Page 13 of When the Laird Conquers

“An English lass?” Keith straightened up, his humor vanishing. “Which guard? I’ll have him whipped right away, me Laird.”

“I thought ye might be able to figure that out,” Gordon replied. “It was one of the guards at the gates.”

Keith clicked his tongue in consternation. “I ken she’s a pretty thing, but the lads ken nae to be fooled by that. Och, I cannae be havin’ this. Why did ye nae wake me up last night so I could interrogate her?”

“Because she was scared enough,” Gordon answered.

He thought of how he must have appeared to her in the dark of that barrack room where he slept more often than in his fine bedchamber. She had been scared; he had felt it radiating off her. Yet, she had shown courage that not many possessed, holding her ground in the most dangerous of situations. All for the sake of that smiling baby. A mother’s strength, a mother’s bravery, and Agnes wasn’t even a mother.

“What does she need protectin’ from?” Keith asked, his eyes searching the yard, as if trying to pick out the guard who had failed so spectacularly.

Gordon gave the short version of events as he understood them.

“So, for now, she’s the Mad Laird’s bride,” he concluded.

The very next moment, Keith erupted into laughter. A sound so jarring and unwelcome that he earned a sharp glare from Gordon, which only made him laugh harder.

“Och, I never thought ye were a man to follow fashions, me Laird,” Keith teased through his laughter. “It’s apparently very fashionable to have yerself an English wife these days. Laird MacLellan got himself one nae that long ago.”

“Logan?” Gordon blinked in disbelief.

“Aye. Heard they were due to have another bairn soon.”

It had been a while since Gordon had had any reason to visit with Laird MacLellan, but the man was known to him from days gone by, when, under his father’s reign, Clan Buchlann had garnered some of its wealth from piracy. Raiding English ships for whatever they could take.

He would not have said that he and Logan were friends, but they were certainly allies.

“She’s nae goin’ to be me wife,” Gordon said tersely. “It’s nae real. It’s just until I can get rid of the man who’s pursuin’ her, and she’s said I cannae kill him, so it willnae be as quick as I’d prefer.”

“At least she has sense,” Keith commented. “If ye kill one Englishman, ye’ll have to kill the twenty others who come after him, cryin’ for justice they daenae deserve.”

Gordon was about to remark that he’d like to see them try when he spotted Agnes. Her face lit up as she met his gaze, and she broke into a run, waving both her hands as if it was possible to miss her.

“Fuck,” Gordon grumbled. “Why does she have to be so… so… bright and… sunshiney?”

Keith arched an eyebrow. “I daenae think that’s a word, me Laird.”

“Aye, well, maybe nae, but what does she have to smile about so much?”

A few of the soldiers cast appreciative glances in her direction as she hurried around the side of the yard, graciously avoiding the swing of blades and the speed of flying arrows, and came to a breathless standstill in front of Gordon.

Immediately, another bright smile curved her tempting lips, though they rounded out into a slightly surprised ‘o’ as her eyes wandered over his half-naked body.

Perhaps she hadn’t seen as much as he thought the previous night.

She seemed frozen, staring, not a sound escaping that luscious mouth of hers. Only her eyes moved, roving over him, taking him in. Was she even aware that she was openly gaping at him?

His body responded as if it were her touch and not just her eyes admiring him. An intense heat that flared in the pit of his stomach, smoldering down to his loins. A rush of blood roared in his ears, awakening a different wolf in him, a ravenous one that had not been fed in a very long time.

Of course, he was no monk. Lasses had joined him in his bed whenever the desire took him, but that was just a routine matter, like sparring with his man-at-arms to work off a frustration.

This was different. This was a wolf that had been caged for a long time. This was need and want combined, not mere habit.

He cleared his throat. “Ye wanted somethin’, lass?”

And ye can have it if ye just say the word, a voice whispered in his mind, stoking the flame within him.

She blushed a shade of red so perfect, so deep that he craved to touch it, to feel its warmth against his fingertips, and to perhaps see how far down it went.