Highland Conquest Read online

  Earlier, she’d bathed in lavender-scented water before the women had descended upon her—four of them in all, including Finola and Isla—to dress her in her wedding finery and twist bonnie ribbons in her hair. She hadn’t liked all of the attention, and she certainly didn’t need someone to help her dress, but Finola had shot her a stare that had quieted all of her grumblings.

  And truly she had naught to complain about. Her arisaid was the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen, and it fit her perfectly. Made of the softest wool, the material had been changed at the last minute to a dark blue, the same tone as Magda’s ribbon, which matched Amber’s eyes.

  When they were done, the women had looked at her and sighed. “You’re a vision, lass,” Finola said, wiping away a tear.

  “Aye, our laird willna be able to keep his hands off you,” Isla added with a wink. “You’ll be lucky to make it through the first Highland Reel before he carries you upstairs.” She saw the look that crossed Amber’s face and rolled her eyes. “You’ll love everything he does to you, Amber, I promise. Besides, it’s not like he’s ne’er touched you before. You’ll be as big as me before you know it.”

  The others laughed, all except Finola, who gripped her hands. “Doona listen to her, Amber. You make our laird wait if that’s what’s best for you.” Then she whispered in her ear, “And remember to take your knives.”

  When they left, Amber stood in the middle of the room, trying not to panic. Why had she ever agreed to this? Nay, she hadn’t agreed, Lachlan had agreed. But he knew she’d expected him to say “no.”

  So, truly was his fault. And if not his fault, Niall’s for sure.

  But none of that mattered now anyway. She could hear the villagers gathered in the bailey below, laughing and singing, and could smell the baking bread and roast goose for the wedding feast. ’Twas too late to back out now. And Gregor MacLeod was right.

  Her clan needed this.

  She put her hands to her head and gently felt the big curls the women had helped along with a hot iron. The ribbon wove through them and tied the front back from her face, and the color was a perfect foil to her orangey-gold hair.

  When she lifted her skirt, she saw supple leather shoes and new silk stockings with the same ribbon tying them up at her knee. She could put a knife in there, for sure. Two knives, if she wanted.

  She hesitated before hurrying to her medical bag and drawing out her knives. They were especially sharp and small, made to cut through a person’s skin. They had been her grandmother’s, and someday Amber would pass them on too—but to her own bairns or someone else’s?

  Her eyes fell on a powder in a vial. She’d taken some yesterday and this morning. She did not consider it subverting God’s will, since God had created the plant the substance had come from in the first place. It would permit her to stay barren if she chose—and that’s if she allowed her husband to have intimate congress.

  She looked at the knives again but then shut the bag. If Lachlan really wanted to take her in that way, she wouldn’t be able to stop him. And if she truly thought him capable of that, why was she marrying him?

  Because he wasn’t that kind of man, and God’s truth, she wasn’t the kind of woman who could be coerced into things, especially when it came to a life decision like getting married. So she obviously wanted to marry Lachlan MacKay.

  He made her feel something she’d never felt before. He made her laugh and made her sigh. He made her sharper and wittier, but at the same time, he made her addled. She wanted to rub herself all over him and sink into his skin.

  He made her want him.

  But she still didn’t know if she wanted bairns, and she definitely didn’t want him to force his way inside her body, and no matter what Isla said, she couldn’t ever imagine welcoming him in.

  She sighed, feeling muddled and uncertain, and moved to the window to look out. ’Twas a beautiful summer day—the temperature ideal and the sky blue, with a few white clouds drifting past—marred only by the number of warriors manning the castle wall.

  While Finola and the other women had prepared Amber for her nuptials, Lachlan and the other lairds had prepared for an attack. Machar Murray would be pleased to disrupt her wedding by turning it into a funeral.

  The anxiety in her stomach tightened its grip.

  In the bailey, a man played a rousing tune on the bagpipes, and her eyes drifted downward from the sight of the warriors on the wall to the sight of her clan bursting into an impromptu dance. Lads and lasses shouted, played, and ran about while their mothers chased after them. Everyone wore their best, and the excitement was palpable—she could feel it even up here in her bedchamber.

  Aye, this was exactly what her clan needed. Maybe what she needed too.

  A knock sounded at the door, and Amber spun toward it, her heart suddenly racing. She crossed hurriedly and leaned against the wood. “Niall?”

  “Aye, it’s me, lass. Open the door.”

  She placed her hand on the bar to lift it, then stopped, her stomach still turning and her head spinning with doubts.

  After a few seconds, he said, “Amber?”

  “I’m thinking,” she said, drumming the pads of her fingers on the door.

  “About what?”

  “About…marriage.”

  “In general? Or your marriage in particular?”

  “Both.”

  “And?”

  She scrunched up her brow. “Well, marriage is about property, and I have no real property to give Laird MacKay.”

  “You gave him Clan MacPherson and all of our lands.”

  “Oh, aye… Well, marriage is also about bairns, and…I may be barren.”

  “Are you?”

  She bit down on her nail. “I am right now.”

