Текст книги "My notorious highlander"

Автор книги: Vonda Sinclair

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"Admit defeat, warrior woman."

"Never!" One of her sharp elbows speared him in the stomach.

"Omph. Truce!"

She laughed. "The mighty MacLeod brought down by a mere woman?"

Releasing her, he leapt to his feet. "You are no mere woman, but a fierce and formidable one."

She smiled proudly, stood and dusted off her skirts. Her confidence was another thing he loved about her. Her rosy lips teased and taunted him. Again, he was staggered by how badly he wanted to kiss her, but he would wait until she was ready for it.

"I would like to learn to shoot a bow," she said, surprising him.

"Good." Now he simply had to figure out how to convince her to kiss him.

Chapter Six

After a trip to the castle to retrieve his longbow and half a dozen arrows, Torrin and Jessie headed along the beach again. Even though the sun was warm, the cool breeze off the sea kept the day from being hot.

Jessie glanced at him briefly, thinking about their earlier wrestling match on the sand. She had never imagined he would be as playful as a lad. He was a formidable chief, for heaven's sake.

She hadn't realized she was playful either. He must have brought it out in her.

Earlier, when he'd told her about how he'd also lost his beloved dog, she'd suddenly realized, deep down, that he was not that different from her. Of course, he was a man, a chief, and a fierce warrior, but he still had a heart. He was human, just like everyone else. Not the monster she'd always imagined him to be.

Still, just because she'd enjoyed talking to him and rolling about on the sand like a couple of bairns didn't mean she wanted to marry him. She didn't yet know him well, and she didn't wish to fall for another man who would desert her.

But she had to admit, when he'd had her pinned to the ground with his strong, lean body, the heat of arousal had singed her. It had been a long while since a man had touched her. And Torrin was more attractive than most. The wicked thought of what he might look like naked seared through her mind.

Jessie, you wanton wench. Though mortified at her own thoughts, she couldn't help wondering if the muscles of his arms, chest, stomach, and thighs were as sculpted as they'd felt pressed against her. Every part of him had been hard. She had even thought at one point, when his sporran had slid aside, that she'd felt that completely male part of him pressing against her.

The fact that he'd been aroused and hadn't kissed her or tried to seduce her told her much about his character. Aside from that, 'twas clear he'd almost kissed her that morn outside the kitchen, but he hadn't. Why? Had he known she wasn't ready?

Maybe he could be trusted. She glanced up at him again, taking in his steady green gaze, high forehead, solid, angular jaw and chiseled lips. Of a certainty, he was a charmer and a lady's man. He had no doubt seduced dozens of women. He could be the type who indulged in a tryst for a night or a week, then fled. She had no interest in men who changed their minds as often as they changed their shirts.

"Have you shot a bow before?" he asked when they neared the end of the beach close to the cliffs.

"I tried once but was so bad I gave up."

"Och. Never give up."

She smiled at his fierce gaze. "What will we shoot at?"

"This." He held up the short length of near worn out plaid, then pinned it to the high, vertical sandbank with two sharp sticks.

He moved back about fifty feet and she followed to stand beside him. She couldn't help but admire his strong, dexterous hands, long fingers, and muscular forearms as he strung the six-and-a-half-foot bow. Given the warmth of the day, he'd left his doublet at the castle and rolled up his sleeves. Though she tried not to stare at him and his physique, 'twas impossible to ignore his impressive arm and shoulder muscles that shifted beneath the ivory linen shirt.

"Here." He handed her a glove made of thin leather. "You'll need this to protect your fingers."

"Won't you need it?"

"Sometimes I shoot with it; sometimes without. 'Tis likely my fingers are tougher than yours."

She nodded and held the glove while watching him, trying to ignore how warm the leather was from his body heat.

He withdrew a thirty-inch arrow from the quiver. "You nock the arrow like this," he said, placing the feathered end of the arrow against the string while also pulling it back. The front of the bow curved gently. "Most men who have been shooting their whole lives don't take aim. They simply look at the target, and when they release the arrow, it goes where they intended. But since you're just starting, you may want to sight down the arrow and take aim. Line everything up. If there is a fiercely strong wind, you need to take that into account."

"Wind? There is never any wind in Scotland," she said wryly.

Sending her a richly sensual glance, he chuckled. Did he like it when she teased? After drawing his hand back even with his jaw, he released the string and let the arrow fly. It plunked into the plaid in the middle of a green square where two red lines crossed. The sandbank behind the cloth stopped the arrow.

