The Highland Wife

“God’s holy mercy!” she whispered. He was naked as the day he was born!

Eyes wide with fascination, she watched MacBain as he checked the horses for injury and resettled the packs on their saddles. The man had no shame whatsoever!

Of course, he thought there was none to see him save his manservant, who appeared to be sleeping, Mairi reminded herself. But did he not remember that she must come out of the woods soon? Did he want her to see him so exposed?

Her face flamed at the sight, but she could not tear her gaze away. What muscles he had, she thought as they flexed in his arms, shoulders and even his backside. Ah, that backside was something to see!

Her hands clenched, imagining the smooth feel of all that sun-kissed skin. The desire to touch him all but overcame her….

Praise for a few of Lyn Stone’s previous works

Bride of Trouville

“I could not stop reading this one…. Don’t miss this winner!”

—Affaire de Coeur

The Knight’s Bride

“Stone has done herself proud with this delightful story…a cast of endearing characters and a fresh, innovative plot.”

—Publishers Weekly

The Wicked Truth

“Stone has an apt hand with dialogue and creates characters with a refreshing naturalness.”

—Publishers Weekly

The Highland Wife

Harlequin Historical #551

#552 ANNE’S PERFECT HUSBAND

Gayle Wilson

#553 LONGSHADOW’S WOMAN

Bronwyn Williams

#554 LILY GETS HER MAN

Charlene Sands

The Highland Wife

Lyn Stone

Available from Harlequin Historicals and LYN STONE

The Wicked Truth #358

The Arrangement #389

The Wilder Wedding #413

The Knight’s Bride #445

Bride of Trouville #467

One Christmas Night #487 “Ian’s Gift”

My Lady’s Choice #511

The Highland Wife #551

Other works include:

Silhouette Intimate Moments

Beauty and the Badge #952

Live-In Lover #1055

Special thanks to my son, Eric, for providing inspiration and informal signs, to my daughter, Pamela, for her encouragement, and to my husband, Allen, for everything.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

The Highlands

Summer 1335

What the devil was he doing in this place? He did not need a wife this desperately, Robert MacBain told himself. Yet here he rode, into the very heart of the unfamiliar. Into these alien hills, to wed an unseen betrothed who was likely more apprehensive than he was about the whole matter.

Yet he was obliged to carry through. Thomas de Brus had traveled far and spent half a year arranging this marriage, urgently driven to it because his sister had spurned Rob and broken their lifelong betrothal. Rob had not the heart to refuse his friend and leave him with that guilt, but now he wished he had waited for Thomas to recover and come with him. The date of Rob’s arrival had been agreed upon, however. His bride awaited.

So here he was, facing the only terror that ever plagued him. The unknown. The makings of his worst nightmares. This was not a fear he would ever admit aloud. Nor a thing he would avoid.

He glanced around and up at the harsh gray peaks that defined the Highlands. This forbidding region looked so different from the Midlothian he called home. Neither did it bear any resemblance to the various places on the Continent he had visited to participate in tournaments with his brother Henri.

Rob had no wish to be in this place, yet its peculiar scents and incredible beauty fascinated him nonetheless. He decided he must dwell upon the favorable aspects of this journey instead of his dread.

Would his Highland bride hold true with her surroundings? Would she differ so greatly from the women he had explored in the past? Would she beguile, or repel him? Or perhaps do both at once, as did her homeland?

The sharp blade of anticipation sliced through his apprehension. While that did not banish it altogether, it certainly made it more manageable. The woman might make all this worthwhile. Thomas had promised she was quite beautiful as well as congenial.

He inhaled a deep breath of the cool, crisp air and shook his head to clear it of the useless musing. Whether he liked the lass or not, she would be his wife. His family and Thomas would cease worrying about him then. Rob needed to get an heir from some woman. If he could not have the lady meant for him, he might as well take this one since Tom had gone to so much trouble.

