Page 36 of Bride of the Wicked Laird (Sparks and Tartans: The MacKinnon Clan’s Romance #11)
CHAPTER THREE
C urse these woods! Curse the trees, curse the soil, curse the very air I breathe!
Isabeau had had enough of this. They had been trekking through the woods for what must have been hours by that point, taking on the uneven terrain on foot. The ground was moist there, as though it never managed to fully dry, the rocks covered by lichens and moss, and the roots of the towering trees poking out of the soil, twisting like giant snakes that tripped her with every other step she took. She was not used to this kind of thing; whenever she was out in nature, it was always on a horse or in a carriage. Never before had she had to walk for hours in search of a road that would lead her back to civilization.
It was getting dark, too, the light dimming even as they exited the deepest parts of the forest. She couldn’t understand why Beag Sinclair had decided to take them so far away from any sign of road, town, or village. Surely, he could have put on his intimidation performance somewhere else! Dragging them to the middle of nowhere seemed rather excessive when he wasn’t even planning to kill them. Did he simply expect them to walk to the nearest town they found and take it from there, with no gold and nothing but the clothes on their backs? Tiernan could count himself lucky that they had thrown an old, musty cloak over him, as he had been kidnapped in his undershirt.
Lord! That is precisely what we must dae!
How could they even achieve such a thing, Isabeau wondered? What were they going to eat? Where would they sleep? She hadn’t planned on being taken like this from her home. Now she was supposed to find a way to survive not only Sinclair’s outrageous plan, but also poverty.
What will we dae? How will we live?
For all the panic that brewed within her, though, Isabeau wanted to think that she was showing none of it to Tiernan. Her turmoil was almost unbearable and her legs barely carried her as she walked. Her feet ached, the silk slippers she wore hardly the right choice of footwear for this kind of terrain, and her dress did nothing to shield her from the chill of the forest, which was seeping into her bones even as they moved. But her expression was resolute, set into a determined frown, and she refused to let Tiernan see her struggle or, God forbid, cry.
It didn’t help that Tiernan seemed to be much more at ease with this than she was. He was moving with confidence, with the practiced ease of someone who had done this very same thing hundreds of times before. No roots tripped him and never did his boots sink into a pool of mud. He didn’t even seem to be bothered by the cold or feel at all tired. The only indication that he was not fully comfortable was the faint pink color of his cheeks and nose, and the fact that his breaths were short and puffy, fogging the air in front of him.
Drawing in a sharp breath, Isabeau pushed herself to walk faster. She kept falling behind, her unsteady gait and the fact that she was not used to this at all forcing her to walk much slower than Tiernan, who was carving his way through the forest with single-minded determination. Every so often, he would glance over his shoulder to make sure that she was still following him and if he deemed she was too far from him, he stopped and waited for her, but not once did they speak to each other, both too tired to exchange words.
When Isabeau reached a particularly large root over which she had to climb, Tiernan stopped abruptly and Isabeau flinched, wondering what he was trying to do. But then he only offered her his hand, which she reluctantly took to let him help her over it, landing safely on the other side.
It wasn’t the first time this had happened in their attempt to get out of the woods. Every time he moved too close, every time he made a sudden motion, Isabeau couldn’t help but flinch and cower from him, though she didn’t know what, exactly, it was that she was expecting. Some sort of violence, for sure, considering he used to be a brigand who was more than used to such behavior. Besides, she wasn’t a fool—she was stranded in the woods alone with a man. No matter a man’s pedigree and past, she had plenty of reasons to fear.
“Ye dinnae have tae fear me, ye ken,” Tiernan said, breaking the silence that had stretched between them for hours. He chuckled, and the sound grated on Isabeau’s nerves, as it was only proof of the fact that he was taking all this too lightly. It was amusing to him that she feared him. It was amusing to see her act like this, and just that was enough to make her determined to hide all her fear, all her nervousness around him.
“I dinnae fear ye,” Isabeau was quick to say. “Why would I? Lucia has taught me how tae fight.”
Her brother’s new wife, Lucia, had once been a part of the Ravencloaks, too, just as Tiernan had been—something that perhaps should have been enough proof for her that people could change, since Lucia was one of the kindest people she knew—and she had taught her enough to defend herself, even if she wasn’t a natural.
Perhaps that was an understatement, Isabeau thought. She was a truly terrible fighter.
There was one thing, though, which gave her an edge. It turned out repressing one’s feelings for the entire duration of one’s life and being taught how to be the perfect lady for years on end was enough to also bless one with the kind of suppressed rage that was useful in a fight. Isabeau knew a thing or two about being repressed. Her life had been spent smiling at people she would much rather strike down with a blade, and Lucia often told her if her skills wouldn’t save her, then her rage might.
The corner of Tiernan’s lips ticked up, the smirk barely noticeable before he managed to school his expression into one of neutrality. It was too late, though, and Isabeau had already noticed that he was once again making fun of her, as though he wasn’t scared of her at all.
O’ course he isnae, why would he be? I’m sure he’s killed plenty o’ people much bigger than me.
The thought sent a chill down her spine. She was truly stuck there, in the middle of the woods, with a man who could easily kill her with his bare hands. The fact that he had no reason to kill her or even attack her in the first place didn’t cross Isabeau’s mind. She was far more concerned about the possibility itself, her heart rate suddenly spiking as Tiernan moved even closer.
“I willnae let anythin’ bad happen tae ye,” he said. “I promise. An’ I willnae dae anythin’ tae hurt ye.”