"Now, you're going to tell me 'twas the middle of that square you were aiming at."

"'Tis exactly the one." He grinned and handed her the longbow. "Now you try."

After pulling on the glove, she took an arrow from the quiver and felt very awkward nocking it into the bow. Standing behind her right shoulder, he helped her position it. With great effort, she pulled the waxed linen string back, but not as far as he had. Her arms were shorter than his, and she didn't possess his strength.

"Sight down the arrow," he murmured in an intimate tone that scattered her thoughts for a moment.

Forcing herself to focus on aiming at the target, she let loose the string. The arrow sailed through the air but plowed into the sand a foot in front of the target.

"Och! You see. I'm terrible at this."

"'Tis your first try. We all miss on our first shot. Besides, the bow is a bit too long for you. 'Twas custom built for me with a long draw. Let's move forward a couple of feet."

"'Tis embarrassing," she muttered.

"Nonsense."

Of course, he was more muscular than she was; naturally his shots would be more powerful and the arrow would go farther. She'd always considered herself physically strong, for a woman, but she could never be as strong as he was, with his hard, defined muscles. She had never seen them nor run her hands over them, but she could see a bit of their bulk beneath the sleeves of his shirt, and when he'd had her pinned to the ground earlier, she'd felt them with her body.

"Try again." He handed her another arrow.

Once she had the string pulled back, he stepped in behind her and placed his hands over hers, helping her pull back the string a bit farther. "Now, we're hoping to put the arrow into that green square beside my arrow. This is where I would aim." His warm breath tickled her ear and she suppressed a shiver. "Now, hold it just there, and I'm going to remove my hand from the string."

When he did, her muscles started quivering. She released the arrow. It flew toward the target and thunked beside his in the green square.

"You see! You did it perfectly," he said with pride.

"With your help," she conceded.

"I'm glad to help." He observed her with a pleasant, amused expression just shy of a grin.

Her face heated and it had naught to do with the sun. She hated blushing. With her red hair and fair skin, 'twas not becoming.

"Try again," he suggested, handing her another arrow.

She took it and nocked it, determined to prove she could do this. Did she want him to be proud of her? Perhaps so. But mostly she didn't want to look the fool in front of him. She aimed as he had, pulled the string back tight until her muscles ached, then she released it.

The arrow flew faster than her first one and stabbed into the target two inches below the other two arrows.

"Excellent," Torrin said in an astonished tone. "You've made quick progress."

"I thank you." She gave a playful curtsy.

When the sunlight dimmed, Jessie glanced up and noticed thick black clouds approaching from behind the cliffs. "We'd best go back," she said over the rising wind and handed him the bow. She had been so focused on learning to shoot the bow—and on Torrin—that she hadn't paid attention to the sky.

He surveyed the clouds above. "Aye."

After he quickly gathered the arrows and plaid target, they took off at a brisk walk. Moments later, great rain drops splattered Jessie's hair and clothing. Blowing sand stung her face and hands. She sped up to a trot, and he was on her heels, but it was obvious they were not going to make it back to the castle before the downpour.

"The church," she called out over the fierce wind and thunder. It would be a good shelter. It was just off the beach and closer than the castle.

"Aye," he agreed, running alongside her.

Approaching the church, she pushed through the small wooden gate first, ran along the flagstone walkway and shoved open the heavy oak door.

Once inside the small stone building, he closed the door behind them. "The weather here is vicious."

"Indeed. Sometimes the only warnings are those dark clouds," she said, breathing hard.

"I've been out in some bad gales, but this appears to be one of the worst." He lay the bow and arrows on the floor.

Their loud breaths echoed through the church while rain pounded the slate roof.

"'Tis a new kirk, aye?" He glanced around.

Jessie nodded, admiring the polished oak ceiling, the carved pillars and beams. Her favorite were the stained glass windows, not so bright and colorful now since the sun was hidden by the clouds. "My father had it built last year, just before his death."

Torrin frowned. "I was sorry to hear of his passing."

"I thank you." She appreciated his compassionate tone, but it also made her a bit tongue-tied. "Da's tomb is here." She walked toward the front of the church and stopped before a plaque. Griff MacKay's face was carved into the stone along with his name and position. Though she hadn't been as close to her father as she might have been if she'd stayed here all her life, she did miss him intensely. He had been a good man and a much admired chief.

