Page 40 of The Highlander’s Hunted Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #2)

Now, how in hell will I be gettin’ home?

Alison had not considered anything beyond snubbing her husband when she had walked out of the cabin. And now, as his men rushed around her, she realized she did not know where she was or how to return to her castle.

“Where do ye think ye’re goin’?” Duncan called out after her, but she did not turn to look at him.

“Home,” she answered simply. “I have our daughter to raise and a castle to run if ye recall?”

“And how will ye be gettin’ home?”

Damn.

His words, which had echoed her thoughts just seconds ago, rankled her.

“I suppose I’ll ask one of the guards.” She gestured toward the soldiers still jostling around her. “But ye dinnae need to worry about me. I’ve lasted this long on me own. Today is nay different.”

Duncan shook his head as he ran to catch up and fell into step beside her. “Aye, ye were doin’ just fine on yer own when I found ye trussed up in the corner of this cabin.”

Alison shrugged one shoulder. “I had it handled.”

“Oh, did ye?” Her husband’s voice was incredulous as he reached out and touched her arm.

She started at the pressure and turned to glare at him.

“I already thanked ye,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “What more do ye want? A celebration in yer honor? Well, take me home, and I’ll have the servants prepare a feast.”

“If ye’d have given me a second, I would have told ye we’d be takin’ ye home.”

They glared at each other, and Alison wanted to reach out and smack his handsome face, but she resisted. Stubborn and angry though she was, she was certain that a hasty reaction would not end well for her. Nonetheless, she allowed herself to imagine it, drawing a bit of satisfaction from the vision in her mind.

“All right then,” she said after a few seconds, glancing around the clearing where the cabin stood. “Take me home.”

Duncan pointed to his right, where squires were securing the horses they had ridden on. He led her to one of them, walking behind her as they crossed the clearing.

“How did ye ken where to find me?” she asked as they walked.

Her muscles protested with every step she took, sore from days of tensing up and being unable to move.

“I received a letter several days ago,” Duncan explained. “They must have timed it to arrive right after they kidnapped ye. Told me they would release ye once I paid them some coin.”

Alison snorted. “Ye’d think they’d ken I’m nae yer wife.”

“Nae me wife?” he grumbled, his voice almost too low for her to hear. “What do ye mean nae me wife? Were ye nae there at the weddin’? Fairly sure I remember them pronouncin’ us man and wife right afore ye almost passed out at me feet.”

Once they reached the horses, Duncan rushed past her, grabbing the beast’s reins from one of the squires. He motioned for her to climb into the saddle.

“Well,” Alison said as she walked past him, “ye’ve nae claimed me as yer wife. Nae in the way a husband should. Ye’ve nae touched me, besides our first kiss as man and wife. I’ve nae seen ye for more than ten minutes afore ye were runnin’ off to war. How would I be yer wife, after all of that?”

“Careful,” Duncan warned.

It was just one word. One simple word that would be innocent enough on its own. But the way he said it, and the threat that it implied, made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

I cannae marry a murderer!

The words that she had cried to her father all those years ago came rushing back to her, reminding her all over again why she had resisted marrying him in the first place.

It had been easy to forget her fear during their time apart, but she would not make that mistake again.

She placed one foot in the stirrup and tried to pull herself up enough to swing her leg over the horse’s back, but her sore muscles would not allow it. They screamed in protest and immediately began shaking as she struggled in vain to pull herself up. A strangled groan escaped her throat as her foot fell back to the earth, and she panted with the effort it had taken.

Again she tried, and her arms began to strain. Just as she thought she would have to give up, large, strong hands wrapped around her waist. She started at Duncan’s touch, feeling its warmth through the fabric of her dress. Shivers danced along her skin.

Alison fought against the sudden urge to lean into him, confused by the odd craving that had flared within her. Aside from the moment at their wedding and the men who had captured her, she had never been touched by a man.

Everyone thinks this man murdered his first wife, and here I am, pantin’ over him like a dog.

The thought soured all the feelings that had just been rushing through her.

Alison returned her focus to the task at hand. She needed to mount that horse and get home to her daughter.

With the Laird’s help, she was finally able to swing herself up into the saddle. His hands released her waist the moment she was secured, but even with them gone, she could still feel his warm touch.

“I could have done this meself.”

“But I’m here now. We will have to get used to each other,” Duncan said as he firmly held the reins of her horse.

