Page 6 of Surrender to the Highlander (The MacLerie Clan #2)

T he foolishness of the risk seemed worthwhile when the cool water soaked through the layers of heavy cloth and hit her overheated skin. But the true pleasure came when she dunked her head, wimple and veil and all, under the cold surface. If no one had been watching, she would have ripped the constraining layers off and let her skin feel the rush of the soothing wetness directly.

Truly, the first thought she had was to only remove her shoes so that they would not be ruined, but the sight of the cool water flowing by made her lose all thoughts of being circumspect. The day had been one constant stream of sweat—beading and trickling, beading and pouring—under the rough clothes she wore, and her finer chemise could not protect her from the coarseness against her skin.

But the cold water had soothed her. Now, as Rurik assisted her back to the camp, she wondered if this had been a grievous error on her part. He’d said not a word as she stopped to retrieve her shoes from the side of the path where she’d left them, but his expression darkened and she was tempted to move away from his side. They reached the small tent and he waited for them to enter.

“Hand out your wet garments and I will spread them over some bushes to dry. It feels like a mild night. They should be dry by morning.”

The words were rote, but they carried such an ominous undertone that Margriet worried she’d crossed over some line. And mayhap she had?

“My thanks, sir,” she said, allowing Elspeth to enter first. Meeting first the gaze of one and then the other, she continued, “I did not mean to cause such a problem for you over such a small thing.”

Hoping that her words would salve his conscience, she bent down to enter the tent.

“You jumped in,” he whispered so that only she would hear.

“I fell in, sir.”

“You pulled Sister Elspeth in.”

“She lost her balance trying to help me, sir,” she placated. Apparently he’d seen more than she thought. The water trickling down from her sodden hair was not soothing any longer.

“As you say, La…Sister,” he growled.

Margriet turned and quickly pulled the flap down between them. Elspeth had already taken off the gown and tunic and veil and wimple, and held them out to her. She in turn held them through the flap until he took them.

“Pray, one moment, sir, and I will hand out mine.”

No sound came in reply, but Margriet hastened to untie and remove her garments. With Elspeth’s help, she finished quickly and held them out through the flap of the canvas to him. They were taken from her grasp without another word, but Margriet would have taken an oath that she’d heard coarse words being muttered as they were.

Once that task was done, to her surprise, two drying cloths were tossed in to them. She sat down and pulled her small bag out, searching for her comb until she found it. With a motion to keep quiet, Margriet handed the comb to Elspeth and they spent a short while combing and braiding each other’s hair. She discovered that sitting in her damp chemise was much more comfortable than the nun’s habit and soon, the traveling and the weariness she now felt each day grew until she gave in and lay down on the blankets arranged on the ground.

After she readied the items she needed first in the morning, Elspeth handed their small lantern out to the now present guard. The sun’s light quickly disappeared and the quiet of night crept in and surrounded them. Her body was exhausted, but the questions and problems began tormenting her and her mind could not let go of them.

Did Rurik know she was not a nun? He was not a stupid man and she knew her efforts at keeping up her disguise were not the best. Margriet examined her reasons for even trying and found that she still needed to continue the subterfuge. Or did she?

Observing his treatment of her and Elspeth, she was beginning to doubt that they were in danger of lechery by him or his men on this journey. Granted, the men believed them to be nuns and that belief probably held back the worst of their words and actions. Rurik seemed to command the men and none seemed interested in breaking his rules.

She could not, absolutely could not, return to her father’s house in this garb unless she planned on entering the convent and taking her vows. Her father would not understand and she needed to find Finn so they could speak to her father to gain his permission to marry. If her father announced any plans for her future, she would be bound by his decision and her condition would bring shame to his honor.

So, at some point in the journey she must reveal herself to Rurik and make him understand her predicament. Would Rurik help her? He spoke only of a duty to be performed. Could he understand the plight of a man and woman in love? She thought not.