  “Ah, well that’s probably wise. I’m sure Laird MacKay would appreciate having you all to himself in the beginning of your marriage. ’Tis many men I’ve known who doona get to enjoy their wives for long before their bairns arrive.”

  “I doona know if I’ll e’er want bairns.”

  “You may not. I ne’er did.”

  “But you ne’er married.”

  “True.”

  She sighed and leaned back against the door. “You’re no help.”

  Silence ensued, and then he said, “Marriage is about more than property and bairns, Amber. A good marriage is also about love. Tell me. Do you think you can give Lachlan that?”

  Her throat tightened, and she pressed her fingers to her mouth, closing her eyes to hold back those traitorous tears. How had she been reduced to this? “Aye, I think I can.” She blew out a breath from between her lips.

  “As I suspected. Amber?”

  “Aye?”

  “Open the door, lass. It’s time to marry the man you love.”

  Her eyes dropped to the bar, and she placed hesitant fingers on it. Then she lifted it quickly, opened the door, and stared at Niall, looking quite dapper in his clean and pressed plaid and cap.

  He beamed at her. “As lovely as your mother and your grandmother put together, you truly are the pride of Clan MacPherson.”

  The sound of footfalls startled her, and she looked toward the stairs. Lachlan walked down the hall, so handsome and braw in what must be a new plaid and shirt and jacket, that he took her breath away.

  “The pride of Clan MacKay too,” he said, his eyes devouring her, almost a physical presence on her body.

  Niall hurried ahead of them as Lachlan took her hand in a sure grip and led her back to the stairs. She followed him without thinking, her eyes on his face, her breath moving quickly through her lungs.

  About halfway down, she came to a halt. “Lachlan, wait. Doona you think—”

  He wrapped one hand around her nape, his thumb caressing below her ear, and captured her lips with his—slow, soft, with just a slight sweep of his ton
gue.

  She shivered, and he pulled away, continuing with her to the bottom of the stairs. In a daze, she followed him, then stopped again about halfway through the great hall. It had been cleared of any sign of her hospital, the two wounded men having been moved upstairs into their own rooms, and Kerr’s warrior still holding on to life.

  “You canna just kiss me, this is a lifetime commitment,” she said, voice rising. “Shouldnae we talk—”

  He wrapped both hands around her head this time, his fingers kneading the base of her skull. “Aye, I can just kiss you, and nay, we shouldnae talk. Because there’s naught to talk about but this.” He kissed her again, nibbling across her cheek and down the side of her neck to bite at the juncture of her shoulder and neck.

  She moaned and dropped her head to the side. Lachlan wrapped his arm around her shoulders and walked her to the door. Bright sunlight poured in when he opened it, and she blinked. When her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw the bailey filled with her clan, their happy, excited faces beaming up at her.

  Niall stood one step down from the top with his arm crooked, waiting for her. Gregor and Lachlan’s foster brothers stood on the first five steps from the bottom, all in their best clothes, waiting for him. Father Lundie stood in the bailey beneath a raised trellis—decorated with ivy and white roses—dressed in a pristine white robe, a purple stole around his neck, and the holy book in his hands, waiting for both of them.

  Quiet descended over the crowd as Lachlan took her hand, his eyes now looking a little wild. He dropped to one knee in front of her for all her clan and his family to see. “I ne’er asked you before. Please, Amber, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  She stared down at him, forgetting about all her worries, about all the people who waited breathless for her reply. All she saw, all she heard was him. All she felt was that bond that had somehow been forged between them.

  She nodded, feeling like she’d forgotten how to breathe.

  “Say aye, sweetling. Please, tell me you agree,” he said.

  She pulled on his hand, and he rose to stand before her. Then she slid her palm up his chest and laid it over his racing heart. Finally, she smiled. “Aye. Lachlan, I’ll marry you.”

  Eighteen

  Lachlan sat at the long table that faced the great hall, sipping ale from a finely carved wooden cup, and watched his old and new clans: his wife, his foster father, and some of his brothers dancing to the exuberant reels that sounded from the bagpipes in the corner. He was careful not to drink too much. He wanted to be fully present when he took his bride to their marriage bed for the first time—every time.

  He was a lucky man and shuddered at how close he’d come to walking away from Amber. And why? Because he’d despised everything about his mother? Well, Amber was the antithesis of Mùirne MacKay. She was honest to the point of being rude, she was loyal to the point of putting herself in danger, she was funny to the point of being outrageous, and she was so damn clever, she made every other person in her vicinity look addlepated.

  And he loved it.

  Not to mention her beauty put the angels to shame, even when she was covered in someone else’s blood and guts. Nay, that wasn’t true. Especially when she was covered in someone else’s blood and guts.

  She also craved his hands on her. He couldn’t wait for her to touch him too.

  But as he watched her dancing with his foster father, he knew something was bothering her. He could see it in the set of her shoulders and the smile that seemed pinned in place. He tried to catch her eye, but she wouldn’t look his way.

  Most likely she was bothered by whatever it was she’d wanted to talk to him about earlier: maybe their upcoming marriage, maybe Murray.

