Never Love a Highlander (McCabe Trilogy 3)

“ ’Tis cold. You should be indoors where it’s warm.”

He slid a hand over her shoulder and squeezed, trying to bring her comfort.

To his surprise she laughed. ’Twas not a joyous sound that bubbled from her throat. It was harsh and hoarse. It sounded pained.

“You probably think I’m daft,” she said.

“Nay,” he said gently. “Not daft.”

“You also probably think I’m a scared rabbit now, afraid to leave my chamber, afraid to venture outside for fear of being attacked again.”

“Nay, lass. I think what you need is time to heal. Your courage will come.”

She turned then and pinned those glowing eyes upon him until he felt unsettled by the directness of her gaze.

“I’m not afraid, Laird. ’Tis the truth I’m furious.”

Anger was an appropriate response under the circumstances, and she did look furious. Sparks fair shot from her eyes and her entire body trembled. For the first time he relaxed, relief sudden and fierce. He knew how to respond to an angry Rionna. But the beaten, worn-down, fragile woman who’d occupied her body for the last week baffled and confused him.

“ ’Tis good you’re angry,” he offered sagely.

She shot to her feet and spun around, glaring at him. Her fists were formed into tight balls at her sides, and she looked like she wanted to take a swing at him.

“Even if ’tis you I’m furious with?”

Now that he wasn’t prepared for. He frowned, knowing that he had to tread lightly here. The lass wasn’t right yet. Her emotions were all over the place, and he didn’t want to upset her further.

“ ’Tis sorry I am that I wasn’t here to protect you, Rionna. ’Tis something I’ll regret my life through. I should have better seen to your protection. ’Tis not a mistake I’ll make again.”

A garbled sound of rage roared from her throat. She looked as though she wanted to clench her fingers around her hair and pull.

“Nay, you shouldn’t have protected me better, husband. What you should have done was allowed me to protect myself!”

“You’re not making sense, lass. Calm down. Let’s go inside. You should be above stairs in your chamber.”

“Do you know what had just happened before those men attacked me?” she asked, ignoring his suggestion to return indoors. “I’ll tell you what happened. My sword had just been taken by Hugh because he said he didn’t want me to be harmed and ’twas not a womanly thing to be wielding a sword. He warned the other men that any who engaged me in swordplay would answer to him.”

She advanced on Caelen and poked a finger into his chest. “If I had my sword, those men would have never gotten close to me. They wouldn’t have shoved me to the snow. They wouldn’t have touched me. They wouldn’t have hit me.”

Ah, but the lass had worked herself into a fit of rage that was impressive to behold. It shamed him that he fair quivered with lust as she bore down on him aggressively as a warrior about to deliver a death blow.

’Twas all he could do not to bear her into the snow and divest her of her tunic and those hated trews.

“If you wanted a meek lady of the manor with all the social niceties and the proper grooming and breeding to be a perfect hostess and compliment to you, then you should have thought before you stepped forward to marry in your brother’s stead. He knew what he was getting.”

She planted her hands on her hips and stepped forward again until her chest was pressed against his midsection.

“I am none of those things. I have no desire to be those things. I had set my mind to relent and to apply myself to be the perfect wife, and then the men came across the brook and overpowered me as easily as they would a child. What good am I to you or to my clan if I cannot even defend myself? How am I supposed to protect my kin? The children? The other women of the keep? Will I stand over the graves of others and murmur that I was a good wife and a gracious lady? Will that be of comfort to their families? Will they forgive that I stood by and allowed their loved one to die because my husband wanted a wife who could smile prettily and curtsy without getting her feet tangled?”

Caelen battled the smile that threatened. He bit at his bottom lip and valiantly tried to keep his amusement at bay, for if he laughed now, she might well spit him on her dagger.

’Twas the truth he should be angry at her blatant show of disrespect. He should even now be reprimanding her. But ’twas the first sign of life he’d seen in the week since her attack, and God’s truth, she was glorious in her rage.

“Think you this is funny?” she demanded.

She shoved at him with all her might, surprising him with her sudden move. He went down in the snow, landing with a thud. He glared up at her as he dusted the snow from the tops of his legs.

She stood over him now, holding him captive with her fiery gaze. Then her expression became pained, and the shadows returned to her eyes.

“Let me be who I am, Caelen. I would not ask you to change who you are. I can help you if you’d let me. Don’t relegate me to the shadows, pulling me out only when ’tis convenient for you. Maybe ’tis the way of things in the world, but it doesn’t have to be that way for us.”

Caelen sighed as her impassioned plea made a direct hit to a region of his heart he’d long thought dead. “ ’Tis so important to you to dress as a man and wield a sword?”

She frowned and shook her head. “ ’Tis not the manner of dress that ’tis important. If you can show me how to successfully wield a sword in a woman’s gown, I’ll not gainsay you if you tell me not to wear this manner of dress again.”