Belonging to a Highlander Page 7

  Hugh gave her a doubtful look.

  "I did'na! Ask Jamie."

  "I'll ask him on the morrow. For now…" Hugh stepped closer again and reached out to thread his fingers through her hair. She looked to the side, watched in horror as the ends of her tresses slipped through his fingertips. "Since you’ve woken me so, methinks we should practice for the ceremony tomorrow."

  "Practice?" Catriona asked.

  "Aye, lass," he said softly, his words like silk.

  Catriona looked up at him sharply, unsure of his intent.

  "A lass the likes of you, who has spent most of her life in the chastity of an abbey likely has no learned the arts of kissing."

  "Kissing?" she asked, her voice a choked whisper.

  "Aye, sweet lass. Kissing. I'll no have my bride stand up with me before her entire clan and be embarrassed because she does'na ken how to kiss a mon." Hugh tilted his head down closer to hers, his lips a whisper away from her own.

  She reminded herself that he was well-practiced at seduction.

  She gasped, the spicy scent of the man engulfing her. His touch sent a wild flutter to wing through her lower belly. "The only aspect I'll be embarrassed of, Hugh, is you!" Catriona quickly reached up, her fingertips pinching on the hairs of his short beard, and she gave a sharp yank, hard enough Hugh's head came forward as Catriona stepped around him.

  "Chriost's blood," he muttered, whipping around after her.

  "I expect you to remove that matted fur from your face before our wedding tomorrow," she said. She whirled on him, hands on her hips. "No but a few hours ago I caught you seducing another woman, and now this? What? Searching for a replacement?"

  He glowered.

  "Weel, McCross, I'll no be any sort of replacement for you." She gave him one last scathing look. "Despicable," she hissed.

  Hugh lurched for her, but Catriona pulled from his grasp and took off at a sprint for the stairs, dashing across the length of the hall and only glanced behind her when the shadows of the stairwell greeted her. She slipped lithely into the passage and lifted the hem of her gown.

  Hugh's bounding steps echoed after her, resonating, carrying with them urgency and a sense that she would not outrun him.

  She had to try at least.

  She gasped as he caught her around the waist and whipped her around on the stair. His eyes glowed in the dark with a mix of incited rage and lust. "A wee hellcat you are for sure," he husked.

  "Let me go, Hugh." She pounded her fist on his naked chest, his skin hot against hers. His hard breast lifted with quick breaths.

  "No before I have your word."

  "My word on what?" She narrowed her eyes into a guarded stare, or tried to if only to keep him from seeing what he was doing to her.

  "That you'll no be trying to escape your own home again so I might sleep in the slight amount of peace afforded a mon set to be wed tomorrow."

  She gave him a frightened stare, but at last nodded her head, looking down past his shoulder, but Hugh reached and tilted her chin up against his. His powerful body glided against hers, her breasts touching his chest, the flat of her belly meeting the rock-hardness of his abdomen, their thighs grazing together, and in one flush moment that seared her body as hot as a brand, Hugh pulled her flush into his arms.

  His lips brushed hers quicker than Catriona had the thought to prevent him.

  He chuckled darkly against her mouth, and she went weak against him. The protest she might—should—have put up drained away with shock and curiosity, desire and a quick pulsing need.

  What had he done to her?

  Her defenses shot up in alert only to melt away.

  Catriona grappled for an answer to the sudden maelstrom of lust infusing her veins, bringing her blood to boiling. She would never admit it aloud, but his touch sent an undeniable thrill pumping through her.

  His dark eyes locked with hers, their breath mingling on shallow pants. Then she felt it, his hand reaching around, slipping over her backside, cupping under one cheek and leaving a hot trail where his fingers had traveled.

  A groan came from his throat as he cupped her intimately. He squeezed her, his long, strong fingers kneading into her flesh through her gown and elicited a gasp equally as sharp as the stab of pleasure spiking through her.

  "I suppose you'll do." Unaffected, he dropped her against the wall of the stairwell.

  Catriona fell back a step, confused at first, and then humiliation burned through her like a wildfire. She stumbled to right herself and shake her senses back to reality.