His man, Newton, reined his cob and waited until Rob rode abreast. “Craigmuir’s just through yon hills, milord.” He pointed ahead, off to the right. “Would you care to rest? Tidy yourself?” Newt made a scrubbing motion on his chest and cocked his brow. “Your bride awaits!”

The merry grin Newton wore told Rob how begrimed he looked after a week’s travel in the same garb.

“There’s a burn up ahead we must cross to get there.”

Rob nodded and rode past Newton. Their mounts picked up the pace to a trot, scenting the water.

His father had taught him that in any confrontation, Rob should appear as though he already conquered the world. Thus far, the advice had served him well. It would today.

“He comes! He comes!” cried the sentry on the wall. Corby was all but leaping about with glee as he pointed toward the south.

Mairi MacInness refused to play overeager. Especially when everyone else at Craigmuir acted as though Christmas mummers were expected. She supposed they had good enough reason for their excitement, with the feast and merrymaking imminent. For them it would be a grand holiday. As for herself, she would reserve judgment until she saw whether she had any good cause to celebrate.

Her father joined her on the steps to the hall. “Best you wait inside, dove,” he advised her. “I would meet him first.”

Mairi complied, but she did not go far, certainly not to her chamber to await being summoned. Instead, she went to the small chamber her father used to tally his accounts and store his books. From there, she would be able to see all that took place within the hall without being seen.

She wanted no surprises. If the man proved loathsome, this would allow her time to prepare a proper reaction when they were introduced.

While waiting, Mairi once again straightened the neck of her chemise, smoothed her skirts, rearranged the belt, her chatelaine and the simple scabbard that held her eating knife. Satisfied that she appeared as presentable as possible, she then kept avid watch upon the hall door.

Her eyes grew wide with wonder when at last she saw him enter. Mercy, he did look impressive. Taller even than her sire, he was, and quite a contrast to her cousin Ranald. She had hoped never to see that one again. He’d arrived late, but there he came now, hurrying to catch up to her father and the newcomer as they crossed the hall.

Unable to quell her curiosity, desperate for a closer look at the stranger who had come to wed her, Mairi decided she would risk appearing eager after all.

They had halted at one side of the raised dais. Mairi approached just behind and to the right of her sire and remained silent and unobtrusive, as was proper. Her time would come, and none too soon to suit her.

Baron MacBain’s emissary had arrived to make the arrangements two months prior to this. She had met him briefly, but had not known why the man was here until he had departed. After informing her rather curtly of the marriage plans, her sire had said nothing more on the subject no matter how she had plagued him about it.

Mairi had prepared herself to refuse the match if it was not to her liking, no matter that her father had already arranged her wedding down to the last ribbon on her gown.

Now she forgave him that, for it seemed he had done right well by her after all. Her mother would be proud of Da’s arrangements and of Mairi’s biddable acceptance, had she lived.

What a pleasant surprise that the intended was such a young and comely man, Mairi thought. Since she was four and twenty, a good decade past the age his kind usually sought in a bride, she had fully expected to meet a groom in his dotage, minus most of his hair and teeth.

That the man chosen was not a Highlander only counted in his favor. Leaving this isolated place would pose little hardship as far as Mairi was concerned. All her life she had craved adventure and travel to new places, even while thinking how unlikely she was to experience either.

She would miss her father, of course. Though most of the time the laird scarcely gave her more attention than he did his hounds, she knew he loved her well. Otherwise why would he trouble himself to chastise her roundly now and again and caution her to be more thoughtful and prudent?

Since she had never known her mother, he must feel obliged to make a proper lady of his only child. Mairi was glad he cared enough to bother.

At the moment Da headed her list of favorite people simply because he had chosen such a fine husband for her.

Aside from the occasional raids by the neighbors, life at Craigmuir proved exceedingly dull. Even those events possessed a sameness. Ride near, steal a few head of kine and ride out. Then her father’s men would retaliate. Other than patching up the few minor wounds acquired and enduring the curses when a raid failed, none of it affected her own routine.