  He scanned the great hall, making sure every well-trained warrior from his foster brothers’ and Gregor’s clans were still in position at each entrance, the stairs, and on the balcony that ringed the hall. More men were stationed throughout the keep—in the bailey, at every building, on the castle wall, and in the fields beyond.

  He may have gone overboard with protecting the castle, but he would not allow Machar Murray to ruin this day—or night—for Amber.

  Nay, Lachlan wouldn’t have their night together messed up for anything…although by the look of his wife, still avoiding his gaze, he may have done so already. He’d pushed her to the altar, knowing the more time she had to stew, the less likely she was to go through with the wedding, and now here they were, married, forever…yet he’d swear his wife was avoiding him.

  The Highland Reel ended, and he tried to wave her back to him, but she took someone else’s hand for the next dance, getting farther and farther away from him.

  Gregor plopped down beside him, his cheeks ruddy, his eyes sparkling, and smacked him on the back. “How are you lasting, Son? When I married Kellie, I was like a caged bear, impatient for the festivities to be over so I could take my wife to bed. You look about as relaxed as I was.”

  Lachlan grunted. He really didn’t feel like being sociable.

  Gregor laughed. “Aye, a bear.”

  “Any news on Murray?” he asked, unable to let it go even though it was his wedding.

  “Nay, all is quiet and as it should be. I doona think he’ll strike tonight. ’Tis too soon. He’ll need more than a day to rest and come up with a new plan.”

  He nodded and turned his gaze back to the crowd of revelers, seeking his wife. “How was Amber when she danced with you?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “I think she’s avoiding me. She wouldnae be nervous about the wedding night, would she?”

  “Nay, I doona think so. Not Amber. She’s as tough as Kerr’s head. Like a bloody rock.”

  “I heard that!” Kerr yelled from the other end of the table where he sat having a drink with Gavin and Darach.

  Callum plopped down on Lachlan’s other side. “I wager she’ll make a break for it.”

  The men stopped what they were doing and stared at Callum like he was mad. But all of them also knew—he was almost always right.

  “But she agreed,” Darach said. “She went all soft and dewy when Lachlan got down on one knee before the wedding.”

  Callum shrugged and threw a gold coin on the table. “Do you want to wager on it?”

  Lachlan drummed his fingers on the table and continued to watch his wife on the dance floor, trying to ignore his brothers and their argument.

  Amber didn’t look soft and dewy now. She looked just like Callum said—like she was going to run. Aye, she’d moved steadily closer to the door, and she still wouldn’t look at him.

  His heart started to race, and he rose sharply from the bench and walked quickly in the opposite direction toward the kitchens.

  “Lachlan, lad, where’re you going?” Gregor called out.

  “He’s just realized I’m right, and he’s running to intercept Amber before she makes it out of the castle,” Callum said.

  “She willna run. She loves him,” Gavin said. “Didn’t you see her eyes? Your mind is addled.”

  Gregor scoffed. “I’ll meet your wager. She’s definitely in love.”

  “It doesn’t mean she willna run,” Callum said.

  Lachlan rounded the corner and sprinted for the kitchen exit, but not before he heard betting coins landing on the table behind him.

  He stepped outside and made his way around the keep to the main entrance, his gaze searching every dark corner for signs of Murray, even though Gregor had assured him the devil wouldn’t come tonight.

  The stairs were empty but for one guard at the top, and he increased his pace. He would catch Amber at the door, lead her back into the keep, and finally have his dance. Then he’d take her upstairs where they could talk. After he’d made her his wife in every way.

  But when he put his foot on the first step, the door squeaked open, and light fell onto the bailey. Amber stepped outside, lift
ed her skirts, and ran past the guard and down the stairs, eyes on her feet.

  He braced himself, and when she finally looked up with a squeal, she tumbled and fell right into his arms.

  “Lachlan? What are you doing out here?”

  “Nay. The question is, what are you doing out here?”

  It was too dark to see her face, but he could feel the tremors that shivered though her body. Her hands clutched at his fine linen shirt, squeezing tight in the fabric, but at the same time she pushed him back.

  “I’m… I’m…running away,” she finally said, and he could hear the panic in her voice.

  “But why? You agreed to marry me, Amber. In front of everyone.”

  “That was hours ago. Now I’m running. I’m going to my cottage and locking myself in—alone—and you canna stop me.”

  He stiffened, surprised to feel hurt rising alongside his anger. “You. Are. My. Wife. We willna spend our wedding night separately.”

  “Aye, we will, Lachlan, and if you think—”

  “Nay, I doona think. I know you’ll sleep beside me tonight. And every night after that. This is forever, Amber. You agreed to forever.”

  His pulse beat at him angrily, his jaw tight, his muscles rigid. She would leave him on their wedding night. God’s blood, she’d planned to run from him without even a goodbye. “What did you think would have happened when you disappeared, Amber? What do you think I would have thought?”

  Guilt transformed her face, but it did little to mollify him. If anything, it made him angrier.

  “That’s right. I would have thought you’d been taken by Murray. Or worse, you might have indeed been taken by him as you wandered outside on your own.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Not good enough, Wife.” He leaned over, wrapped his arms around her thighs, and lifted her over his shoulder—just so damn angry that she cared so little.