  "Goodnight, lass," he said.

  Catriona sputtered a moment, flames scorching her cheeks. "I'll do?" She shook her head on another sputter, her tongue and brain refusing to work in unison. "I'll do for what?"

  He had started away from her, a swagger in his hips, but paused. Hugh turned nonchalantly. "Whenever I'm in the mood for, how did you put it?" He lifted a finger to his lips. "Ah, aye. Breeding."

  Her eyes went round.

  "Of course, that is what a husband and wife do, is it no?" He enjoyed her humiliation a moment more, raking his stare down her, a thing he could obviously turn hot and cold alike with the same ease. He shrugged. "You've a mite to learn aboot kissing yet though." He started off again.

  As she watched the highlander descend back into the hall, leaving a kernel of desire in his wake, Catriona reached up to touch her lips. So much for far stretches of the imagination.

  Chapter Nine

  "Doth anyone ken any reason this mon and this woman should no be wed?"

  Catriona turned her head from Father Donovan, the priest who had resided at McBruiey Keep since before her birth, before Jamie's, too. In fact, he had married her father and Jamie's mother his first year at the keep. She looked up at her soon to be husband and lifted a brow as Hugh looked out over the scant crowd of onlookers outside the kirk. She was much appeased, and surprised that he had removed his beard as she requested of him. He looked as hopeful as she felt, for a moment.

  No one breathed a word.

  When a bawdy curse rumbled from his lips, her eyes flared, and her cheeks heated. She turned her head sharply in Father Donovan's direction with a look of apology only to find the man was already busy crossing himself.

  "Let us enter the kirk for nuptial mass," the priest called out, turning to enter the beautiful stone kirk. He gave Hugh a look of warning before stepping inside to lead the bride and groom and the crowd at their backs.

  That was the first moment Catriona felt the same perpetual rush of panic reclaiming her nerves since she returned to her chamber the night before. The dire feeling shifted back to a level of utter annoyance.

  "Ready the men, have the tents packed and one of the baggage wains prepared for wee hellcat." Hugh's brogue rumbled in a quiet whisper at her back, and Catriona turned wide-eyed over her shoulder to see her groom speaking in hushed tones to the man called Alaric.

  She faced Father Donovan's back once more, refusing to listen to the rest of Hugh's orders. It seemed they would leave the moment he had wed her. Catriona cast a nervous look at Jamie as he led her down the aisle, then caught Gillie's glum stare as she passed him, too.

  He turned his head down.

  Stony-faced and grim, her brother looked as though he were in a trance, and that trance the only thing keeping him from turning around and beating Hugh McCross senseless, to a pulp, leaving him black and blue as before.

  Catriona forced down a quiet snicker building up in her throat at the idea of Jamie hammering Hugh with his fists inside the kirk and the fine Highland ruckus that would ensue. Likely, all Hugh's remaining men would rise to his defense and soon the keep would be embroiled in a riot.

  Alas, that was not how she wished to spend her wedding day. Nor were these the thoughts a proper bride filled her mind with whilst nearing the altar.

  Instead of continuing the humorous pastime, she cleared her throat and turned her head to the side to see if the sound affected Hugh in the least, and to her satisfa
ction, he glanced away from Alaric and to her. The look lasted but a moment, and then he turned his attention back to Alaric briefly, giving the man a nod as if to say that was all.

  They proceeded into Mass and Catriona played along, but the words of Father Donovan made her miss Atholl and the abbey. Her stay with the sisters there had not been one of torturous labor and all manner of horrible things one heard of. She had formed close bonds with those women—and Tamsin.

  What had become of her friend?

  She glanced up at Hugh then, shyly from under her lashes.

  Maybe she could still help Tamsin.

  Of course, had she stayed put in the abbey she could have helped her greatly as a princess of Wessex. She glowered at her slippers now, mulling over thoughts of what she could do. Her situation was not ideal, but certainly Hugh controlled a force to be reckoned with. She had seen the mass of his army, or the contingent moving with him. She had heard him say there were more men elsewhere. It would be in gaining his assistance she would have a problem. He didn’t exactly like, or want, her. That he had made plain, albeit confusing after their meeting last night.

