The Highlander's Defiant Captive (The Lairds Most Likely 4)

Another of those heart-stopping smiles. "I dinnae feel like I lost at all."

"And I dinnae feel like I won."

The words were a revelation. He'd imagined that if ever he gained Mhairi Drummond’s consent to wed him, he’d feel triumphant. But mostly what he felt was grateful. And happy.

Absurd when they still faced so many obstacles to feel as happy as he did.

She searched his face. "Really?"

"Really."

This time Mhairi kissed him. A sweet meeting of lips that promised years of joy to come.

If her father didn’t succeed in killing him first.

"Take me home, Callum. Take me back to Achnasheen."

He wanted to seize her up in his arms and hug her close, but he was too aware of her injury, so he merely smiled at her with every drop of adoration brimming in his heart.

"Aye, with pleasure, mo chridhe. We have a wedding to arrange."

Chapter 21

In the tower room at Achnasheen, Mhairi sat up against a pile of pillows in the huge bed. For the first time in her life, she waited for a man to come and join her. She wore a delicate white silk nightdress, and her hair tumbled unbound around her shoulders. After a glorious day, rain had set in so a fire blazed in the hearth.

Today she and Callum had plighted their troth before the castle's minister and what looked like every member of the Mackinnon clan. When she stepped into the airy granite chapel with its high, clear windows, she’d expected hostility to tinge the atmosphere. But something had changed since Callum had claimed her as his lady, and especially since he'd ridden back into Achnasheen three days ago to announce that she'd agreed to marry him.

Perhaps it was the news that Sheena had connived at her death, or that Mhairi had freely chosen to take the laird as her husband.

She didn't fool herself that the people here yet gave her the same loyalty and affection that they gave Callum. Perhaps they never would. But the congratulations she'd received after the ceremony had sounded sincere. The celebrations at the wedding feast had been riotous. And during her short betrothal, she'd received nothing but smiles as, for the first time, she'd wandered freely about the castle, awed at the magnificence of this place that would become her home.

Bruard was a rich man's house, but nothing in the Drummond stronghold could compare with the luxury here. A wealth of tapestries, carpets, glass, and paintings left her dazzled. Silver and gold abounded. Opulent furnishings. All chosen for their beauty.

Beauty wasn't the primary consideration at Bruard.

Constantly at her side was the tall, handsome, wonderful laddie she'd pledged herself to marry. Through their earlier conflicts, she'd caught fleeting glimpses of the real man behind the jailer. The Callum who sought her company these last few, elated days was kind and clever, funny and perceptive. The moment she agreed to stay at Achnasheen, she'd known she made the right choice. Every moment since had only confirmed that decision.

Today, there had been flowers everywhere, in the chapel, the courtyard, the hall. Now rose petals from the secret walled garden were scattered across the rich counterpane she drew up to her waist as she waited for her bridegroom.

Waited in an agony of nerves and anticipation.

It was all very well being sure of her choice to wed the Laird of Achnasheen, but she'd never given her body to a man. While she was aware of the mechanics, her heart raced with uncertainty at what exactly would happen when Callum took her in his arms. So when the door opened and an exuberant party of her husband’s kinsmen propelled him inside, her stomach knotted into tangles of trepidation and her mouth went as dry as a desert.

Accompanying the merriment, a deafening skirl of bagpipes and recorders rebounded off the walls. Mhairi saw a few drunken Mackinnons banging on tabors. Others hit pots and pans with wooden spoons. There were a couple of women among the revelers, although a dozen of the castle's ladies had already been and gone, preparing her to greet her bridegroom.

For the sake of modesty, Mhairi tugged the brocade cover up around her shoulders. The jubilant hubbub faded to nothing, ending on a last discordant squirt from the bagpipes. As all eyes focused on Mhairi, heat rose in her cheeks.

"Och, Mackinnon, you've caught yourself a fairy," Duff said. "Nae mortal lassie could be so bonny."

It should have sounded like a joke. It didn't.

The crowd parted, and she found herself looking straight at the Mackinnon. He was still in the black velvet coat and formal kilt he'd worn for their wedding. A lace stock frothed at his strong throat and more lace peeped out from beneath his heavy cuffs with their elaborate silver buttons. When she'd first seen him standing in the chapel, her heart had performed a dizzying somersault at the prospect of such a superb man promising himself to her alone.

In this bedchamber, the effect was no less powerful. S

tronger. Soon he’d reveal the body beneath all that spectacular finery. Gulping with a return of nerves, she hoped she didn't look like a frightened rabbit. She didn’t want her audience thinking she was anything but willing on the night she gave herself to the Mackinnon chieftain.

"Aye, she's beautiful inside and out," Callum said, his deep voice resonant with love. "I'm proud to call Bonny Mhairi my bride."