“The lasses are but eighteen summers, Yer Grace,” Iain said carefully, buying time to order his thoughts.
“A perfect age for marriage,” the king dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Ye may go now. I expect ye back directly after the wedding.”
Iain turned to depart before he said something that would cost his family a great deal more than an arranged marriage,but before he got out the door, the king spoke behind him. “Oh, I almost forgot. I’ll be telling Laird Matheson that his heir can choose which lass he wishes to wed. He is the man, after all.”
This day could not get worse. Iain clenched his teeth with a ferocity that made pain dance across his jaw, but he forced a nod before exiting the solar with his thoughts slamming around his head, and his gaze toward the ground. How would he explain this to Marion? To Royce? To the lasses themselves? They would view it as a betrayal—and perhaps it was—but there was no choice.
He looked up and smiled. There was his wife, his love. Marion would make it all better. As their gazes met, he drank her in. Her pale hair flowed enticingly over her shoulders, and she wore a green gown that matched her lovely eyes. He’d dreamed of her welcome—her soft smile, the way she’d run her fingers through his hair and kiss him tenderly. Desire stirred, but when her gaze flashed, not with joy but disappointment, his passion became a sinking sensation.
“I cannot believe you would agree to those demands!” she hissed under her breath before turning sharply from him and rushing away.
Heat instantly infused his neck and face. “And I kinnae believe ye’re still eavesdropping at doors after all the trouble it’s brought to ye all these years!” he called to his wife’s departing figure.
Marion pushed open the heavy oak door to their bedchamber with more force than necessary, satisfaction flaring briefly as it struck the wall with a satisfying thud. She swept inside and stared with frustration and disappointment at the bath she’d had drawn for Iain when she’d seen him ride into the inner courtyard of the king’s castle.
Oh, how she had missed him, dreamed of him, and longed for his return! She’d been so eager to see him that she’d gone to the king’s antechamber when Iain had not come to their bedchamber first, so she could see him the moment the king was done speaking to him. Eavesdropping! How dare he accuse her of her old bad habit. She had not been eavesdropping! She’d not made one step toward pressing her ear to the king’s solar door. She could not help it if the men had been speaking loudly.
The heavy thud of Iain’s footsteps against the hardwood reached her, and she stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest and did not turn around to acknowledge him, though every fiber of her being urged her to turn around and throw herself in her husband’s warm and loving embrace, to feel his solid strong arms around her, to nestle her face against the wall of his muscled chests. Not to mention, she could sense his presence behind her like a gathering storm.
She frowned, trying to recall the last time they’d quarreled. She had to cast her mind back a great many years to remember a genuine disagreement, and not just one of them irritating the other. It had been about Elena. Of course it had! Any actual disagreement they’d ever had after their first bumpy year of marriage had always involved one of their three children, and even though Royce, Brus, and Elena were all now married with children of their own, if Marion and Iain ever disagreed now, it was still over one of their children. The last quarrel had been when Marion had taken Elena’s side in an argument with her husband, Rolland, and Iain had taken Rolland’s.
“Sassenach.”
Iain’s voice, smooth as silk despite his advancing years, still sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine. She was determined to ignore the desire only her husband had ever sparked in her. With that in mind, she moved to the washing basin and splashed cold water on her face to cool her yearning.
“I can feel yer displeasure from here, lass,” Iain said, his footsteps soft against the rushes as he approached her. “Will ye nae at least look at me? I’ve been gone so long.”
“I’m very aware how long you’ve been gone,” she replied, voice tight. “So imagine my utter surprise when, in the very first moments of your return, you go straight to the king to make plans that affect our family without consulting with me at all. You always say we’re a team!”
His hands settled gently on her shoulders. The familiar weight of them, the strength she had relied upon through years of hardship and joy alike, made her heart ache despite her anger. “Marion,” he murmured. His breath tickled the sensitive skin of her neck. “The king demanded my presence, just as he demanded my agreement to his plans. Ye and I are a team.” He placed an enticing kiss on her neck. Heat pooled in her belly and tightened it. “I missed ye,mo ghraidh.”
Her body responded to his touch and his calling her ‘my love’, though she knew her husband was a master negotiator. It was why the king relied upon him so much, after all. Despite her determination not to soften toward him before gaining his agreement not to relent to an arranged marriage for one of their granddaughters, she felt herself weakening, with the heat of him so close and the length of him, solid as oak, pressed behind her. For a moment, she leaned back into his embrace, allowing herself the comfort of his presence after the lonely nights of his absence. His arms encircled her waist, pulling her tightly against the hard plane of his chest as his lips continued their gentle assault along the column of her throat.
“I missed you, too,” she murmured, her voice husky and heavily laden with desire to her own ears. She turned slowly toward him and met his blue gaze full of love for her. He would see reason.This was her Iain. Her husband. The father of her children. The love of her life.But first, before she did the workto lead him to reason that might take a while, because he was a stubborn Highlander, she needed just one teensy tiny kiss for fortitude for marital battle. She rose on her tiptoes, intending to brush a gentle kiss to her husband’s lips, but as per his usual, since the day he’d first swept into her life over thirty years ago and told her he was to wed her by edict of her king, the gentle kiss turned quickly to one that stole her breath, curled her toes, and set her body to flames.
Iain’s lips moved over hers, massaging, claiming, fueling her desire for him, and she found her hands threading through his hair even as his came to her bottom. As visions of throwing off her clothes entered her mind, so did the memory of his emerging from the king’s chamber. She could not let desire lead her in this critical moment. She had to be strategic, as any good leader knew.
She pulled back gently and set a palm above her husband’s thundering heart, pleased to know he was as affected by their kiss as she was. “Husband,” she said, sweetly, resisting the urge to frown when a wary look darkened his blue gaze. “Why did you agree to the king’s demand, rather than find a way to circumvent it?”
“I did nae have a choice, lass.”
She bristled at that. “There’s always a choice, and if you recall, Royce promised our granddaughters he would not force arranged marriages upon them, and he did soaftersecuring our agreement in the matter. We gave our word, we agreed, and then he gave them his word.” She wanted to smile triumphantly at her brilliant first strike, but gloating would not aid her negotiations.
Iain pressed his lips together in a hard line, which most certainly was not the look of an opponent who understood he’d been bested with one blow. “Given ye likely had yer ear pressed firmly to the door, I’m sure ye heard the king threaten toseize MacLeod lands if I refused. Do ye wish to see our people homeless? Our family’s legacy turned to dust?”
“Don’t speak to me of legacy when you’re willing to sacrifice our granddaughters’ happiness for it!” Her hands balled into fists at her sides. “Does a MacLeod’s promise mean so little now?”
Iain’s face darkened. “The king’s word is law, Marion. Ye ken that better than most.”
“And what of your word to your son? To your granddaughters?” She moved to the window, staring out at the night-shrouded courtyard below, unable to look at him lest her resolve weaken.
“I gave my word to protect our clan above all else,” he said, his voice low and insistent. “Would ye have me risk everything—our lands, our people’s lives—for the romantic notions of two young lasses?”
Marion whirled to face him once more. “These are not mere ‘notions,’ husband. These are their lives—their bodies, their futures. You, of all people, should understand what it means to be forced to wed a stranger.” She regretted the words when hurt crossed his face, but then his expression hardened with resolve she knew so well from him.
“Here I thought our arranged marriage worked out rather well for both of us in the end,” he said.
“It did,” she agreed. “But many others with arranged marriages are not so lucky. Many women are forced to wed men who are cruel, abusive, and who dishonor their wedding vows. Women should have a voice in their fate.”