Isabeau narrowed her eyes at him, but she didn’t move away. Scared as she was, she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. It took every ounce of her self-control, but she remained there, perfectly still, glaring up at him.
“There are plenty o’ reasons fer a lass tae be reluctant tae walk in the woods with a man who is practically a stranger,” she pointed out. “I have every reason tae be cautious.”
It took Tiernan a few moments to understand what it was she was trying to say, but when he did, his expression shifted into an oddly serious one as he pulled himself to his full height.
“I would never dae such a thing,” he said firmly, sounding so earnest that Isabeau couldn’t help but believe him. Then, he smirked again, returning to his usual infuriating look. “All the lasses who have ever passed through me bed have been more than willin’.”
Isabeau choked on thin air, staring at Tiernan in disbelief as he turned around and kept walking, as though he hadn’t just said a terribly shocking thing. When he realized Isabeau wasn’t following him, he glanced at her over his shoulder and said, “Are ye comin’, lass?”
For fear of being left behind, Isabeau hurried to catch up to him, the two of them continuing their trek through the woods. Suddenly, she didn’t feel cold. It felt as though her entire body was overheated, her embarrassment so strong it was like a living thing between them.
Naturally, Tiernan sensed it and he turned to look at her once more with a small, teasing grin. “Why are ye so embarrassed? Is that nae the way o’ the nobles?”
“I dinnae understand what ye mean,” Isabeau said, though it was a lie. She was a sheltered girl, that much was true. She had been protected from many things, and one of them was men. Her brothers didn’t want their precious sister to fall in the hands of a lecherous man and the council certainly didn’t want their precious commodity to be ruined before marriage. From a young age, she had been prepared to wed a powerful man, someone who could offer the clan a strong alliance.
“Dinnae ye?” Tiernan asked, seeing right through her. “Let me be more clear, then. I’m talkin’ about matin’. Surely, ye ken what that is. Ye must’ve seen the horses… or the sheep.”
Isabeau came to a halt once more, staring at Tiernan in equal measures of disbelief and disgust. Not only was he talking about something extremely personal and impolite openly and brazenly, with no care in the world regarding her sensibilities, but he was also bringing up a crude example.
“Must ye say it like that?” she mumbled, arms crossed protectively over herself.
“Like what?” Tiernan asked innocently, as though he truly didn’t understand what was wrong with what he was saying. “I dinnae understand why all ye nobles are such prudes. It’s the most natural thing in the world. Isnae this how we all came tae exist?”
“I dinnae care tae discuss how we came tae exist,” Isabeau hissed, wondering why she was even entertaining this conversation. “Lasses arenae taught the ways between men an’ women until marriage nor dae we speak o’ it! It’s crude an’ sinful.”
“Naethin’ sinful about it,” Tiernan said, amused by the mere notion that sexual relations could be as disastrous as Isabeau thought. “An’ I ken plenty o’ lasses who speak o’ it. Are ye tellin’ me ye’ve never heard the maids discuss their favorite lads?”
An undignified noise escaped Isabeau as memories of catching the maid’s whispers flooded her mind. They didn’t often discuss such things around her, but sometimes, something would slip through in their conversations and Isabeau would be left gaping at them, red-faced and feeling oddly heated. But surely, Tiernan couldn’t expect her to have paid any attention to such conversations! It didn’t become a woman of her status and every time she walked in on maids discussing men, she swiftly changed the subject or left the room once more.
“I dinnae pay attention tae what the maids say,” she claimed, though that, too, was a lie. “Anyway, why would it matter? It is only men who derive pleasure from such acts. I am glad I can wait until marriage.”
Tiernan gave her a strange look then, as though he was seeing her for the first time. Slowly, in an almost serpentine way, he approached Isabeau and came to stand right before her, forcing her to lean back a little.
“Who told ye such a thing?”
Isabeau huffed out a laugh, thinking that Tiernan was teasing her, but then she realized he was entirely serious.
“What dae ye mean?” she asked.
She had not only heard the maids discuss men, but she had also heard them discuss their first times with them and all the disappointment that came with the times that followed. Among the younger servants, who were not yet experienced with men, their first time and the pain they knew they would experience was a common concern. Among the older ones, many claimed that sexual relations were nothing but another chore.
“I dinnae ken with whom ye’ve discussed this, but it isnae true,” Tiernan said, his tone strangely gentle, as though he was truly trying to reassure her. “It’s true that it is very pleasurable fer men, but it can also be that way fer women. Nae woman has ever left me bed unsatisfied.”
It occurred to Isabeau that they were suddenly standing too close. Tiernan’s presence soon turned suffocating, sending a jolt of something she couldn’t name through her. She couldn’t help but wonder how many women had gone through his bed. A man like him was certainly experienced and compared to him, Isabeau felt like a terrified child, awkward and fearful and terribly naive.
There was so much she wanted to ask him. There was so much she wanted to know, curious to see why he claimed all his encounters were satisfying when so many people said the opposite about intimate relations.
Was it a skill exclusive to a few select? What set him apart from the other men?
What am I thinkin’! These arenae the thoughts o’ a virtuous lass!
They weren’t the actions of a virtuous one, either, she realized, and so promptly clamped her mouth shut, taking several steps away from Tiernan. Without another word, she continued walking, for once leading their party of two through the woods.
She didn’t need to hear any more of this. She would much rather be kept in the dark.