"I remember him." Torrin smiled. "A jovial and boisterous man with red hair and blue eyes."

"Aye. And very tall and strong." What a great warrior he had been when she was small. Sadness caught in her throat. She swallowed hard. "When I was a wee lass, he would carry me around on his shoulder, and I felt like I was on top of the world." Her eyes burned with tears.

"I know you must miss him," Torrin said in a quiet tone.

"Aye. 'Twas never the same after Da remarried. Maighread wanted me out of her sight. 'Twas one reason I was sent to foster with the Keiths. I was never as close to Da after that."

Torrin's gaze dropped. "At least your father cared for you."

"Yours didn't?"

Torrin shook his head, his face taking on a morose expression she had not seen from him before. "Nay. He was a tyrant. He beat my brother and me every chance he got. I tried to protect Nolan from his wrath but it rarely helped. As we got older, Father focused most of his abuse on Nolan, for he was always displeased with him. I think that's why he became an outlaw. He turned out just like Father, being vile to people. Or mayhap 'twas simply in his blood."

"You're not like that," Jessie said, just above a whisper. Was he? Though she hadn't known Torrin long, she was fairly certain he wasn't as ruthless as she'd first thought.

Torrin shook his head. "I'm more like my grandfather. Levelheaded. I like to think things through before doing anything drastic." He stared directly into her eyes. "I don't make rash decisions. That should tell you something."

She glanced away, unable to hold his intense gaze for more than a few seconds. "What should it tell me?"

When he remained silent for a long moment, she found it necessary to meet his gaze again. What she saw in his eyes was as turbulent as the storm overhead.

"Asking Dirk for your hand was not a rash decision. I'd had plenty of time to think about it, and you, during the month I was here last winter."

Jessie's face heated and she paced away from him, a slight panic making her heart beat harder. "But we didn't talk. You didn't know me."

"'Twas not for lack of trying. You avoided me."

Just as she wished she could avoid him now, but she couldn't venture out into the storm. Refusing to show fear, she faced him. "Well, I'm sure you can understand why now, after what I witnessed."

"Aye. I can. But now that you ken the truth and have gotten to know me, 'haps you will reconsider."

Fear latched onto her. She stepped back and lowered her gaze. "You will have to be patient. I still don't know you very well." Since MacBain's rejection, she'd faced the fact and grown used to the idea that she would never marry. Given the things that had happened in her past—that first broken betrothal, then the horrid trial marriage—all thoughts of marriage were dark and unhappy. She loved her family and wanted to stay with them, especially since Dirk had returned and her despicable stepmother was gone. She had become best friends with Dirk's wife, Isobel. The past six months had been some of the happiest of her life.

"I've thought about you every day since we met last November," Torrin said, his deep voice barely audible over the rolling thunder.

She'd be lying if she told him she'd never thought of him. But every time she'd imagined his face, she'd experienced a surge of conflicting emotions. Of course, he was devastatingly attractive in a dark and dangerous sort of way, but she'd also thought him a cold-blooded killer. Though she now knew that wasn't true, she still felt uneasy around him. She didn't quite trust him. When enraged, would he switch suddenly and become that man who'd executed her foster brother?

"You're still frightened of me, aye?" he asked, giving her a speculative look.

"Nay." 'Twas a lie, but she didn't want to appear weak. That was something she'd learned with the Keiths. Never show your vulnerabilities. Besides, she wasn't as afraid of Torrin as she was a few days ago.

"I don't believe you," he murmured.

She forced a smile, a brave front. "As I told you before, I fear no man."

"Prove it." His tone was soft but challenging.

"What?"

"Prove you're not afraid of me." Though his eyes dared her, his lips quirked into a faint teasing grin.

"I'm here alone with you, with no one else to protect me should you fly into a murderous rage. What more proof do you need?"

He lifted a brow. "Kiss me."

His soft words stunned her speechless and she could do naught but gape at him. His gaze traveled to her lips, then lifted to delve into hers once again. He was serious… deadly serious.

"Are you mad?" she demanded, once she had the power of speech again. "Nay!" She turned and marched back to the exit door, praying the storm would end soon, not because she was repulsed by him, but because the thought of kissing him threw her mind and body into a tizzy. She did not like the sweltering, disturbed feelings he gave her. She was a strong, independent woman, and he wanted to take away her power and control. She knew he could do it easily. 'Twas one thing she'd become more and more aware of over the past couple of days.