The next problem, not borrowing trouble but simply trying to sort things out in her mind, was about her condition. The herbs did help a bit in the morning and made her sickness just bearable as long as she had time to chew them before rising. Now though, her breasts ached and seemed swollen and the shape of her belly was changing. The old cook had warned her to expect such things and more in the coming weeks as her body adapted to the bairn growing inside.

Caught. That was what she’d heard whispered about girls who shared themselves with men before betrothal or marriage and got with child. And so she was and would be called if the truth became known. Margriet could only hope that Finn would be true to his word and was already putting things in order so that he could make the arrangements for their marriage with her father.

And he did love her. She knew it in her heart and believed his pledge to her to be as strong as any betrothal. Finn loved her and when she promised herself, body, heart and soul, to him that night, she did so because she believed his words. He was a wealthy merchant and would be acceptable to her father as a husband for her. He would marry her and they would raise the bairn together. He did love her and would stand by her.

Margriet’s heart began to pound and her stomach churned as the bitter taste of doubt entered her thoughts. Then why had he disappeared so swiftly? Why had he left without a word and without giving her some token of his love and vows? Something had changed between them when a messenger arrived from the south and, within two days, he was gone.

She wished she had some confidante with whom she could share her worries and fears and her hopes. Certainly the nuns at the convent were not about to listen to her stories of love and virtue surrendered. Even when she spoke to the cook, a woman who had borne five children, she could not bring herself to mention matters of the heart, for she was of a noble family and her father’s status was one of honor and high standing and…

And she should have known better than to lie with a man outside the bounds of holy matrimony.

Apparently, the extensive education she’d received in the language arts, mathematics and even some topics thought unnecessary for a woman did not prepare her for the emotional onslaught of a charming, handsome, rich young man intent on pursuing passion. So long ignored by family so far from home, she’d lost the ability for all logical reasoning when faced with his pledges of love and promises of a future together.

Finn answered all her questions about the world outside the walls of the convent and made her feel important and loved for the first time since before her mother died and she’d been exiled here. And if she’d been a little infatuated or had not seen the folly in her actions, well, she could understand it now as she looked back on those magical days.

Margriet rolled to her side and tucked her hand under her cheek. Remembering the thrill of passion in his touch and in his kisses, she felt her lips tingle and her core pulse with life and heat. How could she have resisted when he did things she’d never known could happen between a man and woman? Even now, when doubts raced through her, her body responded to just the memories of it.

Men were truly strange creatures—honorable when it suited their purposes, strong when they must be and subtle when guile worked over force. They did not think as a woman thought or expect the same things in life as a woman wanted and needed. Watching the men who escorted her now, Margriet could see more of the differences between men and women and also among the group of men. With her only exposure to the opposite gender being those men who lived on the convent grounds—old ones, blind ones, crippled ones—seeing these young, healthy, hardy, muscular warriors afeared of nothing and no one gave her pause.

So, could she not be forgiven for not having that understanding and wisdom when she’d met Finn to realize the kind of man he was? Surely the Almighty would consider it even if her father did not?

The pitiful ache in her stomach grew as she felt the doubt grow inside. Each thought and memory brought with it recognition and revelation…and guilt and shame. Reaching in her bag, she took some of the herbs and tucked them inside her cheek, waiting for them to soften so she could chew on them. She brushed away the tears that flowed and tried to quiet the upset within her.

Margriet was not accustomed to self-pity and she blamed this bout of it on her exhaustion and her fears. Torn from the only place she remembered as her home and taken back to people and places she could not recall, ’twas no wonder she was falling victim to such doubts and terrors.

Just when she calmed herself down with some deep breaths, shouting broke the silence of the night. She sat up and began to reach for the flap when the guard spoke. He must have heard her rustling around in the tent.

“Just some of the men in the river, sisters. Naught to worry about.” Leathen, one of the Scottish men in the group, chuckled then. “Apparently your mishap gave them an idea.”

“My thanks for watching over us, Leathen,” she said. Then, for good measure, she added in a solemn tone, “May God bless you.”

