Page 3 of Married to the Cruel Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #5)

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E rsie was weighing the idea of breaking the Mad Laird’s nose with the back of her head.

It would be easy enough. Just have to get the angle right.

Her muscles were tense. One sharp jerk and her skull might just shatter his smug, silent face. Then, she’d toss herself off this damned horse, run back to Fanella, and get home before he could rise from the dirt.

Except, it would start a war.

Her breath hissed out between her teeth, sharp and bitter. “Best to get this over with as soon as possible then,” she muttered.

“That’s a good lass,” Laird MacAuley rumbled from behind her.

Heat rose along her neck, rushing to her ears.

Saints above, the gall of him—as if I am some obedient farm dog pleased with scraps .

She bit her tongue, swallowing every retort that threatened to leap from her lips.

But still, something strange stirred in her belly. Not fury. Not quite.

The man had a voice like smooth-cut stone and the certainty of someone who’d never been bested. And damn, that did something to her, no matter how hard she tried to deny it.

The ride dragged on in silence. At least it gave her time to think.

She loved this land, knew it like the back of her hand.

As they went on, the familiar scent of cattle and damp earth hit her like a balm. She inhaled it deeply. It always reminded her of when she was younger, mucking about the farms, learning about the cattle and the land with her mother and brother.

How simple life had once been.

Her stomach growled thunderously, a loud, indignant sound that shattered the silence between them.

“I already said, we arenae going to stop?—“

“I didnae say anything.”

“Ye didnae have to.”

“I cannae help?—“

“There’s a village just beyond the Airdhollow lands once we reach me own lands. We can stop there.”

She didn’t argue.

He nudged the horse forward but not before giving her a look—a quick flick of his eyes—assessing, calculating. She noticed how his grip subtly shifted on the reins and how his gaze scanned the dense trees to their left.

“We are near Airdhollow’s southern border,” he muttered, mostly to himself, though she caught it.

Ersie straightened. Everyone knew that the Airdhollows were madder than crows in a storm, their border patrol infamous for the ‘unconventional’ hospitality—if it could be called that. Madder than the Mad Laird himself.

“Ye mean to cut through it?” she asked, incredulous.

“There’s a merchant’s road that runs through the sliver between MacAuley and MacAitken lands. It’s faster. If we’re quick and lucky, we’ll pass through before being noticed.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she scoffed. “Or before someone decides to ‘tax’ us for breathin’ their air?”

He ignored her.

It wasn’t long before they emerged onto the road and happened upon a small traveling cart. A stocky man with a salt-and-pepper beard trudged beside it, leading a swayback mule.

“Remember, lass, I’m the Mad Laird . If I pass through these lands unannounced, it could be twisted into something more sinister. Dinnae refer to me by me name or title, do ye understand?”

“I understand,” she said warily.

War wouldnae be good.

“And ye will be me wife if they ask—which I doubt they will.”

“Wife!” she hissed quickly.

Keith said nothing. He only guided his horse behind the cart and dismounted. Without speaking, he walked beside the man, keeping his head slightly bowed under his hood.

Ersie frowned as she made to dismount, but before she could even swing her leg around, she felt a blade slide into her boot. Keith’s hand lingered just long enough for her to feel the warning in his touch.

She glanced at him sharply, but he didn’t meet her gaze.

“Come on, lass,” she heard him say quietly.

Tension coiled in her gut. Not from fear, but anticipation. She’d heard stories of Airdhollow’s ‘border fees.’

Right on cue, a pair of men stepped out from behind a tangle of trees, their faces dirty and their eyes sharp. A third followed, swaggering into view with a bow slung across his back and a blade at his hip.

“Well now,” the leader sneered.

“Just passin’ through, good sirs. Nothin’ but herbs and spices,” said the merchant, sweat beading on his wide forehead as he twisted his cap in his hands.

“Spices, ye say? Well, then ye will have to pay the spice tax,” the leader replied with a grin.

Ersie watched in disgust as the man’s cart was pilfered and plundered. The sack of coins at his hip was snatched, and a few vases were smashed on the hard-packed dirt road.

How could any laird accept this behavior?

One of the other men moved toward Ersie, his eyes lingering on her for too long, and she saw Keith shift subtly, placing himself between them. His hand never reached for a weapon, but his stance certainly changed.

All of Ersie’s instincts went haywire, but she was supposed to play the demure wife, not the warrior.

