Page 5 of Claimed Highland Brides

A JOURNEY FRAUGHT

Daividh had been shocked when he laid eyes on the lassie. His body had gone simultaneously cold and hot and he’d felt dizzy. His fingers tingled with the need to touch, his trews felt too tight. But he tried to show nothing.

He had barely registered the presence of the other girl. His mind had been consumed with her untidy red curls, escaping haphazardly from beneath her cap. Her curiously intelligent large clear verdant gaze skewering him where he stood. Her slender frame came almost to his shoulders. If he wanted to kiss her, all he’d have to do was lower his head.

It angered him to feel this way about a stranger and consequently, he was short with her. For a moment, he’d both hoped and dreaded that she was the one he’d come for. Spending two days alone on the road with her would be a true test of his mettle. She was the laird’s niece and no doubt used to soft living. There could be no way she would even consider him.

It made him strangely bitter and bad-tempered. He was ashamed to admit that he took it out on her.

Now as they rode out of her compound, he briefly regretted his behavior but was helpless to think of a way to repair it without revealing his unfortunate reaction to her. He rode ahead, battling his demons, fighting his body’s instincts. On one hand, he wanted to turn his head back and smile at her, reassure her that they would arrive at her uncle’s without problems. On the other hand, he wanted to growl at her for agreeing to go with him without demur.

She was heading towards a betrothal? The laird had no sons. Who did he mean for her to marry? He felt a bolus of bitter bile in his throat as he thought about it.

Why am I so annoyed by this? Could it be because this is a waste of my time and skills?

Daividh nodded to himself, deciding that he had found his answer. He was a warrior, a mercenary, a soldier of war. It was not his job to fetch recalcitrant brides-to-be. Where was the groom? Why could he not fetch her himself?

Who is he?

Daividh found that that question burned him as deeply as the acid in his throat.

“Have ye met my betrothed? D’ye ken who he is?”

The question startled him in its unexpectedness. He turned to her, a sneer on his face. “Ye’re off tae wed a person whose name ye dinnae even ken?”

Her voluminous eyes, as vitally green as a freshly watered garden, stared at him with reproach. He could not look at her for too long for fear he might truly drown in them. He looked away, shaking his head. “Yer kin dinnae even tell me ye were betrothed. How was he tae tell me the identity of yer intended?”

She huffed a breath and he was tempted to look back at her and see her expression but he restrained himself. “Nae need frae all this rudeness. I was just asking.”

Daividh closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to get himself in hand. Ever since he’d come into her presence, he had felt off-kilter and disoriented, as if someone had hit him quite hard in the head with the hilt of a claymore. He was still reeling.

It was disconcerting.

It made him even more morose than he otherwise would have been. However, he was Daividh Campbell, the best warrior on Laird Dunavar’s payroll. He would not let his emotions rule him. Taking a deep breath and bracing himself for the impact of gazing upon her again, he turned and pasted a smile on his face. “Forgive me. Ye’re correct. There is no call fer me tae be rude. I must be more tired than I realized.”

Her mouth dropped open slightly as her eyes widened. “Oh...well...erm, that is good of ye to say. I did offer ye refreshment and rest.”

“Ye did. And please, I am nae trying tae blame ye for my ill-mannered oafish behavior. Just the opposite in fact. I am apologizing frae letting my fatigue affect my nature.”

Her lip quirked up on the left side, and he found his eyes drawn to the lushness of her mouth. “Are ye saying ye’re usually better behaved?”

“Aye. I am,” he said dazedly, his eyes still stuck on her mouth.

What is wrong with me?

He did not want to think that he might be desirous of having her for himself. Not when she’d just informed him that she was betrothed to someone else. For the first time, he understood the need and was grateful for the silent presence of the maid. If they had been alone, heaven only knew what he might have been tempted to do. The lure she represented to him was potent and unprecedented.

He shifted uncomfortably on his seat, trying to find a comfortable position in his hardened state. This will absolutely not do, he thought with despair.

Even without the prospect of her engagement hanging over them, he had nothing to offer her. It was an impossible dream and he had no idea why he should be having it at this time.

Why now? Why her?

Daividh had left his home in the lowlands at twelve years old, in search of fortune and adventure. He was one of six children, a middle child, with no prospects for an inheritance, no chance to join the clergy or apprenticeship, no chance to earn a living through study. That winter had been harsh and the land barely produced enough to keep them alive, let alone trade for other things they needed.

And so when the Watch came around looking for recruits, Daividh volunteered at once. His mother had cried many tears but his father stood stoic, knowing that it was the right thing to do. There was nothing for Daividh in Craigmuir, no hope for the future. Better he tried his fortunes elsewhere.

His time with the Watch had been short but instructive. He had learned to use a claymore, to track, and ride a horse. Pretty soon, the lure of adventure had him changing allegiance, becoming a sellsword for a liege lord on the promise of a share in the spoils of his raids. As his prowess increased, he moved on to lords, to lairds, and finally landed at Dunavar.