Her Accidental Highlander Husband (MacKinlay Clan) Page 9

  “Have you ever ridden bareback?” he asked out of the blue.

  “Once or twice. Not since I grew up.”

  He nodded. “There’s another reason I wanted you to become familiar with our lands. If ever there’s a threat, if Ridley were to return to arrest you, I want you to be ready to run and hide. You may not have a chance to saddle a horse. If ever I give you the word, I want you to take a horse and come here, to this place. There are plenty of trees for cover. Then get in the river and walk as far as ye can downstream. That will throw the dogs off your scent.”

  She swallowed and looked around at her surroundings. The perfect day dimmed as the sun went behind a cloud. In the shadows of the forest she imagined faces watching her, ready to attack.

  She shivered but nodded again as Cameron gave her more instructions for getting to safety.

  Eventually, they reached the place he’d mentioned where they could eat.

  He helped her down and took her arm to guide her to a flat area near the river. He spread out a plaid and dropped a tied linen of food in the middle. She settled on the blanket, still looking over her shoulder in case Ridley and the hounds were coming for her. While Cameron went to get them water, she opened the linen to prepare their meal.

  “I need to apologize to you,” he said as he sat across from her on the edge of the blanket.

  She waited for him to say more, having no idea what he’d done or why he’d bother to apologize for it.

  “For last night,” he explained.

  She raised her head to look at him. She wasn’t sure if he was mocking her. His sincere eyes studied her face.

  Her training kicked in automatically, and she took a cautious approach.

  “It’s your right to drink if you wish. I have no say in the matter.” She knew better than to nag or pester her husband about anything. The duke had made it clear that a husband had the final word, and she had no right to speak her displeasure.

  “I think you have a say. If ye do not like it, you should feel free to tell me so.”

  She looked away, and he reached for her. She winced and drew back involuntarily, making him frown. Moving slower, he reached out again and took her chin between his fingers so he could tilt her face up.

  “You spend too much time looking down. I like to see your eyes.” His grin made her grin back. He made her feel like a young girl again, flirting with the stable groom. Back when life had been simple and it was safe to make eye contact with men.

  “You were not so in your cups you couldn’t find your bed or get out of it the next morning,” she pointed out.

  “Still, if you feel the urge to share your displeasure, I’d certainly listen.” He winked at her.

  Was this some kind of trick? It was as if he was luring her into a disagreement. She had spent the last five years staying clear of such, knowing she’d never win, and losing was more than she was willing to risk.

  “I have no complaints.” Instinct had her looking away again, but he tugged her chin up once again. She watched his eyes, expecting anger, but instead she saw what looked like disappointment.

  Surely he wasn’t upset that she hadn’t nagged him or started an argument. She needed to reassure him.

  “In fact,” she said, “I hope you had a pleasant evening with your men.”

  “Aye, it was…pleasant.” He definitely seemed disappointed. He turned his attention to the food and looked out over the river.

  “Have I done something to upset you?” she asked when she could stand the silence no more.

  “Hell, no.” His surprise startled her. He placed his hand on her knee, and a thrill shot through her. “You’ve done nothing.” His voice was now calmer. “It’s just that we are strangers, you and me. I’m not sure how to change that. All the women—that is to say—the few women I’ve known…um…intimately, were lasses I’d known my whole life.”

  She nodded. He couldn’t have been more of a stranger when they’d wed, and she’d been certain he was far from chaste. She’d seen the way the serving girls smiled at him. He was a handsome man. She knew she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.

  “Being strangers as we are, it is expected that we would have differences of opinions. Ours isn’t a love match, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make the best of the marriage. This is your home now, and I want you to be comfortable here. Which means you’ll have to tell me if you don’t like something.”

  “Of course. I understand.” She did understand—not that it mattered. She would never complain to or about the man who had saved her life. As he said, it wasn’t a love match. He hadn’t wanted to get married at all, yet he was being very kind to her. She would not be so ungrateful as to make him change his lifestyle for her.

  Kenna might have words freely with Lachlan, but that was different. They were in love. Kenna knew well enough it was safe to pester him.

  “Good. Feel free to give me a good blasting if I need it.” He nodded, and she smiled in return.

  But she knew that would never happen. Not in a thousand years.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cam knew Mari was intelligent enough to understand what he was telling her. But he could tell by her easy smile that she had no intention of ever starting a fight with him.

  A good argument with no harm to one another, where they could make up happily afterward, was the easiest way to prove to Mari that she was truly safe with him. That even if he was angry at her, he wouldn’t touch her harshly.

  But that seemed unlikely to happen anytime soon.

  Meanwhile, her letter sat heavily in his sporran.

  When he’d awoken to find her gone and a letter with his name waiting on the table, he’d had a moment of panic, thinking she’d left him.

  But the words he’d found on the page had given him a very different type of panic.

  He’d read the letter three or four times. Enough to burn the words into his memory.

  Dear Cameron,

  Please forgive my cowardice in writing when I should be brave enough to stand before you and speak these words. I’m afraid, for now at least, it’s the only way for me to communicate without fear.

