Page 5 of The Laird’s Unwanted Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #5)

B etrothed? Betrothed? Aileen blinked multiple times, wondering if her body had finally given up on her. She watched numbly as the Laird’s man-at-arms helped her sister up onto his horse, while Bannock stubbornly kept to the steed’s heel.

It felt as if she were floating, in part due to riding atop a horse herself, with only the Laird’s strong grasp keeping her from falling over, from drifting away.

Bride. He had said that quite suddenly. Aileen once more found herself in the thralls of betrothal, and to a man she only knew by word of mouth.

“Ye … ye cannae do this!” The guard shouted behind her, followed soon after by the outcry of her kinsfolk. “Ye threw us to the wolves, and now ye take our only weapon?”

“She is nae a tool for ye to abuse,” Laird MacLiddel snapped. “And after what I’ve seen today, I’d happily force me rule over ye than let ye tear these lasses apart.”

“Ye daenae care for us!” Someone from the crowd shouted.

“Nor did yer previous laird,” Laird MacLiddel replied curtly. “So, it will be like nothing has changed.”

The sound of thundering hooves suddenly filled Aileen’s ear, and in an instant, she found herself passing beneath the keep’s main gate.

The shrieking protest of people soon fell to the wayside, replaced with the steady rumble of riding warriors and the general ambiance of the forest surrounding them. “I’m … I’m yer what?”

It was obvious Laird MacLiddel couldn’t hear her.

Or, perhaps, he refused to answer her question.

He was a laird, after all. Just like Marcus, he had the strength and power to do as he wished.

But it made little sense to Aileen why this was something he willingly chose.

To save the unwanted children of the Hughes bloodline, to marry a woman whose brother had committed a terrible act against the greater lairds of the Highlands.

None of it made sense, and she barely had the strength to consider it any further. Her eyes fluttered shut, lulled by the shifting of the horse beneath her and the strong grasp of Laird MacLiddel, keeping her safe and secure against his chest.

Then, suddenly, she woke with a start, staring up at a sky dotted with starlight.

She sat upright, her hands pressed against the ground as the world wobbled around her.

A furred cape slid down the length of her body, the sudden rush of heat from a flickering campfire’s flame catching on her face.

She blinked furiously, trying to push fatigue aside as she tried to stand.

“None of that, lass. Daenae want me bride to hit her head because her balance is gone.”

Aileen’s head swiveled to the voice—to Laird MacLiddel, sitting directly across from her with that same neutral expression she’d seen on him while talking to her kinsfolk.

Bannock lay beside him, her head upright and alert, with Mollie curled up against her side, another fur cape keeping the nighttime cold at bay.

“I didnae think such a wee body could eat so much in one sittin’,” Laird MacLiddel remarked. “Her appetite doesnae seem affected by yer long stint of travel.”

Intentionally so, Aileen wanted to say. But she kept the fact to herself, pulling on her own cape as the cold nipped at her gaunt frame.

“As for ye …” Gerald reached for a small, wooden bowl nestled against a few of the less-smoldering coals, offering it out to Aileen. “I have a feelin’ ye’ll be on a strict broth diet for a while. At least until yer body recognizes ye’re nay longer starving.”

Aileen nodded her thanks, taking a tentative sip of her soup. Warmth immediately seeped through her as the tang of salt and herbs coated her tongue. She nearly teared up at the reminder of how good food could taste.

“Slowly, lass,” Gerald instructed.

She hadn’t even realized how far back she’d tipped the bowl. “Sorry.” Aileen forced herself to set the bowl against her lap, her thumb brushing against the design found along its rim. She briefly glanced downward, catching the outline of fish jumping up a carved river stream.

It became her focus point, something to ground her, and she looked back up to finally speak toward whom she hoped would be her savior. “Ye… ye called me yer bride, me Laird.”

The laird nodded curtly. “I did.”

“Did …” Aileen hesitated, then shook her head. “Did ye actually mean that?”

Laird MacLiddel raised a brow slightly. “Do ye take me for a man who speaks in jest?”

“Nay, of course nae!” Aileen winced slightly as Mollie stirred from her voice’s jump in pitch. She watched nervously as Laird MacLiddel moved a hand in her way, receiving a threatening growl from Bannock in return.

“Hold,” he commanded.

Much to Aileen’s amazement, Bannock did just that.

Though her head remained upright, and a growl softly lodged in her throat, she made no move toward the Laird as he grasped Mollie’s fur cloak.

Pulling it up to her chin, she let out a deep sigh, a soft smile playing across her lips while she buried her face further into Bannock’s side.

