The Highlander's Bride. Michele SinclairЧитать онлайн книгу.
faster. Something evil, dark with black eyes, was in pursuit and if it caught her, everyone she loved would die. Somehow she knew the terrifying presence would never stop hunting her. Just as she was about to collapse from exhaustion, someone, large and faceless, lifted her and carried her high above the trees towards majestic blue-gray mountains capped with snow. There, she was safe from the hatred below. Peace settled around her like a dense fog on a cool morning and sleep was finally possible.
Conor, a light sleeper, was awakened early in the night by Laurel’s agitated slumber. She was dreaming and unmistakably terrified. He realized, seeing her panicked expression, that her shield of pride she wore when awake had been masking much of her true fear. He reached down to gently wake her, but it seemed to inflame her dream state even more. Only when he sat down and gathered her into his arms did she finally seem to calm.
Laurel awoke in the middle of the night feeling safe and warm. She thought that sleep must be clouding her mind, for she seemed to be resting her head on Conor’s shoulder and one of her legs was cast over his. The intimate and inappropriate position of their bodies was undeniable.
Laurel didn’t move. Oh, she knew that she should, but never had she felt more extraordinarily comfortable in her life. She closed her eyes. In his arms, she found a safe haven that would be gone by morning. Conor was always the first to rise so no one would know, she told herself. So instead of moving away as a proper English lady should, Laurel remained where she was, savoring every moment of being close to Conor until she fell back into a peaceful sleep.
Conor awoke when she did. Her soft, warm breaths had turned shallow for a couple of minutes, and he wondered if she would distance herself from him. When she did not, he wanted to believe that she enjoyed and craved their embrace as much he did. More likely she was just cold, and he provided the physical warmth she needed.
He tried not to think about how wonderful it was having her by his side. He dismissed the smell of lilacs and the way it felt when she sighed her light feathery kisses of air across his chest, and concentrated on returning to sleep. He forced himself not to stroke the silky golden locks of hair that randomly found their way into his hands. Sleep finally came again, but not quickly.
The next morning, when it was time to mount their horses and leave, both Hamish and Loman volunteered to have Laurel ride with them. However, each of the brothers argued that she should ride with a McTiernay. Laurel, not wanting to antagonize any man or show preference, stood in the middle of the broken campsite searching for a diplomatic solution. Conor experienced mixed feelings of relief and strain when he settled the dispute by having her ride with him.
Their soul-shaking kiss followed by their sharing a plaid throughout most of the night had done nothing to quell his growing desire to possess her. Her calm demeanor and quiet courage only fueled his growing fire of need. Touching her all day was going to be hell, but one he strangely welcomed enduring.
He rode up to Laurel, reached down and said, “You ride with me.” She smiled at him, and as she expected, her highlander scowled back in return. She was getting to understand this gentle giant better.
Laurel was feeling better today. Conor had been correct about binding her ribs. The added support was making it a much easier ride than on the previous day. She was taking in the beautiful countryside and saw the green, tree-filled mountains they were approaching.
“Are those the highland mountains?” she asked, pointing to where they were headed.
He chuckled in response, and she could feel his laughter vibrate throughout his body. “No, lass. Those are but wee hills separating the border Scots from the central Scots.”
Laurel looked at the huge rocks jutting into the sky. Wee hills?
“The highlands are the most grand lands of Scotland. They tower over the rest. Only the strongest can survive there.”
Laurel could hear the pride in his voice when he spoke of his northern high country.
“Tomorrow, we will be well into the valley of the central Scots. In the morning, as we crest the hills, you may be able to see several lochs to the west.” Laurel smiled, remembering that was how her grandfather had referred to lakes or bodies of water.
“The valley stretches from the southwest to the northeast along the mountain line, cutting across the center of Scotland to separate her highlands from her border regions.”
“How long will we be in the valley?” she inquired.
“We shall be out of the valley by day after tomorrow. Watch the terrain. It will change as we get closer.”
Laurel had already noticed that the red sandstone and limestone that were characteristic of her homeland and the border lands were changing. As they rode on, the red sandstone remained, but it was now sprinkled with an unusual dense, dark-gray, fine-grained rock that was peppered with holes. She remembered her grandfather explaining its features were caused by the cooling of melted rock. Even now, it was difficult for Laurel to conceive rock so hot that it melted and then changed form after it cooled.
After their noon break, they proceeded north entering Clyde valley, which cut across the southern middle of Scotland. It was a beautiful combination of riverine and gorgeous ash and elm woodlands that were extensively covered with lush ground flora. Laurel had never seen the like.
She could feel Conor relax some and knew they must be in friendly territory once again. It was amazing how he was able to tell just by his surroundings exactly where he was in relation to his friends and enemies. After riding with him all day yesterday and now today, she could sense when they were on friendly land and able to speak.
“Clyde said that all the McTiernays were traveling home with the exception of Colin. Who is he? Will he be returning soon?”
“Colin is the second McTiernay and, in answer to your other question, no, he will be staying with his new wife’s family, helping out with their guard and eventually becoming their laird.”
“Isn’t it unusual for a husband to assume the role of laird in a clan?”
“Sometimes. But, in this case, Deirdre Dunstan was the eldest of Dunstan’s children—all girls.”
“Similar to the McTiernays—all boys,” Laurel said and smiled, looking ahead.
“Similar, but no. Without boys to become laird, someone must fight for the title. In Dunstan’s case, his clan is small but strong. If Colin becomes laird, the alliance among our clans will be near unbreakable.”
“Because you are brothers,” she tried to understand.
“Because Colin is strong, skilled, capable and most important, trustworthy.”
“Ah, he will be loyal.”
“He is my brother.” Laurel silently shook her head, amused at his circular logic.
They rode a little further, and Laurel gathered her nerve to ask a personal question.
“Why haven’t you married?”
Conor unconsciously raised his shoulders in a shrug. “I have no reason to search for a good match.”
“A good match?” Laurel asked, confused.
“I have no need to marry. I have alliances with the clans I want to be united with. My brothers will continue the McTiernay line and as for physical…well, that requires no contract of commitment.”
They rode on, each absorbed in private thoughts. Laurel had enjoyed the conversation with him up until hearing his opinion on the three reasons why men marry women. He thought a man and a woman only married due to some external need. What about love, affection, and friendship?
Conor sensed her stiffen in reaction to what he had said, but she did not contradict him. Maybe she understood and agreed with him. But, then again, a lady usually wanted babies, a family and companionship. And these things were not possible without marriage. He was not sure how he felt about such things himself, now that he had met her. The concept of marriage was still not pleasant, but the