Now here stood her hope for great change. His light brown, sun-streaked hair had been neatly groomed, combed away from his wide brow. His dark gray eyes seemed to miss nothing, though he did not turn his head and gape as some did upon entering the cavernous hall. He must be used to even larger and better.

Mairi thought so because his exquisitely embroidered woolen tunic and tightly woven hose seemed richer, and his excellent weaponry more costly, than her father’s. Or any other she had ever seen, for that matter.

Silver spurs and the chain he wore marked him as a knight as well as a noble, but she had already known that about him. One of the few details she’d been granted was his title of baron.

And how seriously noble he was. She smiled in welcome from her place just behind the laird, hoping for a ready response that would signify friendliness. Yet judging by his countenance, the man might have been approaching a hangman’s noose. He gave neither her nor her smile any notice whatsoever. Of course, he did not know yet who she was, Mairi reasoned.

She clenched her teeth and maintained the smile, silently determined to not judge the man too swiftly. He must be as worried as she was about this first meeting.

Her father had yet to notice she was present, for she stood out of his sight. He had just greeted her cousin and was making introductions.

“Lord Robert MacBain, Baron of Baincroft, meet my kinsman and chosen tanist, Sir Ranald MacInness.” He inclined his head toward their cousin who would be laird of the MacInness after him.

Ranald was a tall, stalwart man of thirty years who seemed cursed with a perpetual smirk. The sin-dark eyes examined their guest as intently as the man’s silvery-gray gaze regarded him.

Though Ranald bore the sword, spurs and other trappings of a knight, Mairi knew he possessed none of the inner qualities required of one. Chivalry, humility and honor were unknown to him. She wondered whether that would be obvious to one who had never met him before. Lord MacBain’s handsome face remained so unexpressive, she could not tell what he thought.

“Sir Ranald,” MacBain acknowledged gruffly, her cousin’s name sounding foreign upon his tongue.

He offered his arm and, after a short hesitation, Ranald clasped it briefly in greeting. “MacBain,” he replied with obvious disdain, ignoring the baron’s title. An insult.

Mairi felt a prickle between her shoulder blades. Ranald would bear watching, she thought. It was a safe wager the man had a purpose in being here other than to meet her bridegroom. He had requested that nebulous honor for himself with some regularity, much to her disgust.

“I regret I cannot stay for the nuptials,” Ranald told her father. “I must return to Enslor before the morrow.”

“Expecting trouble?” the laird asked.

“Nothing I cannot deal with,” her cousin replied curtly. “’Tis little enough I have to do these days when I could be relieving you of many duties hereabout.”

Mairi’s father sighed. “Ambition is often admirable, Ranald. But I’m not dead yet, as ye can see.”

This could degenerate into another family squabble, Mairi thought with mounting apprehension. What an embarrassment to them all, that would be. Her gaze leaped to Lord MacBain, who observed her father and Ranald with keen interest.

Ranald pressed a hand to his chest in mock dismay. “Ye mistake my offer of help, m’laird.” He looked past her father and fastened his evil gaze on Mairi. “Just as ye mistook my frequent proposals to become as a son to ye.”

Her sire snorted inelegantly. “Cousin is a close enough tie to suit me. The clan chose ye years ago, and ye’ll have yer due, but not through me or mine.”

Ranald looked Mairi up and down, then smiled his oily, suggestive smile. How often he had done this, silently promising her what would happen if he ever caught her alone?

Abruptly the MacBain stepped between them, purposely cutting off her cousin’s view of her. Only then did Ranald halt his taunting of her and take his leave.

Thank God he did. The man made her skin crawl as though she were covered with leeches.

When they were finally free of Ranald’s presence, her future husband turned and looked her straight in the eye, as if she were the only person in the world worth seeing. Mairi’s skin felt fine at that moment. A bit overheated, yet fine. ’Twas her bones that melted.

