Page 18 of Highlander’s Torn Bride

“Everything that comes out of Rob Fraser’s mouth is a strange thing to say,” Alexander answered as he mounted his horse. “Are you ready to leave?”

“Aye,” Margaret replied, casting one look back at the house, her gaze moving up to a window, where two young girls stared down at them.

“Who…” Alexander started, though he stopped when Margaret turned back to him, her face pale and mortified.

“Oh, them? They are nobody. Well, they are the ones that braided my hair this morning,” Margaret rushed to say, her fingers reaching to curl around a lock of copper waves, as she seemed to do so often, but finding none free from the very braid she was describing. “I’m sure they just are hoping to see if their work is holding up. Shall we go?”

Alexander nodded slowly, eyeing his new bride. There was something else there, hidden beneath the surface that she was trying so desperately to hide from him. He wanted to push into her now, to rip the truth away so he could have some peace and understanding for once, but he let the matter drop, turning away to whistle down the line of carts to signal their departure instead. Prying away her defenses and forcing himself inside would only hurt her. He could only hope that with time, and a bit of patience, she would one day open her gates to him.

As the party rode away from Braemore, Alexander did his best to keep them moving at a quick pace. It would take them two days to get back to Dirlot, even with the carts heavily weighed down with Margaret’s, and a bit of Ann’s, things. While this made the trip as a whole a fairly simple affair, it would be far more challenging to cross far enough into Mackay lands before nightfall, where the whole party could camp safely. He did not doubt that Laird Gunn would be reining in the men he usually sent at Mackay travelers with alacrity, but that was not enough to comfort Alexander and his men after so many years of nighttime attacks and murdered friends.

So, while Alexander rushed up and down the line of riders and carts, ensuring that all were keeping a steady pace, he found it nearly impossible to maintain any sort of conversation with Margaret. Thankfully, his brother Jonah rode beside her and Ann. Jonah had always been high-spirited and excitable. With his shaggy blond hair that always looked unkempt, and his wide, dazzling smile that so often showed off his dimples, he so rarely ran into any consequences for being a bit too eager in a conversation. This meant that today, while the party rode along, Jonah was able to barrage both Margaret and Ann with endless questions, each more outlandish than the last, without either of them hesitating to answer. Alexander was of half a mind to lecture his brother on proper decorum in holding a conversation, but he was far too appreciative of being able to return to the group just as a new question was being asked, meaning he had a chance at participating in the conversation.

Of course, after a few hours of travel, he realized that even when given an opportunity to participate in the conversation, he was incredibly unable to focus on most of what was being said. Whenever Margaret was answering whatever inane question had come to Jonah’s mind, such as her favorite season or color of hair ribbon, he found himself paying more attention to the way her lips formed the words than to the words themselves as subtle flashes to the night before kept coming to him.

He had gone into her room last night with the intention of being patient, to leave her be until he knew more of who she was, as well as her level of comfort with him. But then she kissed him, pushing aside his sense with nothing more than the feel of her pink lips against his. From there, though, he had taken it too far, and he felt that she had been perfectly within her rights to push him away. It would have been better, though, not to know the feel of her if he was going to continue to resist. Because now all he could think about was the firmness of her skin beneath his fingers, and how desperately he wanted to discover her softer places.

Blood was pulsing beneath him, and he quickly set his hand over himself to conceal his arousal. If she looked over at him now, while he was in this state, and caught his eye, he would have no choice but to throw her from her horse and take her then and there. And then who would he be to lecture his brother about proper decorum?

“What about this then, ladies… what is something guaranteed to make you shed a tear?”

“Shed a tear?” Ann asked, raising an eyebrow. “An unusual question with an answer that I canna imagine gives ye much understanding of us.”

“On the contrary,” Jonah said. “I’ll ken what to do in the future to prevent it, if tis within my power.”

Alexander snorted at his brother’s obvious flirting, but neither Ann nor Margaret seemed to notice.

“Well, then if ye must ken, I always cry when I think of my family and miss their company,” Ann said, allowing Jonah the opportunity to promise her his assistance whenever she wished to go visit them. Ann rejected the offer, saying her family was more likely to disown her than appreciate a visit if she showed up on their doorstep with a Mackay in tow.

While Jonah countered her argument with pouts, pleadings, and his belief that the marriage between Margaret and Alexander superseded such concerns, Alexander turned to Margaret and asked, “And what of you? What should I expect to make you cry?”

“On that point, I must disappoint you. I choose not to cry, ever, due to a vow I made to myself some time ago,” Margaret said firmly, her green eyes flashing with conviction.

“A vow not to cry?” Alexander asked, raising his eyebrow. With her so quick to fall back upon her spoiled nature, he had half expected her to use tears as a weapon against the word no. It was not an uncommon method, and Alexander had known several women who could draw tears faster than he could draw a sword. “But why?”

A melancholic look settled over her expression, reducing the brightness of her face despite the intensity of the afternoon sun. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, but then shut it again while she straightened in her saddle and fixed a new, stern expression on her face. “Crying makes my face awfully red and puffy. Plus, tear streaks always ruin my powder. I would forgive both if more people found tears endearing, but I ken several who find it silly.”

Alexander sighed, wishing he hadn’t pressed for an answer.

“Excuse me, all of you,” Margaret said. “I am going to go to one of the carts so I can fetch a different bonnet. This one is far too hot.”

Alexander watched her fall back. Jonah quickly told Ann to stay with Alexander and to relax, and he fell back to help Margaret with the chore. Ann thanked him before turning her fierce stare upon him, making Alexander shift uncomfortably in his saddle. He was tempted to reach for his sword, for the woman terrified him. Margaret had some sort of strange strength about her, so he could only imagine what Ann, who almost never gave a soft expression and who was significantly larger than his petite wife, could do.

“Tis not the reason, you ken, for her not crying,” Ann said.

“Oh?”

Ann’s gaze shifted back to Margaret, and Alexander couldn’t help but to do the same, watching as she pointed out a trunk to Jonah, who was clambering awkwardly through a cart. Now that she seemed to think no one was looking at her, her look of melancholy was back.

“She does not cry,” Ann said softly, so she could not be overheard, “because the last time she did, she was at the lowest point of her life. She only wanted to rise from there, and so she decided that the next tear she shed would be one of joy.”

Alexander’s eyes flitted back to Ann, examining her face for earnestness. In the woman’s eyes, which were still firmly upon her friend and lady, there was a deep sense of sadness. It would be an unusual response, he decided, if the words were not true. And, in that case, it only deepened the mystery of Margaret Gunn.

“I’m only telling ye, mind ye, because the lass is too foolish to help herself and tell it to ye true on her own,” Ann said.

“What was her lowest point?” Alexander asked after a few moments of quiet, unable to contain himself when he had, perhaps, the one who knew Margaret best in front of him. And, he was starting to realize, Ann wanted him to understand Margaret more than Margaret did.

Ann looked back to him; her face now touched by a small, pained smile. Alexander was sure that she was going to tell him something important when he heard a loud collection of shouts and the crash of metal coming from behind them.