  While I don’t know you well, I know already that you are nothing like the duke, and as such you wouldn’t harm me. As I’ve said, I know it, yet my body is set to protect itself whether the danger is real or imagined. Please don’t find offense when I flinch away from your touch.

  In truth, I enjoy your touch very much. Especially that of your lips. And the way your tongue caressed mine was also quite enjoyable.

  At the memory of her bold words, his cock throbbed excitedly, making his kilt move. As if the beast wished to throw his garment aside all on its own. He let out a groan.

  “Are you well?” she asked.

  “Aye, a bit of a cramp in my leg.” He shifted his leg to hide the bulge. A bit of a cramp was close enough to accurate.

  The rest of her letter had been mild enough. She mentioned her hope that she would one day be able to tell him her thoughts in person, and closed with her name.

  He hoped for her to be able to speak to him as well. Letters were fine for a start, but eventually they’d need to talk face-to-face. It was the reason he’d invited her out with him this morning. To encourage her to yell at him for his actions the night before.

  How would his plan work if she refused to cooperate?

  He’d just have to try harder to vex her. It was his experience that he was a natural when it came to annoying women. Surely his wife would find that out soon enough.

  That night when he came in to go to bed, he kicked off his boots in the middle of the room, then tossed his clothing around as well. Their chamber was quite a mess when he finally slid under the blanket next to her.

  She made not a peep about it. She didn’t even give him a dirty look or so much as frown at the mess. Maybe she was a
messy person and it didn’t bother her.

  “Did you throw your clothes about when you lived in London?” he asked. “I guess it was nice having a servant to clean up after you.”

  She shook her head and looked away. “No. I had to be scrupulously neat. Plus, my maid was my only friend. It made no sense to cause her more work unnecessarily. I always cleaned up after myself.”

  Another attempt to anger her had failed. She must have the patience of a saint.

  He thought of changing the topic to her letter, but the way she clenched the blanket proved she was nervous enough in his presence. She’d written to him precisely so she wouldn’t have to speak the words. He’d not force her.

  “Tell me about your friend,” he asked instead, to get her talking about something easier. If she wasn’t going to yell at him for his rudeness or ask him to kiss her, they could at least keep the conversation flowing about something neutral.

  He’d wake early and tidy the room before she had the chance to clean up after him.

  “My maid’s name was Lucy, and she was always there for me when I—” She stopped talking abruptly and looked as if she didn’t know what to say next.

  “It’s fine. You can tell me anything, and I’ll not judge you for it. I promise.”

  “My apologies.” She smiled the awkward moment away. “She was always there for me, no matter what I needed. Whether it be to mend a dress that had gotten torn or to sit with me when I had trouble sleeping.”

  Cam knew there was more to her words. He wanted to ask how often her dresses were torn and why she had trouble sleeping, but to do so would mean pushing her into telling him something she obviously wasn’t ready to tell.

  Not that he was so sure he would be ready to hear. The more he heard, the more he hated her late husband and the terrible things he’d done to cause her to live in the shadows.

  He pulled her close as she continued to tell him carefully selected stories of her maid. She didn’t hesitate to come into his arms and even snuggled against his chest to get comfortable.

  It was progress.

  He’d never had such a difficult time speaking to another person, but he’d not give up. This was too important. He would one day claim victory over her demons. He would never be able to love her, but he’d damn well treat her better than the duke. Her dead husband would not win this battle.

  …

  Mari woke at the sound of someone passing by outside her door. For a moment in the darkness she’d forgotten where she was and thought it was the duke coming for her in a fit of anger.

  But he was gone. He couldn’t hurt her anymore.

  The night before, she had started looking for the letter when she’d heard Cameron’s footsteps approaching. Abandoning her search, she’d jumped into bed and waited for him to mention it.

  Instead, he’d thrown his boots about and just held her.

  Had he found and read her letter, or had it perhaps fallen behind the stand?

  Thirsty, she slid out from bed to get a drink and to take another look for the letter. The moonlight came in through the window on that side of the room, so she hoped she might find it.

  If she did, she would toss it into the fire. She was silly to write such things.

  Quietly, she made it around the corner at the foot of the bed and then tripped over some large, heavy object on the floor. She went down so hard she didn’t have time to stop her fall and landed on her chin and cheek. She tasted blood as it welled from the corner of her lip.

  Her ankle throbbed from hitting the thing on the floor, which she realized was Cameron’s carelessly discarded boot.

  “Mari! Mari?” he called anxiously from the bed.

  “Down here,” she muttered as she pushed herself up to a seated position.

  “What happened?” he asked as he came to crouch next to her.

  “I tripped.”

  “Tripped?” He took the boot she handed him. “Bloody hell. I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Except she wasn’t fine. Her jaw and cheek were on fire with the burn of a blossoming bruise. Her lip was swelling, too.

  “I shouldn’t have left my boots like that. I’m not normally messy, I just—” He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he ran his hand over his face. “What were ye doing up in the middle of the night?”