God save her soul, this man could charm the thorns off of thistles. She felt totally bereft when he looked away to focus expectantly on her father.

Today, for the first time since she had found she was to marry, Mairi MacInness felt the definite thrill of expectation.

Of course, she had another reason for that feeling. She had not even hoped that he would be this handsome or look so worthy, given her father’s obvious reluctance to speak to her of the match.

“Lord MacBain, here is my daughter, Mairi MacInness,” her father said by way of introduction, and drew her forth by her arm to stand immediately before her intended. “Yer bride.”

Again she became the target of his full regard. The steel-gray, long-lashed eyes widened slightly with avid interest, mayhaps even desire. Mairi almost shivered.

Cautiously, as though he thought she might refuse the gesture, he extended one large hand, calloused palm upright. Mairi offered her own and watched as he lifted her fingers to his lips. He had wonderful lips. She sighed.

His eyes never left her face as that finely shaped mouth nearly touched her knuckles. She felt his breath warm upon them. That sent tingles up her arm and they did not stop at her shoulder.

“My lord,” she acknowledged. She wished she had not sounded quite so breathless, but indeed she was. His size and very presence quite overwhelmed her. But in the most wonderful way she could imagine.

“My lady,” he murmured in a very deep voice completely devoid of inflection.

She could not decide whether she liked the sound of him. However, the rest certainly left no room for complaint. He bore the scent of costly spices from the East. Cloves, she decided, drawing another deep breath. And cinnamon, which she dearly loved. That boded well, Mairi thought, used as she was to men bearing only the smells of sweat and horse.

Her father cleared his throat. “Coom, sit and rest yerself,” he commanded loudly, and motioned across the hall toward the low-burning fire. “Bring us ale!” He nearly shouted the words at the servants now bustling about the tables, readying them for the evening meal.

“Da! Please, speak more softly,” Mairi reprimanded quietly, patting her sire’s arm.

He merely grunted in a very low voice, not moving his mouth, “’Tis lack o’ hearing, lass. Sad to say, but ye must have pity and patience. I should ha’ mentioned it before.”

Mairi sighed, troubled, but not overmuch. Such a loss was to be expected in a man of her father’s advanced years. Yet he did not have to treat everyone as though they shared his affliction. Still, the young baron seemed not to have taken umbrance at her father’s loud barking. Mayhaps he understood.

To her surprise, her intended bypassed the comfort of the only two cushioned chairs, leaving these softer ones for his host and hostess. Deferring to a lady and an elder spoke very well for the man’s manners, she thought.

Why, then, did her father look so uneasy? Not fearful, exactly, but certainly wary. There was little that ever disconcerted him. He probably worried she would disgrace them all.

Not so, this time. She’d put her rash, impulsive ways behind her. Never again would she rush into an action or for a judgment, forsaking caution and good thought.

Was she not proving this even now? Each move the baron made, she evaluated with great care. After all, her very future depended upon how well they got on together.

Mairi modestly bowed her head and busily arranged her skirts as she asked pleasantly, “Were yer travels here remarkable, my laird? The hills are bonny this time o’ year, aye?”

He disregarded her completely as though she did not exist, his full attention still focused on her father.

“I wondered whether ye encountered any difficulties along the way, or if the trip proved an easy one,” she continued softly, waiting, unmoving, determined to get a reply of some kind from him.

He gave her none, but kept his eyes trained upon her sire as though expecting him to reproach a forward daughter for speaking freely. Da did grimace at her in warning when she glanced at him. “Hist, lass,” he muttered, shushing her.

That turned MacBain’s attention. He inclined his head to her slightly as one might to notice a bug upon the floor.

“You think me impertinent for speaking?” she prompted the baron yet again. Daring him, really.

That gained her an almost imperceptible shrug. Barely there and then gone. His lips curved, but it was not a smile. More like a gesture of mild annoyance.

