Page 8 of Highlander’s Torn Bride

“Stranger things could happen,” Rob chuckled before his gaze slid back down to the small road beneath them, where the rest of their small party followed a road that would lead them down to the Gunn house. At the front of the line, dressed in soft pink that stood out so firmly against the green of the hills, was a woman riding in a small cart, a babe cradled in her arms. “I never thought lightning could strike at all.”

Alexander groaned. He missed the Rob of old, who had been a hopeless bachelor with more interest in fighting, hunting, and riding than in women. But marriage to Kenna Gordon, a dark-haired lass with sharp blue eyes and an even sharper tongue, had changed him. Those who saw the way that Rob looked at his wife and young son would say that it was a change for the better, for the marriage had grounded him in something other than his own wishful desires. But Alexander, who had been trapped between loving glances poorly hidden, endless flirtations, and not-so-quiet nights at camp, was not sure he would agree.

“How poetic. Hanging up your sword and taking up sonnets?” Alexander teased.

Rob flushed a bit and struck out, but Alexander ducked away, laughing.

“Just you wait, Alexander,” Rob said, shaking his fist at him, “I’ll see how you act once Lady Gunn gets her claws into you.”

Alexander laughed, riding down the hill to rejoin the party. No lass would ever have that sort of power over him, of that he was sure.

When he was a younger man, barely a man at all, he had thought that the lasses circling him simply wished for the delight of his company and a return of their affections. So, he had secretly began a courtship with a lass of his clan, entangling himself with her and feeling his heart begin to slip into her hands. That was when she had revealed herself, whispering her desire for social rise in the same breath that she has used to tell him of her love. Alexander’s heart had immediately hardened, pulling back within him before she could do any more damage. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to give her what she wished, it was that he hadn’t wanted to give anything to those who were only by his side so that they could receive.

Since then, he had been yet to find a woman that wanted nothing from him. Wealth, jewelry, favors, or silks—there was nothing that a woman hadn’t asked of him, bartering their time and attentions in exchange for their secret desire.

That, at least, was a plus for Lady Gunn: Alexander knew exactly why she was marrying him. The reason was not altogether romantic, but it was honest.

The honest intention was, right now, the only thing bolstering his courage for the upcoming nuptials. Alexander took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, thinking back to the introductory letters he and Lady Gunn had exchanged in an effort to ease the inevitable awkwardness of their first meeting. Alexander’s had been short and to the point, though he had done his best to at least fill the page with vague positives and hopes for the future. Lady Gunn’s missive, on the other hand, had been full of condescension and drama, expressing her anger at the situation and her high expectations for the life she would be given at his side. She had even signed the letter “Lady Gunn,” meaning that Alexander still did not even know the name of his betrothed, thereby defeating the very purpose of the letter. While he had hoped a few words from her would ease him, she had only wound him tighter.

The carts leading the way began to level out, and Alexander realized that they had reached the base of the hill. Gunns here and there were stopping what they were doing to stare with expressions of both curiosity and anger, and Alexander noticed Rob come up alongside him once more, his hand placed on the hilt of his sword. Alexander wished he could mimic the act, but he did not want to show the Gunns, of all people, his fear.

Alexander casually glanced here and there, lingering on each face for only a moment as he assessed who might be a threat to him or the handful of clansmen alongside him when a gruff voice called out, “Laird Mackay! Laird Fraser!”

The man greeting them was middle-aged, with brown hair peppered with gray and bright, green eyes. He sat proudly atop a Clydesdale—an imposing figure even though age had given him an ever so slight bulge to his stomach.

“Laird Gunn,” Alexander replied, riding over and reaching out to clasp the man’s arm, with Rob following to do the same.

“I trust that the journey went well?” he asked, dismounting and passing the reins into the waiting hands of a stable boy.

“As well as could be expected,” Alexander replied, mimicking the laird’s actions and wondering if he should thank the laird for having the sense not to lose his band of brigands upon the traveling group of royal loyalists. Instead, he forced his tongue to only respond with care to each question as he followed Laird Gunn to the house.

Alexander continued to scan the crowd, with no one catching his eye until he saw a cluster of men sitting to the side of the house, huddled around a small fire and relaxing as if it was a cold winter’s night and not a warm summer’s afternoon that was surely better occupied with chores around the property. Some of the men were old, and they held their gnarled hands out over the flames while small smiles formed the only upward stroke on their sagging faces. Others were young and unblemished. The rest of them were somewhere in between. They took turns glancing over to study the Mackays, likely trying to appraise who among the party they thought they could safely take up arms against if the wedding did not go well. Alexander returned the gesture, his eyes circling the fire to examine each of their builds and expressions before his eyes caught on a dark figure.

Gavin.

Alexander thought the name like it was a curse. Alexander didn’t usually go out of his way to recognize a simple thief and criminal, but Gavin had always been an exception. Years ago, rumors had reached the gates of Dirlot that claimed that the usual Gunn rustlers had taken up a new, deadly sword. Alexander hadn’t the sense to believe it and had brazenly made camp at the border’s edge when he and a handful of his men were traveling to collect rents. The Gunns had come upon their camp quickly and quietly, and Alexander had barely pulled his sword from its sheath before a man with hair and eyes as dark as a moonless sky had come upon him, his sword flashing through the air with deadly speed and force.

Alexander had gotten excited, joining in the fight with a vigor that he usually reserved for playful spars with other noble boys that had been raised with a sword in hand. Every thrust was countered, every weakness pressed upon. Before either of them had taken the upper hand, though, the Gunn party called for a retreat. Though Alexander had tried to stop Gavin’s escape, the lad had kicked his feet out from beneath him, giving him just enough time to disappear into the forest.

Alexander’s blood was pulsing, his fingers itching to pull his blade and finish the fight that he had been thinking about for years, when he noticed that Gavin’s gaze was fixed determinedly across the yard and not, as he would have hoped, on him. Alexander, pouting just a bit, turned to see what was more important than coming face to face with an enemy not yet conquered. When he saw what had captured Gavin’s gaze, though, he immediately understood.

The woman was standing in the doorway of the house, her light green skirt filling the entire frame as she spoke with another woman. Her hair was like polished copper, shining in the sun even though most of it had been pinned back. Alexander felt a strange urge to reach out and remove the pins, to let the tendrils of her hair spill like molten metal down her back. Green eyes sparkled like grass dotted with morning dew and her smile, which was currently directed at another woman standing beside her, was the sort of smile that one could not help craving.

If this woman wasn’t Lady Gunn, then Alexander was prepared to bring ruin to his clan by stealing this bonny lass away and marrying her instead.

If he happened to be stealing away Gavin’s woman, it would be all the better.

As the men approached, the woman turned to look at him, her complexion looking more tepid than it had a moment prior. The woman beside her gave her a slight shove, and the beauty came out to greet the men in the yard.

“Laird Alexander Mackay,” Laird Gunn said, taking the woman’s hand and leading her ahead of him so that she was face to face with Alexander, “may I present my daughter, Lady Margaret Gunn.”

“Lady Margaret,” Alexander said, testing the name on his lips and finding it to be not altogether displeasing, reached out and took her hand, pressing a soft kiss against it in greeting. But, as soon as his lips pulled away from her skin, she pulled her hand away. Alexander dropped his own hand back to his side, clenching it and releasing it as he tried to convince himself that it was nerves that had made her hand feel so rough in his.

“Laird Mackay,” she replied as she hid her hand into the folds of her skirt, preventing him from investigating the matter further.

“Feel free to call me Alexander,” he replied.

She smiled, but it was stiff and practiced. “If it please you, Laird Alexander.”