Page 5 of Marry the Highland Villain (Breaking the Highland Rules #1)

CHAPTER 5

By supper time, Conall and Oliver had mended their relationship, as much as it could be mended under their current, deeply painful circumstances. The short session of sparring they’d indulged in after their initial disagreement had cooled Conall’s temper, and the Great Hall had been cleaned while he took out his anger on the training grounds.

He was halfway to his seat at the High Table when the door opened again to reveal Emily and…

Conall stared. The lass he’d sent Emily to take care of had been shy, huddled on the floor in a dirty dress that had the colors of no particular clan. She had looked disheveled and terrified, and once he’d taken leave of her, he’d given her no further thought.

The lass who followed Emily to the High Table and settled into the chair beside him, however, was still shy. But she no longer looked terrified or disheveled. Instead, her hair was braided back, and she was wearing a dress that seemed to have been lent to her by Emily and a sash made of MacKane tartan.

The dress hugged her shoulders, bosom, and hips like a second skin, just shy of being too tight to be comfortable, and Conall was glad the table hid the way his manhood responded to the unexpected sight of her. The soft fabric accentuated her green eyes and dark, shining locks, but it also caressed the swell of her ample breasts and the curve of her hips, showing every line of her figure in a way that made his mouth go dry.

She’d been pretty enough as a disheveled captive—pretty enough to catch his eye, if not to hold it. Now, though, the thoughts that filled his head and heated his blood at the sight of her in her borrowed MacKane garments had nothing to do with anger, and everything to do with a different kind of passion.

Enough of that. She’d think I want to hunt her like a starvin’ wolf if I keep starin’ at her like that.

Conall forced himself to look away.

She’s terrified enough; I dinnae want to scare her to death afore I wed her—or at all.

Except, she doesnae appear so very frightened anymore. It seems that speakin’ to Emily did her some good. Unless it was the milk.

For all that she’d watched him with uncertain, wary eyes earlier, now she sat next to him with no sign of hesitation.

“Good evening, My Laird…”

Her voice was low and sweet, and Conall swallowed hard before answering her.

“Call me Conall,” he said gruffly. “If ye are to be my bride, then ye might as well call me by my given name.”

She blushed. “Very well. Conall.”

The way she spoke his name—she had a slightly odd accent, as if her speech had been influenced by more than just Highland clans—made his stomach clench again. It was hesitant, shy, but almost teasing at the same time.

Very few people called him by his given name, and the difference between her clear, hesitant voice and Oliver’s sullen snarl or Emily’s soothing gentleness was… pleasant.

A servant offered her some wine, and the lass—Brigid, he recalled her name after a moment of consideration—smiled politely and nodded. As she reached for her glass, Conall noted the bandage around her arm.

“Emily saw to yer wrists, then,” he commented, grasping at a topic of conversation. “I trust ye’re feelin’ better now?”

She nodded, her eyes fixed on her plate. “Aye. ‘Twas only some bruising and a few sore spots. With salve and bandages, ye’ll never even ken I was injured by the time we’re wed.”

“It’s nae whether I ken, but whether ye do that matters.”

Conall studied the lass. She was far prettier than he’d realized at first. He’d not taken the time to notice much about her appearance earlier, aside from her confusion and fear, and the way the dress looked on her when she’d arrived in the hall had done her no favors. Now that he had the opportunity to see her up close—and in much better circumstances—he could see she was a lovely-looking lass. Aside from her striking eyes and hair, she had lightly tanned skin that glowed with health, soft, full lips in a round face, and generous curves.

She looks fair, like the fertility goddess she shares a name with.

Long practice enabled him to keep the thought from his face, but it didn’t stop the heat that settled into his groin once more—the first hint of desire, or anything other than the weariness, anger, and wariness he’d felt since Devon’s death. The sensation, inspired as it was by the granddaughter of his enemy, was almost enough to make him fumble with his tankard like a callow youth.

He pushed the thoughts out of his mind as supper was served.

Brigid sat quietly until the food arrived, and then, to his surprise, she spoke directly to him. “Conall… I confess I dinnae ken much about Clan MacKane.”

“And?”

“I should like to ken more. Seein’ as I’m to become part of the clan after we wed.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Conall watched as she hesitated before taking a single slice of bread, a single slice of roast, and a spoonful of vegetables, almost as if she were afraid to take more than her fair share—or perhaps she was simply unused to eating her fill.

“I dinnae ken if ye are aware, but my sisters and I… our father raised us outside the clans. If I’m to be yer betrothed, and eventually yer wife, then there’s much I need to learn.”

“Ye can learn it as well after the wedding as before.”

“I ken. But I would like to start learnin’ now. I like to be prepared.” She hesitated over the potatoes, then chose the smallest one she could reach. “For example, how many people are in yer clan?”

“A fair few. I dinnae ken the exact number.”

Conall began filling his plate, refusing to meet her eyes.

