise that was quite audible to the first few rows of the congregation was not the wind which was beginning to pick up outside and toss about a few stray leaves. It was quite noticeably the forced air being inhaled and then expelled by the bride. Leith noticed the redness of her cheeks, probably dripping down from the anger in her eyes. Och, he was in the doghouse, and he was not even married yet. He merely wanted this business done, and to get on with the simple way of life in his land. This mess was giving him a headache.

  The next solstice was six months away. She had nowhere to go, no money, and no clothes. She was also afraid to go too far away from the keep in case his war-bound cousin, Alistair, decided to claim her as his own personal property again. Playing nice and biding her time here was her only option. And if that meant marrying – if only temporarily – the so called king of the castle, then so be it. After all, it was not real. This was not her time, and these were not her people. She did not belong here, but since he would not listen to her, she had come to the conclusion that she would have to play along. Of course, marriage did not play a part in this conclusion, but there seemed no other way out.

  Although she had reluctantly agreed to the marriage, she was not about to be embarrassed by a potential mistress, even if said mistress was the actual intended bride in the first place.

  The fact that Raine had stepped outside and witnessed the two in an embrace was not a good omen. True, she was not planning on remaining here as the wife and lady of the laird and keep, but still – her pride was stung. Had he not kissed her own lips with much more passion? Was he not determined to keep her here? Did he not risk his very life to protect and save her from his cousin’s wrath? So why would he kiss his fiancé and still want to marry Raine?

  Perhaps he was still in love with the beautifully dressed, pale skinned woman with fiery golden eyes. Then why would he not maker her his wife and perhaps just keep Raine as a guest?

  The priest raised an eyebrow at Leith, who nodded, and began the monotone Latin dialogue again. His voice rang true and Raine thought he spoke slightly more rapidly than before.

  In synchronized form, the priest said the last Latin word just as Leith turned her to him and pressed his warm lips to hers, but not before she saw the smile tugging at the corners.

  Chapter 13

  The entourage that accompanied Lady Brittany Brighton was larger than it should have been, but the laird of Hell’s Gate wanted to ensure her safe arrival to her father and, he admitted wryly, her safe departure from his castle. The sooner she was gone, the sooner he could start wooing his wife.

  It was quite odd, and he would be the laughingstock of not only his castle but probably in all the land, if anyone knew that his marriage had not been consummated as of yet. After a week of marriage, he still had not breached his wife’s bed or her defenses.

  Marriage could not be that much different in ancient Scotland than it was in modern times, Raine told herself. Premarital relations were taken much more seriously here than they were in the future but, she reasoned, surely she was expected to be wedded and bedded. She was not exactly sure as to why her new husband had not claimed what he must think as was his right and privilege of his wife’s favors.

  Raine pondered these questions as she carefully wandered through the bed of wild flowers to the east of the castle. The breeze was warm, lightly ruffling the wild flowers that poked their heads above the greenest blades of grass she had ever seen. She had awakened this morning to a bustle of maids who referred to themselves as “her ladies” and the flurry of activity that seemed to follow them wherever they went. They dressed her, brushed her hair, and deposited themselves around her in the great hall, all the while talking and laughing through the morning meal.

  After some sweet yet firm assertions that she needed time to think, the ladies gave knowing looks to one another, assuming that their new mistress wished to contemplate the happenings of her new found love with her husband, they obligingly let her alone. They laughed and fluttered away, their gowns fluffed and trailing behind them.

  Finding a shaded spot under a wide, low hanging tree, she sat down, arranging her skirts. Her ladies had insisted that she wear one of the many gowns that were a gift from the Laird to his new wife. Her skirts were long and layered with the binding corset pushing her breasts upwards to create pearlescent globes straining against the ties that bound them. The color of the beautiful material matched that of her eyes, and she wondered how he had managed to arrange that.

  “Hello, lass.” He appeared from nowhere, and plopped down beside her.

  Speak of the devil. Her lips pursed. “What are you doing here?”

  He gave her a lopsided smile. “I came to see ye.”

  She fidgeted with her overskirt. “Don’t you have work that needs to be done? Giving orders or sword training or something?”

  He sprawled on his back and tucked his hands behind his head while closing his eyes. “Nope.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing.”

  The breeze was warm and blew softly over them enveloping them in the cocoon of serenity. The sun shone high
and filtered smoothly through the branches of the tree causing a chaotic array of light and shadows to splay across them. Raine could not help but notice how it softened the hard lines of the Scotsman face, bringing out the youth in him that was more often than not hidden behind a deep scowl. She suppressed the urge to run her finger along the shadow of stubble along his jaw.

  “Do you like ye’re new dresses?”

  She shrugged. “They are very nice.”

  He frowned. “That means ye do not like them.”

  “No, no, I do. I do,” she admitted. “It’s just that they are, well, very, um, long.”

  Laughter erupted from his chest, low and rumbling. “Aye, lass, that they are.” He rolled over onto his stomach. “In your land, do the women not wear skirts?”

  The image of herself in dingy coveralls, dust covering every part of her exposed skin, as she rummaged through the extensive collection of forgotten artifacts with the professor. “Uh, they do, but they have the choice of it. Some of us actually prefer to wear jeans…trousers. Like yours.”

  His brow furrowed as he tried to imagine such a concept. Women. Wearing trousers. And by choice no less. Unfathomable. Completely insane. “So the men, they have no control over their women?”

  Giving in to a quick half smile, she said, “Not like the men here. Women actually work, earn money, make their own choices. And a lot of them do not have to marry simply to have a man to take care of them.”

  He sat up on his knees. Even from that position he had to look down to meet her eyes. His blue gazed moved to her lips, causing her to nervously lick them. He smiled. This was too easy.

  “Lass, do ye have a man takin’ care of ye? Back in ye’re land?”

  She forced herself to stop twisting her skirt and nipped her bottom lip. Clearing her throat she replied, “Well, no, not exactly. I am…uh, single.”

  He leaned down on all fours and resembling a large panther, slowly crawled over to her, still staring at her lips. She absently chewed her lip. “It’s not considered a negative thing, you know. Not like here. I enjoy being on my own, taking care of myself.” Oh, God, he smelled so good.