"Coward," he murmured just behind her in a teasing tone.

Should she run out into the storm, or be brave and face him? "This is a church, in case you haven't noticed. 'Twould be sacrilege," she whispered.

"Are you thinking God cannot hear you if you whisper?" he asked.

"Nay, of course, 'tis only…" What? She didn't know, but she couldn't kiss Torrin in a church… or anywhere.

"Kissing is not a sin," he said in an intimate tone that made her crave exactly what they were discussing.

"Some would disagree with you for it incites…" She snapped her mouth shut.

"Incites what?"

She bit her lip refusing to utter the word lust to him. Saints! He did make her lustful. The last time she'd felt that way, with MacBain, it had resulted in naught but embarrassment and a shattered heart.

"I thought you a brave lady… but alas, 'tis not true."

"Don't tease me, MacLeod," she warned, sending him a glare that she hoped would make him back down.

"Why not? 'Tis fun." He smiled. Blast! He had a beautiful and compelling smile.

"For you, I'm certain," she muttered, annoyed with herself because of her response to him, and annoyed with him for prickling his way beneath her skin.

"I will make the kiss fun for you as well," he promised. "The added benefit is that I won't tease you anymore, once you've proven your bravery."

"You are naught but a manipulative rogue."

He grinned, a look of pure mirth, and she could not look away. "I'll not argue with that. Would you kiss a knave in the… nave?"

Before she could help herself, she snorted with laughter, for they were indeed standing in the nave of the church. Reverend MacMahon would castigate them severely if he were to hear their conversation.

Torrin glanced around behind himself, then whispered, "No one will see us."

"God will see us," she reminded him, hoping he would cease his pursuit.

"God sees us wherever we are, not just in churches."

She blew out an exasperated breath. "You are mad. Why on earth would I want to kiss you? You're but a thorn in my side."

"Well, there are many reasons. There is naught thorny about a kiss, except 'haps my beard stubble." He scrubbed a hand against his roughened cheek. "I did shave this morn, but alas it keeps growing," he muttered.

She bit back a smile and eyed his short stubble, wondering just how rough and scratchy it was. Her lips and the skin of her face tingled with anticipation of feeling his manly texture. But, nay, she couldn't.

"A kiss would tell you whether you should like me or not," he said, his eyes darkening in a seductive manner.

"How so?" she asked, trying to maintain some semblance of decency in a church. "'Twill not be a judge of your character."

"Nay, but it will tell you whether we suit. If you like the kiss, you might like to get to know me better." His confident look told her he was certain she would like any kiss he gave.

"And if I don't like it, will you leave me alone and cease your pursuit?"

For a moment, he appeared crestfallen and solemn. "Aye. If you insist. But you cannot lie. I'll know it if you do."

Her stomach knotted, for she feared she'd just agreed to kiss Torrin. "I don't lie. I never lie."

He smirked. "Let's see if you do." Taking her hands, he stepped closer. She backed against the door, her pulse pounding against her throat.

If only she could open the door and escape before he reached her, but 'twas impossible. Besides, she wasn't certain she wanted to escape. Maybe a kiss from him truly would tell her whether she should like him or not. She had hated that first kiss from MacBain and that should've told her to run the other way.

"Listen." She glanced at the ceiling, hoping to distract Torrin. "The storm is passing."

"Good." But he wasn't distracted. Instead, he was focused on her eyes and her lips. He leaned closer, his mouth hovering over hers. His breath warmed her skin. She liked his scent—a mixture of leather, sea air, and masculinity—and now 'twas luring her closer.

Needing to end the suspense now, she reached up and pressed her lips to his. Saints! His lips were both soft and firm. His scent threatened to disorient her. Startled at her response to him, she pulled back, breaking the kiss, but he came with her.

"'Twas not yet a proper kiss." His lips captured hers again but this time with total possession and domination. Of a certainty, 'twas a rogue's kiss, and it threatened to seduce her. He slipped one hand into her hair and with the other, he cradled her face. She found her own hands caressing the hard muscles of his back.

His actions compelled her to open her mouth and she did, inviting ever deepening kisses. Sinful kisses that made her forget where she was… forget everything but him. His tongue flicked against hers, stroked with fiery erotic movements such as she'd never experienced before. His taste was even more bewitching than his scent and it made her imagine wicked things. The two of them in her bed, their naked skin sliding.