And she had thought this man mannerly? How churlish of him, deliberately refusing to answer her. Contentious knave. Did he think so little of females in general? Or was it her in particular he found offensive? Had she mistaken his former look of interest after all?

When he did speak, it definitely was not to her. He had ceased looking at her and addressed her father.

“When may we wed? I must go home,” he stated very slowly in the same low, brusque tone that did not vary up or down.

Each word, he presented distinctly, as if it would stand alone. Did he think her father a lackwit? Or did he mock him as a Highlander who was unused to comprehending correct English? Either way, he had no cause to insult. Craigmuir might be isolated, but its laird was certainly educated, nonetheless. The MacInness had traveled widely in his youth and was well read. He had even insisted that she be taught to read and cipher.

Her father sighed sorrowfully as he replied. “Ye must wed soon, I suppose, since we’ve settled upon it.” Then, as though he had not yet answered, he forced a smile and raised his head as well as his voice. “Soon. Ye may marry this week.”

“This week?” Mairi exclaimed. She glared at her father, willing him to heed her. Did he not realize that she must get to know this man before the wedding? If, indeed, there was to be one, she thought diffidently. Fine, young and wealthy as the man appeared, Mairi was not certain she liked him at all.

With a succinct nod, MacBain then turned to her. “Do you agree?”

At last! He deigned to notice she was present for this conversation, could one even call it that. It was likely to turn to an argument if he did not change his ways on the instant. If there was anything she detested, it was to be ignored.

Mairi smiled sweetly at him. “Ye jest, surely, my good laird! Have ye ever known any maid of my age to cry off a marriage? However, I feel you might wish to think twice on it, ere ye get more than ye bargained for!”

“Mairi!” her father gasped. “Mind yer tongue!”

She rose and turned on him then, giving the pompous baron her back. “Well? I am four and twenty, Da. Not that anyone has bothered to notice my aging these past dozen years. Now ye invite this man to take me off yer hands? Paugh! He can scarcely stand to look at me! He will not even reply to a common pleasantry!”

Her father grasped his chest and rolled his eyes as though caught in the throes of apoplexy. Not that she believed that for a moment. ’Twas an oft used ruse to raise her guilt and gain an apology. Well, he’d not get one now, she decided. Not after trying to match her to this surly scoundrel.

“Do excuse me, Father,” she said as haughtily as she could. “I would retire and leave ye to your guest! I am certain he willna be missing me.” With chin high and without another glance for her erstwhile betrothed, she stalked off toward the stairs.

Handsome the man might be, but damned if she would shackle herself to one who had likely been bribed to wed her. From the look of him and the way he behaved, her father had not paid nearly enough to make the haughty wretch glad of the transaction.

She had done without a husband all these years and fared well enough. Why take one now who did not consider her worth a smile, a kind word or even a second glance? Rot him, then. She would stay a maid.

Rob appreciated the swing of those slender hips as the fair-haired lady took herself away. A pity he could not grasp one word in ten of what she said or he might guess the reason for her leaving.

He found any Highlander’s odd speech hard to ken, especially when one spoke as rapidly as did she and with hardly moving her lips. The old laird made an effort on behalf of Rob’s understanding, but the woman did not. Possibly, she did not yet realize she needed to.

Could that be? Had they not told her? Thomas said he had insisted that she know. Rob had made it a firm condition before his steward set out on the quest.

He shrugged off the worry. Thomas would never lie, not about that. The woman knew about him. She simply did not understand how to deal with it yet. That could be taught easily enough.

Mairi MacInness was a lovely woman by any man’s standard, not at all the timid girl he had feared he might find. Thomas had not told him her age, but Rob guessed she had passed twenty. That suited him.

Anger at her sire had added color to the smooth cream of her cheeks. The blue eyes had sparked when she had included him in her fit of pique. Whatever had caused her displeasure, he was glad that she showed some spirit. She would need it.

Again he faced the laird. “You did tell her?”