Page 4 of The Highlander’s Virgin Nun (Highlanders’ Feisty Brides #2)

CHAPTER FOUR

“I -I… What?” Rosaline sputtered, astounded.

Bride? Why would he want her to be his bride? Usually, men avoided being tied down. Or wanted a woman from a neighboring clan so he could acquire both. At least a woman with a decent dowry.

But she had nothing , and she was sure he could see that as she stood before him, begging for help.

“Just say aye and we can go,” he added.

Rosaline’s mind raced. This was not a one-day offer. Marriage was for life.

She hardly knew this man. All she had seen so far was that he was wanted dead by at least four men, was a very skilled and experienced fighter, and was capable of killing.

He stood before her, the blood of his opponents still splattered across his clothing and face. What would he do with her?

“I see folk in the clearin’!” another nun yelled, sounding much closer now.

They were almost upon her. Every beating Rosaline had endured in the last few years sent pain through her body once again, as if to remind her of what she was running from.

She had survived it all, and she could survive more. But she would rather suffer at the hands of a beast than at the praying hands of those pretending to be holy.

“All right,” she replied, staring into his eyes for a brief moment, trying to get any information on this man’s true nature as she agreed to a life by his side.

“Well done.”

Caelan’s arm finally released her waist and slid under her bottom, the other stabilizing her back. He scooped her up into his arms and took off towards the other side of the clearing.

Rosaline was startled. It was all going too fast.

“What are ye doin’?” she protested. “I can walk.”

“Nae at the speed we need to move. Yer ankle’s injured.”

She had not even seen him glance at her ankle once. Her limp must have given her away despite her efforts to walk steadily.

Nevertheless, as much as she felt feeble in his arms, he got them out of the clearing faster than she ever could on her own, and soon they reached the faraway forest’s edge, nearing a horse tethered to the trees.

Caelan slowed down as they approached the brown mare and gracefully lifted her into the saddle.

It had been many years since Rosaline had last ridden a horse with her brother and father. She had always loved horses, and she missed hers terribly when she was first sent to the convent. Since the torture started, though, it had been a pleasure she had almost entirely forgotten.

As Caelan untied the horse quickly, she cast one final glance at the clearing. She saw the Abbess and her minions finally reach the clearing, emerging into the glow of the water in the sun. They dashed to the fallen men who had tried to kill Caelan, and the look she saw their faces distort in confusion. At least, the sight of four dead men would be distracting enough to slow down their chase and give her and Caelan time to escape.

She shifted her gaze away from them, endeavoring to never see their faces, hear their voices, or feel their wretched touch ever again. She hoped that Victoria would not be found out for helping her and would find peace in that evil place.

Caelan mounted the horse behind her, his body pressing up against hers, distracting her from her final thoughts of the convent. His strong thighs hugged her buttocks, and his kilt inched up as he bent his legs, securing them both in the saddle. His arms slid under hers and hugged her waist as he grabbed the horse’s reins. His chin brushed her right temple as he checked she was comfortable enough.

“Hurry,” she urged as she heard movement behind them.

They still had to get away safely.

“We made a deal,” Caelan reminded her as he kicked his heels into the horse’s flanks and they took off through the trees at full pelt. “I promised to protect ye in exchange for yer hand. I may nae be much, but I am a man of me word.”

He loosened his grip on the horse’s reins and let it take the lead through the trees, carrying them onwards and well out of reach of the nuns on foot.

Rosaline felt the wind in her hair as they rode at great speed, and gradually, the sense of freedom washed over her.

She was actually escaping the convent. The torture was behind her, and it was getting further away with each gallop.

Perhaps she was riding into another kind of trap, but at least the evil she had suffered for years was gone. She had managed it.

A small laugh escaped her, incredulous at her freedom.

As the trees began to part and they entered wide open fields and hills, Rosaline saw the forest behind them. It was massive. She could not even see the convent anymore, and the clearing was barely visible.

Caelan let the mare slow her pace a little but continued their journey onwards.

“Where are we headed?” Rosaline finally asked, once she had gotten over her elation.

“Me castle,” Caelan answered.

Although she was facing ahead, she could detect a faint smile in his voice.

“Which is where exactly?” she enquired further.

“Only half a day’s ride. Castle Sinclair.”

Rosaline remembered the name upon hearing it again. The fourth assassin had called Caelan ‘Sinclair.’ If that was the name of both the castle and the man, then he had to be the Laird, or at least the Laird’s son.

“Are ye… the Laird?”

“I am now.”

Me goodness . If he is the Laird and I am to be his bride, then I am to be Lady Sinclair.

How drastically her life had changed in the span of an hour. Just this morning, she had been a servant in a convent, constantly fearing for her life, avoiding beatings, and eating only leftover scraps of food when they were given. She worked all day long, tirelessly, and ached all night. And now she was riding miles away from the said convent, engaged to the Laird of the castle she was headed for.