A moan reached her ears and she realized she'd made that shocking sound. He growled an even louder moan in response and the kiss grew fiercer. Pushing her against the door, he consumed her mouth with fire and passion.

Abruptly, he pulled back, breathing hard, watching her. "Now tell me, Lady Jessie, did you enjoy that, or nay?" he asked in a low murmur.

What? He expected her to talk now? After that? His green eyes were dark as a pine forest at gloaming. His heated look dared her to deny it.

She nodded, then shook her head.

"Which is it?" He darted a glance down at her lips again as if he might want to make a meal out of her. Some part of her wished he would.

"Aye," she whispered.

"And what does that mean? You want another?"

"Nay."

He gave her a crooked grin and moved closer. "You said you didn't lie."

'Twas true; she was lying. She grasped the plaid that crossed his chest and pulled him closer. He made a sensual purring sound and took possession of her mouth again.

Her arms around his neck, she couldn't get close enough to him. With his hands at the small of her back, he drew her tight against him, and she was certain the hardness she felt pressed against her lower belly was not his sporran.

He pulled back an inch, gazing into her eyes, his heavy-lidded and dark with passion. "We suit very well indeed, m'lady, as I knew we would from the first moment I saw you."

Clearly, he was hinting about marriage again. Fear shot through her, along with a good dose of mortification. She yanked her arms from around his neck, unable to believe she'd indulged in such a sinful kiss in a church. The good reverend might make her marry Torrin if he learned of it.

She turned, jerked open the heavy wooden door, and ran outside. Most of the gale had passed and only a light mist of rain and a breeze remained. She strode quickly along the walkway and through the wooden gate of the stone-walled kirkyard.

Torrin's footsteps sounded behind her, but she ignored him and headed toward the castle. Of a certainty, she'd enjoyed the kiss, but that didn't mean she wanted to marry him. He was too pushy and domineering by far. She had found contentment living here with her family and clan. Why alter something that wasn't a problem?

She had wanted a family of her own once, during her first betrothal and even when she'd been in the trial marriage to MacBain. But when that faux marriage had shattered upon the rocks, some of her dreams had died. Maybe she was barren as MacBain had accused. And if so, why would Torrin want to marry her? He needed an heir.

She stopped and turned. Almost running into her, Torrin grasped her arms, steadying them both.

"I'm barren," she said. Her throat tightened and closed and tears burned her eyes. She tore herself away from his hold and ran toward the castle gates.

"Jessie," he called after her, but she didn't stop.

There, she'd told him the truth, the reason they couldn't marry. They didn't suit at all because he needed an heir more than anything, and she couldn't provide one.

***

A quarter hour later, Torrin knocked at Jessie's bedchamber door. The woman he wanted for his wife was not barren. 'Twas impossible. He refused to believe it.

Her kiss had bewitched him. Once his lips had touched hers, he'd been certain she was the only woman for him. Never had a kiss affected him so profoundly. 'Twas not only the lust which had consumed his body, but his heart had somersaulted within his chest. She was the woman he'd dreamed of the whole of his life.

He knocked again.

"Who is it?" Jessie's muffled response came from inside the room.

"Me. Torrin."

"What do you want?"

"To talk." That much should be obvious to her.

"There is naught to talk about," she assured him in a firm voice.

"I disagree," he growled. They had plenty to talk about. He had imagined her as the mother of his children for more than six months. And now, to suddenly be told that wouldn't be possible was a blow to his vitals.

"Did you not hear what I said outside?" she demanded.

"Of course, I heard. 'Tis why I'm here now. How do you ken 'tis true?"

"How do you think?" she practically yelled through the door. "When I was with MacBain, I was unable to conceive a bairn."

"Iosa is Muire Mhàthair." He detested the sound of MacBain's name, and to once again imagine the bastard lying with Jessie gutted him.

A chambermaid approached along the corridor. Once she had disappeared into a room, he turned back to the door. "Let me in. I want to talk about this in private. Servants are passing by."

"How grand," she muttered. "Gossip will be all over the castle by morn." She removed the bar from the door and opened it. "Very well. Do come in, m'laird. This is not at all scandalous," she said in an impertinent tone.

He slammed the door closed and barred it. When he faced her and saw the unshed tears glistening in her eyes, annoyance pounded through him. Not annoyance at her but at the situation. "Mayhap MacBain is not as virile as he thinks," he said.

She shrugged. "He was able to sire a son with his lovely wife after that."

