To Conquer a Scot (A Time Traveler’s Highland Love) Read online

  Abby stopped dancing and looked up at Aedan’s laughing gaze. “Kyle was merely being a good partner,” she said in his defense.

  The young soldier clansmen laughed and bowed. “With a woman as handsome as ye are, I’d never do anything other than behave.”

  He was flirting with her. Aedan clapped him on the back. “May I steal her away for a time? It’s only fair we all should have the pleasure of dancing with Abigail tonight.”

  “Of course.” Kyle bowed. “Mistress.” He smiled and danced off toward a group of young kitchen servants who stood huddled near an arch beside a storeroom.

  “I must warn you, I’m not the best at these types of dances,” Abby said, placing her hand in his. His skin was warm, and his hand much larger than hers. Aedan pulled her against him, and the scent of soap and something that was only him, assailed her senses. Taking a deep breath, she fought to calm her nerves at his nearness.

  Why did he have such an impact on her? No one she’d ever met before had sent her into such a dizzying spiral of awareness. What’s more, his arrogance when they’d first met wasn’t something she’d forget. The instant dismissal of her as someone who was nothing but trouble for his well-planned life had annoyed her. But then, the worry he must have over the O’Cains and his other sister, would be a heavy burden to bear.

  His hand skimmed down her back, and she bit her lip. “This dance seems to go for an awfully long time.” She was blabbering now, trying to think of anything to say that would take her mind off what his presence was doing to her body.

  “Aye, ’tis.” He weaved them through the other couples and laughed when she made a mistake. “It’s one of the longest dances I know. Don’t tell me you’re already sick of dancing with yer laird.”

  She met his gaze and raised her brow. “My laird?”

  He grinned and again her stomach flipped at his physical charm. Who is this man? And what did he do with the surly, authoritative, and anal Laird MacLeod?

  “You’re an intelligent woman, and I’ve been watching your conduct over the last week and I’ve come to a decision.”

  He was serious again, all laughter wiped from his visage.

  “Okay. What is it you want?”

  He pulled her to a stop and moved to the side of the room. “As you know, I’m making use of the Highland Games to find a wife, but not in the conventional way. This is where you come in.”

  “Me?” Abby crossed her arms over her chest, not liking the sound of this. “How so?”

  “I need ye to help me pick the most appropriate, even-mannered, accomplished young lady there is on offer.”

  “On offer.” She nodded. “You do understand it sounds like you’re about to purchase a horse and not a wife. Don’t you think your heart should have some input into your decision?”

  He looked appalled, and she fought not to roll her eyes. This man really had not one ounce of brain. Not when it came to happiness in the marriage bed, at least.

  “Nay. The heart has no impact on my decision. This is an important step in my life. It must be right.”

  “Hence, why I suggest you use your heart.” She sighed and pulled him farther away from the gathered throng as their conversation was starting to pull inquisitive eyes. “Listen, if you choose your wife based on her abilities, what happens when you go to lie with her each night? If you don’t want a woman who’ll tempt you every hour for the rest of your life, or if you do not love her, your attraction will wane. It’ll end up being the worst kind of marriage.”

  “And you’re an expert on this, how?” He stood tall, seemingly mocking her average height. He crossed his arms, the muscles in his biceps bunching; a fine vein of blue running through one.

  Abby snapped her eyes back to his. “I’m an expert because after my parents died, my foster parents had such a union, and believe me, no one should be made to watch the train wreck that that was.”

  “What’s a train wreck?”

  “A type of vehicle.” She waved his question aside. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, you asked me to help and this is me helping you. Not by scoping out the women for you.”

  “Please, Abigail.”

  Damn it. She hated when people begged, it always made her cave and give in to their demands. “This so goes against who I am, but fine. I’ll help you, but on one condition.”

  “Only one?”

  “Make that two,” she said, wanting to smack the condescending smirk off his face. The man really did have it coming to him. Perhaps she ought to let him marry an asshole and he could rot in the marriage forever and a day.

  She caught the hopeful look of Gwen from across the room and knew as much as she thought such things, she wouldn’t let Aedan make such a catastrophic mistake. It wasn’t in her nature to be mean.

  “What are yer conditions?”

  “That you’ll listen to what I say without judgment. If you want my help, be willing to consider what I have to say, without interrupting me and dismissing my opinions.”

  “I asked for your advice, why would I dismiss yer opinions?”

  “Because you seem to like the sound of your own voice.” Abby grabbed a goblet of mead from a passing servant and took a sip. The fruity drink wasn’t her favorite, but at least it afforded her some time while the laird digested her words.

  “Your tongue is sharper than my blade, Abigail, lass.”

  He stared at her. She wondered if he was thinking of how to be rid of her, instead of making use of her while she was stuck here.

  “What’s yer second condition?”