  Those enticing thoughts were unwise and brought an unnatural color to her cheeks. As heat slowly began to radiate from her body, her sudden quick breaths stirred Jamie's attention.

  She felt the smallest touch to her arm and received a look of concern from her brother, which she shook her head and dismissed.

  She had been so foolish.

  Catriona gave a small stomp under her gold gown.

  The women of her clan had seen her done up right for the occasion. The beautiful gown she wore had been fashioned for another ceremony, but at short notice, tiny jewels were added to the collar along with delicate embroidery. The quick work turned the once simple gown into a vision. An arisadh draped over her shoulder, woven of her clan's colors, and a gold brooch pinned at her hip held the length of green and gold plaid together. The brooch Jamie had given her years past.

  She jumped a little as a cloth wrapped tightly around her hand, and she looked down, only then realizing her palm was smoothly cupping the side of Hugh's arm. Beneath her hand was the rugged power of a highland warrior and raw man. The same flesh she had touched last night, the same hand that had cupped her bottom so provocatively.

  She sucked in a little gasp as erotic images from the night before pooled into her thoughts yet again like warm honey, or a branding iron, she wasn’t sure.

  But the sight of her hand bound to his by a strip of his plaid, the blue and silver of the McCross clan colors forever claiming her as Hugh's property, stopped those thoughts cold.

  She glanced up at him sharply as Father Donovan began.

  "Hugh McCross wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife? Wilt thou love her, and honor her, keep her and guard her, in health and in sickness…"

  The heavy whispering ensuing across from her had Catriona listening more intently to Hugh's conversation with Alaric than to the priest, though she would stake a claim that she heard more of Hugh's vows than Hugh had. Her eyes steadily narrowed into thin slits until all she could see was red.

  "…as a husband should a wife, and forsaking all others—"

  "Aye. Aye, mon. Get on with it," Hugh barked.

  Och, she wanted to kick him!

  She didn’t need such a potent reminder that he did not want her.

  "McCross," Jamie rumbled, taking a step toward Hugh.

  Catriona glanced back at her brother, and then to Hugh, watching unblinkingly as the two men glared at one another. Oh, how she dearly wished they would not quarrel, not now with her literally tied to Hugh.

  Hugh gave a mighty sigh.

  Father Donovan cleared his throat and continued, at a much quicker pace, and soon their vows were said, troths given, and—Catriona took a deep breath and looked on her husband with apprehension—she was now Catriona McCross, the unwanted wife of a highland mercenary.

  Hugh made that startlingly clear as he pulled his hand free from the bindings, shaking loose until the strip of plaid fell free and likewise slipped from Catriona's hand to the wooden floor of the kirk. Hugh started from the kirk with Alaric at his side, Catriona staring after him in disbelief.

  "Make sure the horses have been watered and fed, for we will'na stop until we absolutely have to. If we travel wisely we can be home by morn…" His words faded away, their brisk pace quickly took them out of earshot and soon from sight.

  Catriona swallowed against the lump rising in her throat. She wasn’t sure why it was there to begin with. She cared naught for the man, so why did it sting so badly as she watched him walk away as he just had? Why had it bothered her that her groom was not present at their wedding? For all the presence he had presented, his mind was completely elsewhere.

  In the next instant, she found herself blinking back tears as she stared out the open kirk door, and then she folded into Jamie's arms as he wrapped her in a tight embrace.

  "Why'd you have to leave that abbey?" he asked with woe. "I'd no wished you to wed a mon who does'na love you."

  Catriona shook her head against his hard chest. She didn’t know now. She didn’t even know if her efforts and sacrifice had served a purpose.

  She surely had not expected this.

  That's what happens to errant lasses who do'na mind, her mother's words came back to her. Catriona remembered looking at her parents from the top of the wooden counter in the keep's kitchens where her father had plopped her down and dried her tears after she had fallen from a shelf she had climbed.

  She had never done well with taking commands.

  And she was certain her husband would have more than a few she would not adhere to.

  Jamie sighed and she listened to the rattle in his breast before he pushed her from him and held her at arm's length.