In one swift motion, he placed his foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over the horse’s back.

Alison had thought that the warmth of his hands had been overwhelming, but it paled in comparison to his proximity at that moment.

The feel of his muscular chest against her back, and the feel of his breath as it stirred the hairs on the nape of her neck, threatened to overwhelm her.

A deep blush bloomed on her cheeks, and she was grateful that he was seated behind her and could not see her face.

Duncan motioned to a nearby squire, beckoning the lad to come forward. He bent down to talk to the young man, speaking hushed words that Alison could not fully make out.

The way he shifted in the saddle behind her made her want to squirm. She could feel every hard plane of his body and every rippling muscle as he pressed against her.

Five years at war has turned him into a mountain of a man.

She glanced sideways, doing everything she could to distract herself from the unfamiliar feelings now bubbling inside her.

The squire looked at the Laird, his brow furrowed in confusion, but he did not dare to question him. He nodded and rushed away, eagerly spreading the message he had been instructed to relay.

The Laird sat up straight in the saddle, pressing against Alison once more. Her mind began to race in an effort to find something she could do to stop the heat that was rising inside of her.

“What did ye mean?” she asked, her words coming out in a rush. “Why will we have to get used to each other?”

“Because I’m back for good. Now, hold on to the pommel—we’ll be goin’ at a fast pace. I willnae slow down for ye.”

He clicked his tongue while kicking his heels into the stallion’s flanks, guiding it into a slow trot. The sway of the horse made her already sore muscles scream in protest, and she fought the urge to lean back against her husband for a little bit of support.

Mayhap I’ll just slide out of the saddle and lie on the grass. Then what would he do? Throw me around like a sack of potatoes?

As much as the thought of the cool ground beneath her aching body appealed to her, Alison knew it was not an option. Not only were his beefy arms on either side of her, holding the reins steady as he guided the horse, but she also knew she had no other choice than to return to the castle with him.

Rosie was waiting.

Nothing else mattered to Alison except getting home to her daughter and going about the rest of her life.

She was certain that her husband had not meant what he had said. She had no doubt that he would head off to the next war as soon as he could. She just had to endure it until then.

They rode in silence, and she was glad for it.

I wonder how Rosie will react when she sees her faither.

It was that thought, more than anything, that occupied her mind.

When Duncan had first left, calling over his shoulder for her to take care of his daughter, she did not have the slightest clue how to raise a child. She had been barely more than a child herself.

But when she saw Rosie the following day, nestled in Malina’s arms, she had instantly fallen in love with her. At that time, Rosie had been less than a year old, and the two had taken to each other immediately.

Alison had never imagined that she would love another person’s child the way she had come to love Rosie. After five years, she could not imagine a life without her.

As they rode, all she could think about was how Rosie would react to the sight of the stranger who had fathered her.

Hours passed, the sun steadily making its way across the sky until it began to kiss the horizon. Streaks of orange and red filled the west, while the first shadows of night haunted the east.

Her husband’s solid presence behind her was surprisingly comforting. After their first few hours of riding together, during which every movement had threatened to overwhelm her senses, she had finally adapted to his nearness.

She cast a worried glance at the swiftly darkening sky. “How much longer until we reach the castle?” she asked as they crested a hill.

Duncan tugged on the reins of his horse, bringing it to a stop. He pointed toward the bottom of the hill, and Alison looked down. A town sat below them, its many houses filled with windows casting friendly and inviting lantern light.

“We willnae be gettin’ there tonight,” he grunted. “We’ll stay here. Find a room and head out in the mornin’.”

“Will yer soldiers be meetin’ us?”

Duncan shook his head. “Nay. They have their orders. They’ll be at the castle by the time we arrive, makin’ sure that everything is secured and the staff is ready for our arrival.”

“The castle has been secured and ready for five years now. I dinnae ken why the brutes have to enter and ruin it all,” Alison muttered, but the words were quiet enough not to reach Duncan.

They started moving again, making their way toward the town. As they drew closer, Alison realized that, although the town was small, it was not any less busy.

The moment they were within its borders, they were greeted with the sights of daily life. Women washed clothes in barrels while their young ones hung them up to dry. Dogs barked and goats bleated, adding to the noise.

The sound of male laughter spilled out of an open tavern door. At the end of the lane stood an inn made of stone and wood, with a fine, thatched roof.