“I cannae believe ye did that,” Aileen marveled. “There are days Bannock doesnae let me look in Mollie’s direction.”

“Another laird taught me the ways of these beasts,” Laird MacLiddel explained. “Had a few of me best hounds bred from his keep.”

“I see.”

The pair fell silent, allowing the crackling of firewood to fill the gap between conversations. Aileen raised the rim of her bowl slowly to her lips, taking a steady sip before, once more, working up the nerve to speak to the Beast of Braeriach. “Me Laird …”

“Gerald will do,” he said. “Ye’re me betrothed, after all. It’d be strange if the lady of MacLiddel spoke to her husband so formally.”

Aileen nodded slowly. “G—Gerald, then. I … I suppose I’m…

confused?” Again, she shook her head, her thumb brushing against the bowl’s carvings to keep her focused on the conversation.

“Ye … ye didnae ken me sister and I—and Marcus—betrayed all the lairds of the Highlands? Why, then, would ye willingly help his own kin?”

Gerald leaned forward, the green in his eyes far more menacing when tinged by the campfire’s flame. Aileen couldn’t help but pull away, her chest knotting tightly in anticipation. Suddenly, hiding in that wardrobe back in her brother’s study didn’t seem so bad.

“The political answer is I daenae have a wife,” he began. “And I shouldnae delay taking one for much longer. Ye happened to cross me path, and ye already have experience with children. Good traits for a laird’s wife, would ye nae agree?”

Aileen swallowed nervously at his implication. “But, Mollie?—”

“Willnae become me heir,” Gerald interrupted.

“Being a lady herself already disqualifies her, but even if I were that desperate, she has ties to the biggest traitor amidst the Highlands. She may become a midwife, a farmer, a seamstress, or cook—she may even grow to become MacLiddel’s own hound master, one that rivals that of clan MacDonnell’s.

” Gerald shook his head, arms crossing loosely against his chest. “Nay, whatever that child wishes to pursue in life, I am willin’ to provide for.

Given ye do yer part,” he added almost matter-of-factly.

Aileen couldn’t help but dream of the possibilities presented for her sister. Any one of those jobs would certainly provide her pertinent skills for the rest of her life, and finding a future husband would be all but guaranteed, especially with the Laird of MacLiddel’s support.

She never even considered a future for Mollie. It had been enough just to get her sister through one day. She grasped the bowl between her fingers, her heart racing in her chest.

“Then … me part would be to give ye an heir?”

Gerald’s laughter set Aileen’s hair on edge.

It felt just like a frigid breeze, devoid of actual, genuine humor or mirth.

“I’d like an heir from ye, if ye’d let me.

But I willnae demand it. It’s enough for ye to enter this …

contract , let’s call it. With ye by me side, taking Marcus’ territory will be far less challenging.

Besides …” He chuckled darkly. “It’s a fitting revenge.

Marcus took me brither away from me, and now, I willnae only be takin’ his last of kin, but his lands as well. ”

“Then, me marital duties …” Aileen began to ask.

“We shall live our own lives,” Gerald interrupted. “Ye only need to stand by me side and play the part. That’s all.”

That was all? Then, she was expected to live the rest of her life in a loveless marriage, watching her clan be completely taken over by this beast of a man.

Beast or not, his terms were certainly better than what the MacGunns would have made her do.

And there was no telling what they’d have done with Mollie.

At least this way, she has a chance at a normal life, Aileen reassured herself.

Thus, she set her bowl aside and shifted around the campfire, stretching her hand outward toward Laird MacLiddel with a determined expression. “Will ye shake on it, then? That ye’ll do all ye can for me sister’s future?”

Gerald’s brow rose slightly. “No caveat for yer own safety?”

Aileen’s frown hardened.

Another cold chuckle escaped as Gerald shook his head.

“The pair of ye have an odd fixation with handshakes. But very well.” He grasped her hand and pulled her close, their faces barely a centimeter apart from each other.

Aileen let out a startled gasp, surprised at how easily he’d yanked her off balance, how much control he had over her body.

“We shake on the future of yer sister. And,” he added with a smirk. “For yer own personal safety. I’ll nae lay a hand against ye, unless ye initiate it.”

Aileen’s face flushed at his words—or was it simply from the heat of the flames?

She found herself staring long and hard at his face, the rough edges and faded scars from battles long since passed.

At strands of thick, black hair that shaped around his brow, the verdant shade of his eyes was still lit up by the orange hues of the flames.

She glanced down at their hands, suddenly aware that he’d long since loosened his hold on hers. Quickly, she pulled away, maneuvering around him to sit beside her still-slumbering sister.

“Very well, then.”

At least for now, there was nothing left to be done.