MacKane was not a small clan by any means, and it was a fairly well-off one. In fact, Conall had a very good idea how many people lived on MacKane lands—as Laird, it was his business to know such things. However, he was hardly going to give the kin of his enemy information she might somehow use against him—not before he’d bound her to him.

She might be pretty, but that doesnae mean I can trust her.

“And ye are well-defended? My father always stressed the importance of a well-defended keep or castle. He said ye could tell much about a clan from its defenses.”

“Aye. We’re well defended within the walls,” Conall replied carefully. He’d not have her venturing forth whenever she liked. “Ye dinnae need to fear pirates or bandits.”

“I’m nae afraid of pirates! Why would I be? They’re good enough men in their own way, even if they’re nae always the most honorable or law-abiding of men. Many of them were like my father, and…”

Brigid broke off, a strange mix of emotions—pride, uncertainty, embarrassment, and a touch of confusion—flashing across her face as she realized she’d said too much on the subject of pirates. After all, they weren’t generally considered suitable topics of conversation for a lady.

“I dinnae ken much about bandits,” she continued in a low voice. “But pirates have never frightened me.”

Conall smiled, amused by the words as much as by the show of spirit. “Ye neednae be afraid of ordinary clansfolk either if ’tis what ye’re worried about. Most of them are peaceful and reasonable enough, so long as they’re nae harmed.”

And so long as they’re nae lairds who are expected to be fierce to defend their homes and their clans.

“I…” She flushed a little. “It isnae that I’m afraid. I was only curious. I’ve heard that ladies of a clan are meant to take care of certain matters, such as supplies, and I thought…”

“Emily can teach ye all of that.”

Conall ignored Oliver’s glare with practiced ease, knowing quite well which words his brother disapproved of.

Still, Brigid and Emily seemed to be getting along well enough, and it meant she had someone she was comfortable enough speaking to, someone who could, perhaps, keep an eye on her without seeming threatening or suspicious.

If she really was Auchter’s spy, she was more likely to reveal it in Emily’s presence than his own.

He watched as she served herself small portions, or nothing at all, from several more platters. It might be that she didn’t like certain foods, but he saw the hesitation and the longing on her face. And she didn’t seem like the sort of lass who would eat so little without good reason.

Without asking, he reached out and took two more slices of the roast, another slice of bread, and a small plate of the freshly churned butter, and put them all on her plate, alongside a generous portion of cheese.

“Ye dinnae need to starve yerself.,” he said, amused by the confused look that flashed across her face. “The clan’s nae poor if that’s what ye’re worried about.”

She blinked. “Oh. It isnae… I didnae think… It is only that, well…”

Conall shook his head sharply. “I’ll nae have people thinkin’ I’m nae willin’ to properly feed an’ care for my betrothed, whatever yer reason. Eat yer fill.”

“I… very well. Thank ye.”

She still hesitated for a moment, but some of the tension left her shoulders, and a moment later, she began to eat with more confidence and obvious enjoyment.

Brigid Blackwood. She was a strange lass, and Conall was surprised to find that he was looking forward to the challenge of learning more about her.

Laird MacKane was watching her intently while pretending not to, and Brigid wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. The look in his eyes wasn’t as dismissive as the hostile glares she was used to receiving when she went to the village, and the heat in his eyes wasn’t the same as the anger she’d seen before.

His expression, however, did remind her of the glimpse she’d seen of him while following Emily toward the healer’s cottage.

The sound of swords had drawn her attention. It wasn’t a sound she’d heard often in her home, not since her father had passed away. Megan and Valerie knew how to use weapons, but they rarely practiced where she could hear them.

There, in the courtyard, she’d seen Laird MacKane and his brother, both shirtless and engaged in a fierce sparring match. Muscles rippled in the sun, sweat gleaming on tanned skin as the two of them engaged in a complicated dance of attack and counter.

Her first thought was that Laird MacKane was as fast as he was fierce and that even if she’d been of a mind to attempt to escape, she’d have never managed. Not on foot, and probably not at all.

Her second thought was that the butcher’s boy in the village, whom she’d had a vague interest in when she was younger, was little more than a stripling compared to Conall Barr. The graceful movement of his muscles, the way the sunlight brought out the blue highlights in his black hair and made his blue eyes sparkle like the wind-whipped waters of a loch… Watching him made Brigid shiver with a feeling that wasn’t entirely nervousness.

He was handsome, powerful, graceful… and he’d claimed her as his bride. She’d been terrified, but seeing him like that, she felt a slight sense of something else as well—something she barely even knew the name of.

“Ye dinnae need to starve yerself.”

Brigid was surprised when Laird MacKane—Conall, he’d instructed her to call him—filled her plate and told her to eat as much as she wanted. Most people she had encountered outside her family had harassed her about her weight and size. Her sisters made sure she ate properly, but for years she had been sensitive about her figure, which was fuller than that of most of the ladies she knew.

Conall, however, seemed to feel differently. The unexpected consideration he’d shown her made her feel a little more at ease. And she was hungry after the long ordeal she had gone through. Ravenous, in fact.