  “I was thirsty.” She hoped that wouldn’t make him angrier. It was clear he was mad, he just hadn’t directed it toward her. It seemed he was put out with himself instead.

  Still, her hands shook in fear as he hurried toward her. She prepared for the pain in her arm, the burn in her shoulder from being yanked to her feet. Or maybe he would grab her up by her hair.

  But he only leaned down with compassion in his eyes.

  “Let me put you back in bed and I’ll get you something to drink.” He picked her up as if she weighed nothing and settled her gently on her side of the bed. “Did you want water? I could get you tea, or maybe a whisky would be good.”

  “Water is fine. Thank you.” Whisky would have taken the edge off the pain, but it would also burn the open wound on her lip.

  “I’m sorry. This is all my fault. I’m such an oaf.”

  He lit a candle and carried it back with him, along with her glass of water. “Bloody hell,” he blurted when the light revealed the extent of her injuries. “You’re bleeding. I’ll run down to the loch to get ice-cold water.”

  “There’s no need. I’ll be fine.” This was nothing compared to what the duke had done when he’d found disfavor in her actions. “It’s nothing.”

  “Nothing? Your face is a mess, and look at your ankle. It’s swollen.”

  “I assure you, I’ve had worse injuries and healed just fine.” She’d said it to put his mind at ease, but her words had the opposite effect.

  She could feel the rage coming off him, yet he spoke quietly. “You’ve been injured worse than this, on purpose, at the hands of your duke.”

  It wasn’t a question, but she nodded. She wanted to add that he hadn’t been her duke, but kept quiet.

  He stood and turned away. She thought he might leave, but he went to the pitcher and came back with a wet cloth to clean the blood from her lip. She hissed when he pressed it to the cut, and she saw him go pale in the low light.

  “I’m making it worse. I’ll go get someone to help. I can’t stand to hurt you more than I already have.”

  “No. Please. Don’t wake anyone. It’s not so bad, really. I can do it myself.” She reached for the cloth, and he handed it over. She dabbed at the cut and he brought her a new cloth. Eventually it stopped bleeding, and she reached for the glass to drink, careful not to reopen the wound.

  Touching her ankle, she knew it would be stiff and hard to walk on the next day, but it wasn’t broken. A mild sprain, she guessed. She’d had the opportunity to diagnose many of her own injuries over the years.

  She lay back, and Cameron was right there to help her. “Mari, I’m such a clod. Can you forgive me?”

  “Of course. It wasn’t your fault. It’s your room. You’re free to put your boots wherever you wish.”

  “It’s our room,” he corrected as he gently put his arm around her. “And you have every right to be angry with me. In fact, I would very much like it if you yelled at me. Please just tell me what a bugger I am.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “It was an accident. I know you didn’t leave them there on purpose to cause me harm. Let’s go to sleep. I’ll be fine in the morning.”

  It was an odd experience having a man care for her to the point of doting. She’d never imagined such a thing. Her father had been more interested in a strategic marriage for her than her happiness or well-being. And of course the duke… He definitely hadn’t cared about her needs.

  But Cameron was still fluttering about the room in a futile attempt to soothe
her and ease her pain. Pain he hadn’t even caused.

  She would need to be more cautious in the future, since her husband wasn’t a tidy person. Funny, he’d seemed quite orderly before. In fact, the first time she was in his room it had been extremely neat.

  Perhaps he’d been expecting company that day. Then she’d barged into his life and forced him into a marriage he didn’t want.

  He eventually settled into bed beside her and blew out the candle. “I’m sorry, Mari. I’ll not do anything so foolish again.”

  “As I said, it’s your room. I’m naught but an unwanted guest forced upon you by circumstance.”

  The bed moved, and she heard a sound in the darkness that sounded like laughter.

  “It’s true I never wished to marry, but I’d hardly call ye an unwanted guest. I definitely want you.”

  She felt warmth against her palm as his fingers interlaced with hers in an intimate way. Her face felt hot for a different reason, and she was grateful for the cover of darkness.

  Mixed in with the tangle of physical feelings she’d never experienced, she also felt safe. This large man, whose body was honed for violence, made her feel protected and cherished.

  The night she’d left London fleeing for her life, she’d only wanted to be safe. But now she thought she might also have the chance to be happy as well.

  She’d often wondered what she’d done to earn such a terrible punishment as being married to the devil himself. Perhaps it wasn’t a punishment, but a payment of sorts, in advance.

  And perhaps it was now time to reap her earned reward.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Despite Mari’s promise the night before, she wasn’t fine in the morning, and Cam felt wretched. His wife looked like she’d lost a battle with a rival clan. The left side of her face was bruised and swollen. Her eye was blackened, and a dark scab sealed the cut on her lip.

  When she got out of bed on her own after refusing his assistance, she stumbled and sat back down. Her ankle wasn’t up for holding her weight.

  He moaned at seeing her in pain. Pain he’d caused with his stupid attempt to bait her into an argument. He’d only wanted her to get mad at him and let down her guard. Instead he’d hurt her.