At the mere sight of it, Alison felt herself sag with exhaustion, the twilight sky seeming to taunt her with the promise of sleep to come.

Her husband slid off the saddle behind her, and cold air rushed in to fill the void where his warmth had just been. She folded in on herself, rubbing her arms as a chill crept across her flesh.

Duncan looked up at her, extending a hand to help her down.

“Thank ye,” she murmured, landing on the earth with a soft thud of her boots.

He acknowledged her with a grunt, not glancing at her as he tethered their horse at the small stable.

When they walked inside, the scent of fresh bread and hearty stew rose up to greet them. Alison’s stomach gave a loud, uncomfortable growl, and for the first time, she realized how hungry she was.

“I’ll take care of it,” the Laird murmured.

Alison reddened, embarrassed that he had heard the anguished sound of her empty belly.

He did not turn to look at her and walked to the counter, immediately addressing the barmaid.

The woman batted her eyelashes at him, pushing up her bosom while she stared at his handsome face. Although Alison did not consider Duncan to be her husband—not in any way that mattered—she still felt a wave of jealousy wash over her. She walked over to where he stood.

Get yerself together, lass.

“… For me and me wife.” Duncan’s voice greeted her as she approached.

At the mention of a wife, the barmaid’s expression crumpled with disappointment. The woman’s eyes flicked to Alison, who could not help the self-satisfied smirk that formed on her face.

The barmaid looked her over from head to toe and smirked back, finding her lacking. Clearly, she did not think that Alison being the Laird’s wife meant she had lost her chance, and one glance down at herself told Alison why.

Her dress was filthy, covered in dirt, dust, and a few drops of blood from the wound on her cheek. It suddenly dawned on her how unkempt she was, and she became acutely aware of the layer of dirt that covered every inch of her skin.

She wanted to reach up and feel her hair, to smooth it down so that, at least, it would be under some modicum of control, but she refused to give the barmaid the satisfaction of knowing that she had discomfited her.

“I’ll get ye that key right away,” the barmaid purred, returning her attention to Duncan. “And we can bring ye up some stew if ye’d like.”

“Aye.” He nodded. “Stew and bread, please. And some ale. Me wife will be mighty hungry after what I have planned for her.”

He glanced over his shoulder and threw a wink in Alison’s direction to drive his point home.

The barmaid’s cheeks flushed before she rushed away.

Clearly, the Laird had not missed her critical assessment of his wife.

Alison frowned at the gesture, unsure how she felt about him once again coming to her aid.

Mayhap he isnae as much of a walloper as he seems.

Alison chafed at the thought, but she did not have time to delve into it further as the barmaid returned with the key to their room.

The barmaid murmured the directions on how to get to the room, her demeanor much more subdued than when she had spoken to them a moment earlier.

Duncan plucked the key from her hand without touching her before turning toward Alison. “Let’s go to our room, wife ,” he purred.

Now it was Alison’s turn to flush before she turned away from him.

He only did that because of the barmaid . He willnae be touchin’ me—nay need to worry about that.

When they reached the stairs, Duncan motioned for her to go first and followed closely behind. Alison found herself keenly aware of each step they took, bringing them closer to the room they would share.

It was very odd that she had never once shared a room with her husband. If she told their story to anyone other than Malina—who, over the years, had become her best friend and the castle’s healer—they would find it strange.

But now, for the first time in their entire marriage, they were about to share a room. She tried to push thoughts of what that would be like out of her mind, but he followed her so closely that his presence became overwhelming in the small corridor, and she found it nearly impossible to do so.

“’Tis that white door, there,” Duncan said from behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder to see him pointing to a quaint, white door at the end of the hall. She went to it and stepped aside, giving him space to unlock the door and enter the room.

Alison followed him, darting around his massive body so she would not be any closer to him than necessary. She scanned the room, immediately noting its old-fashioned charm.

Their room was in the back corner of the building, with three large windows that overlooked the stables and the town beyond. A small writing desk, as well as a dresser, stood in the far corner, and a reading chair sat in front of the windows.

But something else caught her eye. Along the wall, tucked into the corner so that it faced the windows, was a bed.

Only one bed. Meaning that for the very first time, Alison would not only have to share a room with her husband but also a bed.

The fact made dread coil low in her belly. Her mind began to race, but one thought seemed to drown out all the rest.

I think I’d rather go back to me kidnappers.