  "I've already told him you're to have a contingent of my men at your disposal. Use them if you’ve a need," he said.

  Catriona blinked. "A contingent?" She smiled for the first time today as the words tumbled from her lips.

  Jamie gave her a knowing look. "Try no to be too troublesome and do'na get my men injured for naught. They shall—" he stopped and cleared his throat, a smile itching the corners of his lips, "be under Gilbert's command. Our cousin begged to leave my teaching so he might look after you for a while. I believe he fears for you."

  Catriona returned his wry smile.

  "I shall have to speak with the McCross about furthering the lad's training whilst Gilbert resides in McCross Keep." Jamie sighed hard with a shake of his head. "He's not come far under my instruction, so mayhap Hugh can bring him to heel."

  "I am certain that news shall delight my husband."

  Jamie snorted. "Och, imp. I take back what I said. You’ve my leave to give that blackguard hell."

  Catriona laughed as she and Jamie started from the kirk steps and into warm sunshine.

  Bright daylight hit her, and Catriona felt a burst of warmth from the roots of her hair traveling down her body to her toes. She closed her eyes and inhaled the crisp, clean Highland air, relishing the moment of tranquility for all its worth. Spring was in the air. Gone were the days of cold and stone walls of the abbey. No more snow and ice. She could feel the sun warming her skin at her leisure.

  She sighed contentedly, wondering if Hugh had a garden at his keep.

  "I’ll come in the spring," Jamie said quietly.

  Catriona pulled from him to turn and face her brother. Although they were half-siblings some might speculate that they didn't ken the circumstances of her birth, close as they were. Jamie had cared for and looked out for her as a brother should since the day she was born to a widow living on the lands of a laird who did not wish to wed again. Even for love.

  She started to speak, but the squee of excitement ringing out across the courtyard forced Catriona around instead.

  "I'm packed, Laird Jamie," came the whooping cry from a plush, tottering young woman rushing from the keep toward them. The lass had a bag tosse
d over her shoulder and ran with the ends of her skirts swooshing. She hurried as though she feared being left behind when they had not yet begun to leave.

  "Is that Bess?" Catriona asked without pulling her stare from the maid.

  "Aye," Jamie said with a hint of mischief in his voice. "She's going with you, too. As your maidservant. A lady should no be withoot a good maid."

  Catriona turned to laugh at Jamie, the woo-hooing Bess still bounding toward them. God bless poor addlepated Bess. "Hugh shall be most happy to receive her pledge of service in his household, I'm sure."

  "And look," Jamie said. "Here he comes now." The glower in Jamie's expression led her stare to her husband, crossing the path leading to the kirk. Alaric was gone from his side now, and a swarm of blue and silver plaid had erupted at Hugh's back.

  Catriona didn’t bother to suppress her laugh. Hugh looked of a temper as he tromped toward them. He certainly looked ready to be entertained by Bess's pledge.

  "Lady Catriona!" Bess squealed as she closed the gap between them and smothered Catriona in her arms.

  Catriona gave a light chuckle and patted the young woman's back. She remembered Bess as a child—for whatever reason that image stuck in her mind—but how the girl had changed since last she had come home from the abbey.

  Bess was a girl yet, as she had not quite reached her sixteenth year, being seven years younger than Catriona herself.

  "'Tis so good to see you, Bess. Laird Jamie has told me you are to be my maidservant in Laird Hugh's home."

  Bess clapped excitedly. The girl had the body of a young woman, but her mind was that of a simple child despite her ability to function with over-exuberance in her tasks, often completed in half the time of a normal servant and with much more precision as well.

  She stopped her clapping at Hugh's approach. "Is that him?" Bess asked.

  "Catriona," Hugh called as he approached. "We are ready. You should say your goodbyes and hurry yourself to the baggage wain."

  Before Catriona could respond, Bess rounded on Hugh and planted herself between him and her mistress, bringing Hugh to a sudden halt. "Laird Hugh," she said, thrusting her hands to her wide hips. "I, Bess," she said with much enthusiasm, "do so swear my fealty to serve your house with dignity and honor—"