It was clear from his vague, non-committal answers that he didn’t want to talk about the clan—or, at least, not to her—which she supposed was reasonable. He barely knew her, after all, and it wasn’t lost on her that he might still consider her a potential enemy. He might have decided to wed her instead of imprisoning or executing her, but that didn’t mean he trusted her—and she couldn’t blame him, either.

Although, that brought up a different subject she was certain they needed to discuss.

“Conall… ye said the wedding will take place in a week?”

“Aye.”

Brigid took a deep breath. “I’d like to have my family here if ye’ll permit them to come.”

She stared down at her plate, her shoulders rigid with tension as she waited for his answer.

Conall stiffened. “Yer kinfolk?”

“My sisters, aye. I’d like to have them beside me when I wed.”

If they are here, they will also be safe from further attacks from Grandfather. Perhaps we might all even be… safe. Welcome in a clan, at least.

But that was a different matter altogether, and if she was being honest with herself, it was more of a long-cherished and childish dream than a realistic request. No one ever welcomed a pirate’s child—Brigid knew that all too well.

But if they were attending her wedding, standing by her side, they would be safe and happy for a few days at least. And she would not have to go through this alone.

“Ye’re welcome to invite yer sisters.”

Brigid’s shoulders sagged with relief at his words, which were as unexpected as they were welcome. Hope leaped into her chest, along with relief and the beginnings of a tentative sense of gratitude toward the man.

He could have so easily said no. No one would have blamed him for it. And yet he’d accepted her request without so much as a murmur.

“Then perhaps I could be permitted to go and fetch them,” she ventured, encouraged by her success. “It might take a few days, but I?—”

“Ye’ll nae be goin’ anywhere.”

Brigid’s burgeoning feelings of hope and relief disappeared as abruptly as the interruption.

“I… But ye just said…”

“I said ye can invite yer sisters. I didnae say ye could do it in person. Write them a letter if ye wish—I’ll see to it that it’s delivered. But ye’ll nae be leavin’ MacKane lands without my permission. And I’m nae givin’ it.”

His tone suggested there was no point in arguing with him, but it was not in Brigid’s nature to take no for an answer, and she was not about to start now.

“But… a letter… it would be so impersonal. And even if I am willin’ to do it, I still need to gather my things. The men who brought me here didnae give me time to pack. All I have with me is the clothes I arrived in.”

Her eyes welled with tears, and a flash of anger crossed her face.

“Yer sisters can bring yer things,” Conall said, unmoved. “An’ ye can write whatever ye wish to ask them to attend the wedding.”

Brigid swallowed back her first retort. “If that is yer wish, then could I at least have a few more days to prepare for the wedding? It will tak’ time to make arrangements and to?—”

“The wedding will tak’ place in seven days.” Conall’s response was short and curt, and there was no mistaking the fact that, as far as he was concerned, the conversation was over.

Brigid’s anger surged again, and this time she didn’t bother to try to hold it back.

“Why, though? Because ye fear I’ll go to my grandfather rather than my sisters? Even though ye ken I have nay relationship with him? Are ye so sure I’m a danger to ye that ye’ll nae even let me see my kinfolk or collect my belongings?”

“Careful, lass.” Conall’s voice was low and harsh, the type that might have frightened her if she hadn’t grown up with a man who had used that tone often with everyone who wasn’t a member of his family. “Ye dinnae want to cross me in such a manner. Besides, ’tis as much for yer safety as it is for that of my clan. My men cannae protect ye on the road.”

“Ye didnae even offer me protection,” Brigid protested, her cheeks red with outrage. “Ye only forbid me to go to my kinfolk. What am I supposed to make of that?”

A part of her knew she was being reckless, perhaps foolish even, for challenging a man who held her life and safety in his hands. She had only just accepted the idea of marrying Lair MacKane, and now here she was, arguing with him already. However, the idea that she would be unable to have her sisters with her on her wedding day stung too much for her to keep silent.

“Careful how ye challenge me, lass. I’ll nae warn ye again. I’ve made my decision, and I willnae change it.”

Without giving Brigid a chance to respond, Conall stood up and stalked away from the table, leaving half of his meal uneaten.

There was a part of her that knew it was wiser to let him leave, to let tempers cool down rather than continue to pursue the matter. But Brigid was in no mood to listen to that inner voice. Not only was she too upset, but the idea of spending a lifetime with a man who thought he could end arguments with snarling and walking away… Well, her mother had not tolerated such from her father, and neither would she.

Hadn’t all of her sisters told her time and again that it was better to stand up for oneself unless she wished to be swept aside and treated without respect? It was one thing to endure dismissiveness and scorn from the villagers, but if she must be married, she’d not tolerate it from the man she was to wed.

No, Brigid would begin this marriage as she meant to continue it. She might not convince him to let her visit her sisters, but she would impress upon him that she was no shrinking violet he could bend to his will with a few sharp words and a hard gaze.

She would not be reduced to another maid, tiptoeing around the castle, afraid of inciting his wrath.

Decision made, Brigid rose from the table and hurried after her betrothed.