Hopefully, the man did not hear Elspeth’s giggle, muffled by the blanket she held over her mouth as she did so. So, the girl did not yet sleep, either. As though hearing her thoughts, Elspeth whispered softly, “All will be well, Lady Margriet.”

It was the girl’s gentle patting of Margriet’s hand that gave her comfort, and finally she lay back down and fell to sleep.

’Twas when the lantern light threw her shadow on the side of the tent that Rurik knew he was losing the battle once more.

His body gave him all kinds of messages and warnings as he watched the silhouette undress before him. He did not need to see inside—his mind filled with images of his own making. Having helped her onto and down from her horse, watched her walk and then seen the garments plastered to her skin by the weight of the water, he did not need to see the reality in order to imagine how the feminine curves of her body would appear.

Ripe breasts that would fill his hands.

Hips wide enough to bear children.

Muscular but soft thighs to open in welcome to him.

He cursed then, in a low grumbling voice, letting out some of his frustration, not at what he saw but at what he allowed himself to imagine. Stepping back from the tent, he motioned to Sven and Magnus to follow. Then he walked back toward the river, flinging the soaking wet garments over various bushes as he passed them. If they landed in the dirt, he knew not, for he did not dare to pause when his desire was so strong.

Rurik reached the riverbank and stopped only long enough to remove his weapons and boots, breeches and tunic, before diving into the deepest area of the river. Luckily, the cold water did exactly what he needed it to do, so that when Sven and Magnus joined him, there was no evidence of his unholy urges.

They dove and surfaced, letting the cold water cool them for several minutes before Rurik finally swam to one of the rocks that was submerged at the river’s edge. Sitting on it, he reclined mostly under the water. After the others followed, he spoke.

“Why did you allow her in the river?” he asked, rubbing his face. “Did she tell you of her plan?”

“Her plan?” Magnus asked, looking from one to the other.

“Aye, her fall was no accident,” Sven admitted. “They asked if they could step in the water to cool their feet. What could I have done?”

“Said nay?” Rurik offered.

“There was no sign of danger and it seemed like such a little thing, so I said aye.” Sven laughed. “I knew they were plotting something when they put their heads together as they removed their shoes. So, when Sister Margriet fell, I knew the other would also.”

Sven swam away from the rocks now and dove back under the water. This water was cold, but they were all used to much colder, for they’d all swum in the sea at home. Rurik considered that Margriet’s plan was a good one to relieve the heat of the day. At least he was not covered from foot to head in swaddlinglike garments and could simply remove his cloak when too hot. Not like the women—the nuns—who must, for decency’s sake, remain covered. When Sven returned to the river’s edge, Rurik thought it best to warn him.

“Do not be cajoled or misled from any order I give, Sven. Not even when the young one teaches you a new word or smiles at you.”

Sven batted Magnus’s arm and then met Rurik’s gaze. “And I could warn you of the same thing with the other. You devour her with your every look.”

He lunged without thinking, grabbing Sven by the throat and taking him down under the water. Sven did not make it easy, not with his words or actions, for the struggle went on until neither could hold their breath any longer. Gasping as they rose from the water, Rurik released him and flung himself aside to gain some distance and to gain some time to gather his control.

That Sven was right simply made it worse. That Rurik himself recognized his own weakness did not help. Now, with the words spoken, his lust for the nun would have to be acknowledged, at least among these friends.

“You saw her comely figure when she ran out without her habit on at the convent. That hair,” he said, meeting Sven’s gaze. “That face and body,” he said, winking at Magnus. “But for her assurances that she has taken the veil, there is nothing about the woman that would declare her a nun.”

And he realized that the problem had begun then, in that very moment when he’d seen her as a woman. Her defiance and challenge to him as he carried out his duty and then her respectful capitulation added to the appeal. No matter though, he had never taken a woman against her will or dallied with those who were virgins or married and he would not begin to now. In spite of his body’s urges to the contrary. After the others joined him in his moment of appreciation, he knew it was time to put this aside, both within himself and among them.