How utterly bizarre. There has to be a catch.

“And why exactly does a handsome, young laird need to blackmail a penniless, young invalid into bein’ his wife?”

Caelan chuckled, and she felt the sound vibrate against her back.

“And she’s funny too,” he mused.

“Well?”

“All shall be revealed in time, I’m sure. Dinnae worry, lass. I might nae be as charmin’ as some lairds in the stories, but I’m nae some ogre who lives in a dungeon. We’ll make sure ye’re taken care of.”

She was not sure whether to believe his words or not. Something didn’t add up, and perhaps she was pessimistic, but she was sure it was not going to go in her favor.

Still, she tried to enjoy her freedom while it lasted. It had been years since she had been able to see so far. She had greatly missed the bonnie Scottish countryside, and it was a pleasure to ride through it once again.

“How is the ankle?”

His question startled her at first. She could not reconcile this man, who was willing to save her from her torture and who cared about any pain that she felt, with the man who had slain a man in front of her and was still covered in his blood.

“It’s all right. It was only the pain of the cut that caused me to limp. I believe the bone is fine.”

Her ankle, in fact, throbbed more than she let on, but she didn’t want him to think her any more vulnerable than he already did.

“I will have it looked at once we arrive at Castle Sinclair.”

Is he really goin’ to keep me? To marry me and look after me? What for?

“Ye are serious about this marriage business?” she asked, unable to contain the question any longer.

He let out a small huff that had no mirth in it, lowering his voice to convey his seriousness. “Aye. We will be wed at the kirk on me land.”

Rosaline pondered the idea. Marriage had never been something she had considered seriously. At home, she had been too young, and at the convent, she had no time to think of such a thing. She could hardly imagine herself as a bride.

“I dinnae ken how good of a wife I’ll be. Ye might nae want me.”

“I think I ken how good ye’ll be,” he retorted, lowering his voice further.

What does that mean?

That he knew she would be terrible? Or did the sigh in his voice imply what she thought it meant?

His arms tightened around her waist, and she swore she felt him pull himself closer.

As she pretended to focus on the views, turning her head to watch the rolling hills as they passed by, she could not ignore the feel of his body against hers, jolting her with each gallop.

She noticed that for a man who had just fought a battle and killed, and carried her across the clearing and rode for miles on a horse, he did not smell like the beast he should have been. His scent was masculine, earthy, but fresh. She had sat with it for an hour now, yet it was still distinguishable. Her senses sought it out.

His chest against her back felt strong and muscular. Rosaline could feel his pectorals against her shoulders, encasing her in safety and supporting her weight. His thighs cradled hers, making sure she did not slip out of place as the horse powered on over rocks and valleys.

Suddenly, after so long of not even thinking about it, she became aware of her hands. Perhaps they wanted to wander.

She had put them on the pommel in front of her the entire ride, holding on, but there was no real need. Caelan had her totally secured. His hands held the reins and were almost resting on her knees. She was sure now that he would have been more comfortable if he had been able to put them down.

In an act of bravery, she lifted one hand, placed it on his wrist, and gently lowered it to her leg.

She felt his head tilt towards her, questioning her meaning, but she looked dead ahead, giving nothing away. She just wanted him to think that she was allowing him to rest out of sympathy.

And that’s all it was, wasn’t it? His hands were warm on her thighs, even through her tunic. He eventually let some weight drop into them as his body relaxed into hers.

The touch, though small, felt intimate.

Rosaline allowed herself to soak in the moment and assess her body’s reaction to his touch. Did she feel safe this close to him? Could she trust him not to grip or trail his hands up her legs?

After a few more hours of riding and idle chatter, she decided that, for now, she could.

Once a castle finally came into view, Rosaline asked immediately, “Is that it? Is that Castle Sinclair?”

“It is indeed, lass.”

At last, she was to meet her new home.

Her pulse quickened at the sight of the tall grey towers sitting above a fair village, full of clansfolk going about their late afternoon activities.

The ride had been a transition. Perhaps it was a mere few hours of freedom between two entrapments. Rosaline had been so desperate to arrive, to seek more answers, and yet now that they were almost there, she didn’t want the ride to end.

What if this is the last daylight I will see? The last fresh air I will breathe?

She could be taken straight to a dungeon, locked up, and used as a servant. Had she not fled such horror, she would have been a total fool to come all this way on the promise Caelan had made her. But she had to remember that she had very little to lose.

They galloped onwards, her new home growing bigger and clearer with each second. Rosaline tried to assess the health and faces of the villagers as they drew closer, trying to determine the cruelty they lived under. But she was able to glean little. She simply had to keep her wits about her and stay strong.

Finally, they approached the castle gates and rode into a welcoming committee.

Rosaline held her breath.