Page 21 of His Secret Highland Bride

He needed time to think, and he couldn’t do that when her enticing body was shifting against his. Or when she was talking about regrets. The truth was, he already had regrets, but it was too late now. They were wed. He’d do his duty to provide and protect her, but that would be all. Hopefully, she wouldn’t expect more.

He didn’t think she needed much. After all, she had no family there except for a couple of rowdy lads who’d not cared for her as they should have. As for the rest of her family, he would have a few words to say to them as well, if ever he met them. He didn’t expect much from Camerons, but he didn’t care for the way they sent their daughter off into the lion’s den unprotected.

His censure would have greater impact if they knew he was the laird of the MacPhersons. He should tell her. He hadn’t lied, exactly. He’d been careful to word things in a way so he wouldn’t have to. After all, he wasn’t the laird until he went to the castle and claimed the title for himself. But despite his success at twisting his words in such a way, he was traveling a thin line of what was not a lie and what a person should have shared with a woman before claiming her as his wife, no matter the reason he married her.

Guilt tugged in his stomach, as had been happening since he’d offered his hasty proposal. Yet he didn’t speak until it faded away again. For as much as he wished he could tell her the truth, he needed this time with her, like this, quiet and calm, even more. She healed some of the broken bits of his heart.

Unfortunately, there was naught to be done about the chunks that were missing.

In the distance, a hawk screeched, and she turned to look for it. Even that quick movement had her luscious arse shifting in his lap, stirring him to arousal once more. He growled, and she muttered an apology. He didn’t blame her for his body’s reaction. It wasn’t her fault. But he couldn’t think of being with her physically when his betrayal was so firmly on his mind. He had not imagined he take on the life of a monk the rest of his days. He was a young man with many years of empty nights ahead of him.

He’d assumed he’d go about it the way he’d done before marrying Maria. During the years he was at war, before he’d met her, he’d seldom taken a woman to his bed, mostly because he didn’t have a bed. Instead, he and Ronan generally found a place for their bedrolls away from the other men. They would talk of home and speculate as to what their siblings were doing.

Early on, they always assumed their sister and brother were doing mundane chores he and Ronan had been spared from having to do because they were men while Alec and Tory were children. As men, they were eager to fight a path through France and claim the glory.

Unfortunately, their eagerness dimmed before the first year. Soon, they were looking at the stars above and wishing they were back home in Scotland. They would talk of things such as Lizzy’s meat pies and berry tarts. The cook at Cluny had chased them from her kitchens more times than they could count, but remembering her meals made them think of home.

And then there was the issue of the women who followed the drum being well worn, often carrying with them diseases he and Ronan wanted no part of. While Shane had tempted fate a few times over the years, his brother—to Shane’s knowledge—never had. When Shane had asked him about it, he’d only said he couldn’t.

Shane wasn’t sure what he’d meant by it and didn’t ask further. Ronan never had a problem sharing something when he wanted to. Shane had met the woman who’d changed everything for him. She’d not been like the other women, who used sex as currency. She’d been carrying water in her village when he and his men had come through. He’d stopped to help her, and when he’d looked into her eyes, he’d simply known she would be his.

When he left the next day, she went with him, and a few weeks later they had married. The next year had been both the hardest and the best, for he’d spent the days fighting and the nights in her arms, loving her.

Now, with Shane’s new wife nestled against him, his body had come alive, and the absence of company of the feminine nature was taking its toll. Lindsay was beautiful. It was a natural reaction, if one he had no plan to act on for some time.

“Shane?” she said, bringing his attention back from the discomfort of his cock. “Will you tell me about your family?”

He’d avoided questions about his family, but he would tell her the truth as much as possible. “My ma died when I was a lad. My da died recently, while I was away.”

“That’s too bad. You didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“Nay.” He would have had some other words for his father in addition to “goodbye.” Mayhap something like, “Do not think to marry me off to some lass just so you can buy useless baubles for your wife while your warriors’ swords look like they would bend in a brisk wind.” He kept that to himself. Instead, he said, “I told you of my stepbrother.”

“Aye, but he’s not with you now.”

“He’s a Grant by name. His grandmother was a MacPherson, though, and he came to live with us when he was only ten. For that, he thinks himself as much MacPherson as Grant.”

He expected his new wife to make her disgust known. The Camerons and MacPhersons were enemies, but not like the Camerons and Grants were. They’d sooner kill one another than have to look at each other. But she said nothing.

“And then there is my younger brother and sister.” He didn’t mention his stepmother because he’d rather pretend she didn’t exist.

“Have you seen them since you’ve returned?”

“Not yet. They were not pleased with me when I left. Especially my younger brother. He was left behind, just a gangly lad of five and ten. And then my sister was certain I’d get myself killed.”

He went on to tell her of the things they’d gotten up to when they were young, until he felt Lindsay’s weight against him. She’d dozed off. He held her loosely so as not to hurt her, but to support her as the horse continued on.

It was late when they arrived back at the cottage.

She woke when the horse stopped. Her head snapped up, and she groaned from the quick movement. “We’re home already,” she said.

“Aye.” Home. He’d wanted to be home for several years, yet he hadn’t realized once he’d arrived, he wouldn’t be ready to take those final steps. For now, this cottage was his home and this woman was his wife.

He didn’t know what would come, but for now he was content. He assisted her into the house, and they stood there. Nothing had changed within these walls since they’d left. The bedding was straightened from where she’d been asleep these past few days. And yet, everything was different.

They were married. Married couples shared a bed. They shared a lot more than that. But they had married for a reason that didn’t include such liberties.

“You will, of course, take the bed, and I’ll remain on the floor,” he said stiffly.