“Old habits die slowly and not without a fight,” he said to both of them. “Since I have been old enough to have hairs on my…chin, I have loved women. Nun or no’, Margriet Gunnarsdottir is a woman and some things—” he paused and threw a glance down to the part of him in the water “—have not a care about her vows. But, those vows and my duties to her father and mine are a line I will not cross.”

Magnus and Sven nodded in understanding and agreement, for lust was one thing, but violating one’s honor was a completely other matter.

Rurik climbed from the water and picked up his clothes, making his way back to the camp without another word. He’d explained all he needed to explain and more than he wanted to, but admitting his reactions seemed to lessen them. Taking a deep breath of the cooling night air, Rurik felt in control and ready to face the challenges of the rest of the journey north.

Then he spied the sisters’ habits strewn over the bushes where he’d thrown them and was stopped in his tracks.

She was sleeping without garments on this night. The cold water had brought a rosy glow to her skin, one he noticed on her face when he helped her from the water. Such a glow would cover not only her face but extend down onto her neck and her breasts and even her…

Sweet Freya’s Tits!

As he pushed his way back through the trees to the camp, he fought the powerful urge that filled him and nearly made him change direction toward where she slept. In spite of his best efforts, he knew that the only thing that kept his feet on the path to the place where he’d left his supplies was the sound of Sven and Magnus following not far behind.

This night, when she had affected him so strongly, he would accept their presence and their knowledge of his weakness as the way to fight this attraction. Surely, in the light of day, he would have more strength.

Rurik tugged his breeches and tunic back on his damp skin and wrapped a blanket over his shoulders. Finding a tree with a broad trunk, he sat next to it, laid out his sword and two daggers within reach and then leaned back to rest. With a nod, he acknowledged the first two men serving as guards this night. They positioned themselves away from the remnants of the fire so they could see the whole camp. When Sven and Magnus gained their makeshift pallets, quiet descended and soon the air was filled with the sounds of night.

Fair fortune was with them, for the weather held for several more days, allowing the party to cover miles and make their way steadily north. The winds were cooler and there was no repeat of the incident that sent the nuns tripping, or jumping, in the river. Whether that was a good thing or no’, Rurik debated, for he did not see that lighthearted side of Margriet over the next few days. The sickness plagued her each day, though she seemed to rally as they moved on.

Fight it though he did, he could not resist the urge to watch her as they traveled. He was simply more circumspect about it so that others did not notice. Or he tried to be.

In many ways, she reminded him of Connor’s wife, Jocelyn.

Capable.

Smart.

Kind.

And they both possessed an earthy kind of sensuality that drew men, although neither would admit to it or to their beauty.

Jocelyn swore she was plain of face, but if she ever saw the way her face glowed when she looked at Connor, she would realize how wrong she was. Margriet’s habit hid most of her beauty, but having glimpsed it briefly, Rurik remembered the raven hair, framing the heart-shaped face with its flawless skin, entrancing eyes and lips meant to…

Ah, he did but repeat his error again, focusing on the facets of Margriet that drew him like a bee to nectar. He turned back to see how the women fared and allowed only a momentary inspection before the solution struck him.

When he met Jocelyn for the first time, he was infatuated with her. Of course, he’d not known that she was the laird’s new wife when he’d snuck up behind her at the river’s edge and attempted something more. But once the boundaries of their relationship were set, he and Jocelyn became friends, a good thing considering what happened to her those next weeks in Lairig Dubh as she and Connor struggled their way to happiness.

So, if befriending Jocelyn had helped him rid himself of the lustful feelings he had for her, mayhap it would work with Margriet? There were so many more reasons for trying it now, her vows, her father…his father. Possibly this would be a way around his body’s reactions?

Rurik looked up at the sky, gauging the height of the sun and their journey so far this day. Leathen already rode ahead looking for an appropriate place to stop for the night. Tonight he would put his plan in action.