“She’s with me,” Keith said, his voice flat.

The Airdhollow man looked him over, trying to put a name to the face but failing. He snorted. “Aye? Looks like she’s with herself, last I checked.”

“Check again, and lose a finger.”

Ersie bristled at being spoken for. But one glance at the look Keith gave the man and even she felt like backing up.

Just then, the merchant lost his footing. The cart lurched. One of the wheels caught in a stone and tipped sideways. A cascade of bags burst open—sacks of turmeric, peppercorn, saffron—spilling golden and red powders into the air.

A sneeze, then a curse.

The spice cloud was thick, pungent, and blinding. The Airdhollow men staggered backward, swearing and coughing.

Keith grabbed Ersie’s arm. “Stay.”

But Ersie stood her ground, her eyes wildly jumping between the merchant, the Airdhollow men, and Keith.

Do somethin’, or I will.

Keith, as if sensing the urgency in her expression, drew his blade with an exhausted sigh. “Dinnae move,” he gritted out.

With a flourish of his cloak, he moved before the cloud settled.

His sword slashed the bowman’s string before the man could nock an arrow. Spinning low, he swept another’s feet out from under him, steel flashing as he disarmed the brute in two strikes.

Ersie had never seen a man move with such deadly grace, intentional and yet so natural. Heat coursed through her veins as she squinted through the spice cloud, not moving as instructed.

The third came at him with his blade raised, and Keith caught his arm, twisting sharply until a bone cracked. The man howled as Keith’s boot landed squarely in his gut.

The glint of sunlight hitting the steel barrel of a pistol flashed in the corner of Ersie’s eye, and she whipped around. Keith’s back was turned to the man who had regained his footing and was aiming straight at him.

Without thinking, she dove.

In a single motion, she drew the blade from her boot and drove it clean into the man’s side between the ribs, where the soft tissue of his lungs was vulnerable. His eyes bulged with shock. His pistol went off with a thunderous bang as the bullet landed in the dirt below him.

Keith turned then, his eyes wide, just as the man crumpled.

His gaze locked onto hers.

The world slowed.

Golden dust swirled around them, catching in her lashes and clinging to their sweat-damp skin. His chest heaved with excitement and exertion. Blood ran down their blades.

His look was all heat. It wasn’t just surprise. It was gratitude and something much darker. Something hungrier. He looked all predator, ravenous for more blood.

Ersie held his gaze, steady and defiant. “Ye’re welcome,” she said simply, her breath coming in short bursts.

Keith didn’t respond, but his silence said enough. His blood-thirsty gaze softened only slightly, before he moved to the merchant, who had scrambled to find shelter under his looted cart.

“Ye alright, man?”

The merchant blinked, dazed, but nodded. “Aye, thanks to ye both.”

Keith hoisted the cart, dragging the loose wheel back into place and brushing spilled powders from the battered crates. The mule brayed as Ersie adjusted its lead, murmuring soothing words as she checked it for injuries.

Once the cart was balanced and the merchant had caught his breath, Keith helped him climb back onto the bench. “Stick to the northern road next time. And keep yer head down.”

The man nodded profusely. “Aye, aye. Saints bless ye, Me Laird. Both of ye.”

Keith’s eyes flashed up to meet Ersie’s momentarily, but before either could breathe life into the unasked question, the old man started leading the cart away from them.

Ersie swung herself back up into the saddle and watched Keith clear the road of the men’s bodies, his jaw set tightly. They didn’t speak again until the merchant and his cart had vanished down the road behind them.

But her heart was still racing, the image of Keith’s dark gaze replaying in her mind like a twisted dream.

Only once the trees thinned and the border stones of the MacAuley lands came into view did Keith slow the horse. He didn’t say a word, but she could feel the tension leaving his shoulders.

“Do ye reckon it was yer striking good looks that gave yer title away to the merchant?”

Keith huffed. Silence took hold for a moment while she waited for his response.

“I ken the merchant from his business with the keep, lass. I was ne’er concerned about the merchant kenning who we were, just the Airdhollow men.”

“Oh, I see…” she trailed off.

Keith’s hand brushed her hip again to steady her in the saddle. Though his face was unreadable, she could feel the awareness buzzing between them like a storm waiting to break.