"How many times did you lie with him?" Torrin hated the image in his head of Jessie with that whoreson. It made him want to break MacBain's nose again, along with a few of his limbs.

"I didn't count. 'Twas three months."

"Were you not in the trial marriage for a year and a day?"

"Aye, but he lost interest and found a prettier lass to secretly spend his nights with."

"There could be no prettier lass than you," Torrin muttered, remembering how her hair had shimmered like red flames in the sunlight today, and her eyes had rivaled the bright blue sky. Now, in the dimness of the room, the colors were more subdued but no less beautiful.

"I thank you, but…" She shook her head, tears dripping onto her cheeks.

He wanted to hold her in his arms, brush all her tears away, then kiss her, but he was unsure what her response would be. Seeing her cry was like a punch to the gut. "I should've hurt MacBain worse than I did. Should've broken both his legs."

"Nay. There was no need. I just hope he stays gone."

"Why did you not leave him when he turned his attention to the other woman?"

"I had no proof. Besides, 'twas against the agreement I'd signed. I had to stay for a year and a day, no matter what, other than physical abuse of course."

"He didn't abuse you?"

"He never hit me, if that's what you mean. But he could be rather insulting at times. My father regretted making the arrangement, but there was naught either of us could do until the year was up, because MacBain kept the other woman a secret. There were rumors, but I didn't know who she was at the time. Only later did I find out he married her soon after I left."

Torrin paced before the small fireplace where a low fire burned. "Well, simply because you lay with MacBain off and on for three months and didn't conceive doesn't mean you're barren."

"'Haps you're right. But you're a chief and will want an heir. I'm certain marrying me would be a risk you wouldn't wish to take. And I refuse to sign another trial marriage agreement. Men have no concept of what that does to a woman."

Some called the trial marriage handfasting, and he could see the benefit of it. But now he tried to imagine the situation from the female viewpoint… from Jessie's viewpoint. 'Twas indeed a precarious position for a woman. A marriage might hinge on whether or not she was able to conceive. In any case, he wouldn't ask that of her. He wanted a real marriage. "I'm sorry you went through that. I can tell 'twas hard for you and it left some lasting damage."

She nodded, gazing into his eyes with a bit more trust than before. "'Tis not something I want to experience again. I've had two broken engagements. The first time, I was betrothed to one of the Keith allies, but he disappeared the day before the wedding and I never saw him again."

"A daft fool," Torrin muttered. What was wrong with these imbecilic men? Now only was Jessie a stunningly beautiful woman, she was also strong, tall and proud. A warrior princess? A goddess? Aye, indeed.

"Mayhap he had a premonition about—"

"Jessie," Torrin chided softly. "Don't say it. You're not barren."

"You don't know that."

"Neither do you. There's only one way to know for sure." Aye, he was ready for the challenge.

Jessie narrowed her eyes, glaring at him, but now—since the kiss—he saw more than just her ire. The way her pale blue eyes darkened told him she was more than interested in his suggestion. The way her hands had dug into his hair and held his head had told him she'd relished the kiss.

"Would it be so terrible?" he asked.

"For you, nay."

"You enjoyed the kiss near as much as I did. You cannot lie about that. And I can guarantee you will not leave my bed unsatisfied."

"Must you be so vulgar?"

Wry amusement came over him. "I was but speaking the truth, m'lady. And furthermore, I promise to give you pleasures such as you have never experienced before."

"'Tis but a game to you, aye?" she snapped. "This is my life we're talking about."

Frustration and need gored him. He knew he was right; he simply needed to prove it to her. "You want to live your whole life never knowing whether or not you're barren?"

She shook her head and stared into the fire's embers for a few moments. "It matters not. Birthing a bairn might kill me anyway."

Fear sliced through him. Every man's worst nightmare—the wife he loved dying while trying to bring their child into the world. "Why do you say that?" he demanded.

"My mother died giving birth to me. 'Tis not that rare."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"For a long time, I felt I was to blame."

"Nay. How could you be?"

She shrugged. "I know these things happen sometimes and no one is to blame."

"You're a healthy, strong woman. I'm certain you will be able to birth many bairns." He prayed she could, for he wanted no one else to be the mother of his children. He'd been imagining her as his wife for months. He'd even wondered what their children might look like. Would they have a son with flaming red hair, or chestnut brown like his? 'Haps several with each. Lasses, too. He'd imagined them living a long, happy life at Munrick.