What had become of that forbidding and resolute Gabriel MacLachlan who had brought her to this accursed place against her will? Who was this stranger in his place who had spoken to her in such low, calming tones that she’d felt as lulled as a babe? Aye, she had acted like one, too, walking over to sit in that chair as obediently as a lamb, though she’d considered at first bolting out the door and down the stairs.
That would have led Gabriel, poor Donella with that hairy mole on her chin, and Euna with her pale eyes on a merry chase, but instead she’d taken a seat as he’d spoken so soothingly of Rhona and Keira—not his daughters at all, but his nieces!
So he wasn’t a widower, those poor girls tragically become orphans after the death of both of their parents, which meant Gabriel had inherited MacLachlan Castle from his brother, Malcolm. In the span of a few moments, she had learned so much about him after he had scarcely uttered anything to her during the journey other than brusque commands!
What was he up to? What plot had he connived in that handsome head of his? No matter, she didn’t trust him any more than before he had come so unexpectedly into her room—och, notherroom! His sumptuous room that he’d surrendered to her, but for how long before he decided it was time to resume his occupancy and claim his marital rights?
“So that was it…” Magdalene murmured, suddenly certain that he meant to lure her into a false sense of security until he pounced upon her like a hungry cat toying with a mouse. Aye, he was even worse a brute than she’d ever imagined!
Here she had actually felt terrible that she had struck his injured shoulder when she rushed past him—an accident, truly—but she hadn’t been able to sit there a moment longer.
Not with him kneeling so close to her, her feet still tingling from the gentle pressure of his fingers, her senses overwhelmed by the masculine smell of him.
Not offensive in the least, but warm and strangely compelling, making her feel all shivery inside until she’d told herself she must regain her composure. Then he’d said something about having more time over the next week or so to grow comfortable with each other—by God, was the man as mad as she pretended to be?
She didn’t want to become comfortable with Gabriel! She didn’t want to be held against her will in Argyll! She wanted to return to the convent near Dumbarton as soon as she could convince him that taking her for his bride was the biggest folly of his life!
Magdalene paced furiously back to the other window and ignored the low tittering of Euna and Donella, who both seemed to be keeping an eye upon her as they righted the room.
She wished she’d done even more damage, especially now that everything had become clear to her. To think the low huskiness of Gabriel’s voice had lulled her—och, she was ashamed of herself!
She had already planned to redouble her efforts to thwart him after he’d seen her comforting Rhona, hence the wispy feathers strewn about the bed that her two stout jailers were attempting to gather. She couldn’t have Gabriel thinking that she possessed more clarity than should a young woman plagued by lunacy. Then she would never escape him or this wretched marriage that her brother had foisted upon her—
“I’ll never forgive you, Seoras,” Magdalene muttered, wishing no small amount of ill will upon him even as she found herself thinking about the look on Gabriel’s face when he’d entered the room.
He had stared at her almost as if seeing her for the first time, appearing almost dumbstruck, while she could not deny that her breath had caught, her heart leaping into her throat—
“Your cloak, Lady MacLachlan,” Euna’s voice broke into her racing thoughts. “Your husband returns.”
Aye, Magdalene heard his approaching footfalls and once again, her heart jumped, though in the next instant she berated herself for it. She tried to evade Euna wrapping the cloak around her shoulders, but Donella was right there to hold her by the arm and make her stand still.
“The sky’s as blue and clear as the finest spring day, but there’s a cool breeze left over from the storm. Dinna fight us, milady. It’s only your welfare that concerns us, aye, Euna?”
“Aye, and more’s the pity she has the MacLachlan family curse hanging over her head, the poor wretch. Mayhap that she’s lost her wits might spare her life, who’s tae say? Fate can be cruel or kind, so we’ll pray for the latter.”
Spare her life? Stunned, Magdalene almost blurted out a demand that the women tell her what curse they spoke of, but Gabriel was already at the door.
And not at all the Gabriel who had been there before in sweat-stained clothing and unkempt hair, but freshly bathed and dressed in a gold-trimmed tunic and fine leather boots that befitted the laird of the castle—undeniably taking Magdalene’s breath away.
If her heart had leapt before, now she felt it racing as he drew closer, the clean scent of him as compelling as the other but in a more startling way.
Truly, she had never beheld a finer-looking man than Gabriel MacLachlan, from the rugged planes of his freshly shaved face to his dark wet hair combed back and brushing his massive shoulders. She couldn’t tear her eyes from him—and it seemed his gaze was riveted upon her face as well.
And why wouldn’t it be? She had never felt herself blushing so furiously, which made him smile in a manner so boyish and pleased that she was almost certain that she’d imagined every brutish thing about him.
Almost.
The moment he reached out his hand to her, the spell was broken. Magdalene shrank back, telling herself fiercely that now, even more than ever before, she must act the lunatic bride. A hungry cat toying with a mouse, remember?
She knew her tactic had worked when he sobered as if she’d doused him with cold water, but strangely, she felt little satisfaction. Lord help her, what was coming over her? This man wasn’t a friend, but a foe!
With a sharp cry, Magdalene stomped on Euna’s foot and wrested free of Donella, only to find herself suddenly swept into Gabriel’s arms, though she wondered at once about his injury.
Had she just seen a flicker of pain? When she thought of how he’d pulled her from the fountain at the convent, and thrown her over his shoulder in her room, and lifted her onto a horse and off again so many times, no wonder his healing wound was plaguing him. Yet if he felt any discomfort, he gave no further sign of it as he glanced at the two women.
“Put her slippers on her, but carefully so you dinna hurt her. I dinna want her tae catch a chill from bare feet.”
At once his request was obliged, and now it was Magdalene who winced with no bandages to protect her skin from the slippers even though the leather was buttery soft.