They crossed into MacAuley lands not long after, the looming threat of Airdhollow behind them. She noticed the change almost instantly—the woods grew denser, as though the trees themselves were standing to attention, and the air was cooler. The village was nestled in a shallow valley, smoke curling up from the chimneys.

They stopped at a tavern, and he dismounted first, helping her down with that same silent, unshakable strength. This time, she thought better than to argue.

“Am I still yer ‘wife?’”

“Nay, ye are safe here as ye are.”

“I’m nae going to shout it from the rooftops that ye’ve taken me against me will.”

For a moment, their eyes met.

“I said I wouldnae—Relax, Laird MacAuley,” she joked. She blew an errant strand of hair from her eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Are ye going to let me eat in peace?”

“Peace?”

“Aye, or are ye set on interrogatin’ me throughout the whole meal?”

“That depends,” he said, his lips quirking, just slightly.

“On what?” she asked.

But he gave her no answer as he opened the door and gestured for her to enter.

The scent of roasted game and fresh bread wrapped around her like a warm cloak, and her mouth watered. She followed him to a table in the corner that offered privacy, and he led them there without hesitation.

Once seated, she fixed him with a glare. “Who was that man? The one screamin’ like a stuck pig.”

Keith leaned back, his arms folded across his chest. “Doesnae matter now. He ran.”

“Ye let him run,” she accused. “Ye could have easily caught him.”

“Nay, I let ye distract me,” he corrected.

Ersie flushed. “Well, why didnae ye just answer the questions instead of skirtin’ around them? It was me duty to ask them, ye ken?”

He tilted his head. “What’s yer favorite? Sunrise or sunset?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Simple question. Which do ye prefer?”

“Sunrise,” she said. “More promise in the day startin’ fresh.”

He nodded as if that told him everything he needed.

What was that about?

“How did ye ken that man?”

“Night or day?”

“Night,” she said frustratingly. “Peaceful. Quieter. More Honest.”

He nodded and took a sip of ale, then chewed for a while on the bite of food. She impatiently shoveled food into her mouth, her eyes assessing his progress every now and then.

“Why did I have to be yer wife when we crossed into Airdhollow?”

Keith’s eyes never left hers as he finished chewing on his food. Ersie’s eyes dropped imperceptibly, clocking the strain and relief in the sinews of his neck muscles as he washed the food down with another sip of ale. “Sweet or savory?”

“Savory,” she said without missing a beat. “Always.”

His next question came low, his voice quiet. “What’s the most secret place ye go to… when ye want to forget?”

Forget…

Ersie hesitated, but there was no mockery in his expression. No judgment. “The waterfall, east of Braemore—close to where I found ye this morning. There’s a hidden rocky pool there, behind the reeds. No one else has found it.”

He leaned forward. “Ever shared a meal with a man before? One ye werenae servin’.”

She stilled.

Why would he ask me that?

It was a ridiculous question, but she could not venture to guess the meaning behind it.

“Nay,” she admitted.

He nodded silently and took another sip of ale, before watching everyone around them like a wolf scanning for threats.

“Ye act like a man who expects danger around every corner,” she said.

“Aye,” he agreed simply. “Most dinnae ken me by face. I like it that way.”

“Ye like being invisible,” she murmured. “Easier.”

“Aye, less mess.”

“I get it,” she whispered. Of course, she did.

He didn’t smile, not really, but the corners of his mouth lifted just slightly.

They finished the meal in silence. Outside, the sky had grown pale, clouds drifting lazily above.

Keith watched as she finished the food on her plate and downed the ale in her chalice before standing up. He offered her a hand this time, and she took it, firmly and without hesitation.

There was something naturally safe about the way he moved around her, and she didn’t quite mind it as much as she probably should have. She hadn’t fought as much as she could have when he hoisted her over his shoulder, and she hadn’t fought him at all when they were riding together.

Mayhap it’s because he’s a laird and I trust him to act honorably?

She groaned inwardly at how ridiculous that sounded.

Neither said a word as he led her out.

They resumed their ride, and neither spoke, but Ersie’s mind was running wild. She was too full of conflicting thoughts. He rode behind her once again, and she felt every breath he took like a current of heat on her spine.

Soon, MacAuley Keep appeared on the horizon. Black stone and narrow windows cut into the misty sky.

Keith’s low, rough voice raked down her spine, and the heat of his breath caressed her raw skin. “We’re here, lass.”