  “That your choice will be based on at least a fraction of what your heart desires. You must feel more for the woman than admiration over her skills at stitching or archery and her family’s value to your plans. You have to desire her.”

  “Ye place a lot of merit on feelings, Abigail. Why? You’re not married, from what I’ve been told.”

  Abby stepped toward him, bringing her nose equal to his chest. She glared up at him and poked him in the rib as hard as she could, ignoring the solid mass that her finger met, and that the action actually hurt her digit. “I may never have been married, but that doesn’t mean I’m an idiot. And anyone with an ounce of common sense knows a union without love is never going to last. You’re welcome to marry without affection, go right ahead, but don’t look back on the day of your decision and wince when you’ve married a block of wood that doesn’t care for you, your lands, or your people, and only your purse.”

  He scoffed, and she poked him again. “And need I remind you, that you asked me for help, not the other way around.” Abby turned him about and looked over his many guests. “I tell you what, why don’t you walk up to Lady Aline and ask her to marry you? Since you’re so bloody smart, why not marry the first woman who’s shown an interest in you?”

  His face turned thunderous, and Abby wondered if she’d overstepped. But damn it, he couldn’t keep being contradictory. He had to choose a path and go with it. She was only trying to help him not make one of the biggest mistakes of his life. Why did he have to be such a Neanderthal?

  “Very well, I’ll consider what my heart is telling me, but be warned, I don’t take nicely to being talked to so dismissively or without respect.”

  “And neither do I, so from now on, we’ll not do it to each other,” Abby said, patting his arm. “I would like to help you, Aedan, but you must be willing to help yourself, as well.” Abby spied Gwen, who was gesturing to her to come across the room. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have mingling to do.”

  Abby walked quickly toward Gwen, all the while feeling her back burn with the heat of his gaze. It was no surprise he was pissed off, but he’d pissed her off, too, so they were even. Laird or not, it was his sister’s fault she was here, and she’d be damned if she’d cower to him.

  Abby hadn’t put up with such treatment in the twenty-first century, and she wouldn’t in the seventeenth, either.

  ...

  Aedan took a deep breath and relaxed his fisted han
ds. Revelry continued, unaware of the seething temper a lass with dark brown locks and knowing eyes had brought forth in him. With a defiant tilt to her chin, she joined his sister and didn’t even look to see if he was watching.

  He was watching. Couldn’t take his eyes off the bonny chit. The fact that he’d wanted to follow her across the room and berate her for her rudeness was another matter entirely. Berate her and possibly something else. Kiss the wicked mouth silent. But he couldn’t. As to why, he didn’t want to think about it, but he had asked for her help. Not the other way around.

  Abigail was a woman who could help him. A woman who was strong of character, had lived a life free of restraint that he could only imagine. Having been made the laird at the young age of sixteen, he’d not dallied with the lasses like Abigail seemed to have with the boys of her time.

  Of course, when he’d grown a few inches, and his body had filled out, the lasses had soon rectified the lapse. He certainly knew what to do with them now. His gaze traveled down Abigail’s form, the dress in no way hiding what delicacies were hidden beneath.

  She was bonny, probably the bonniest woman he’d ever met. Her skin was flawless, not marked with childhood scars or illness. Her eyes were clear and bright as the stars, and her breasts, pert, a good handful that begged for a man’s touch.

  His touch.

  He ground his jaw and tore his attention elsewhere. He shouldn’t be thinking about her like that. She wasn’t Scottish enough, nor of his time, notwithstanding the fact she wanted to go home as soon as she may.

  Her words flittered through his mind. No. His heart couldn’t be used in the decision of choosing a wife. As long as he lusted for his future wife, there wasn’t a need to be any more emotionally attached to the woman. There were plenty of marriages where such an agreement was entered into, and they still procured offspring.

  He caught sight of his sister laughing at something Braxton said, her eyes alight and looking at his best swordsman with affection. She, too, would be married soon, and although she would have a marriage of love, he would not. A laird’s first and foremost role was to ensure his people were well cared for and safe. Having a wife he loved would distract him from that role. To care was dangerous.

  He walked over to a servant, and giving the red-headed lass a wink, took a goblet of wine from her tray. He captured Abigail’s eye and nodded. Aye, he’d let the lass think he’d include his heart, if only to keep her happy and quiet. He’d use her advice, and then she would be gone. His life would resume order and peace with a wife who knew her role and responsibilities and no more.

  He inwardly smiled. ’Twas a good plan, sure not to fail.

  Chapter Nine

  The following day after lunch, Abby found a secluded, vacant plot of land far enough from the castle so not to be found, and started to practice with the bow and arrow. She didn’t like anything getting the better of her—a trait she’d picked up as a young child—and it seemed archery was proving difficult.

  She loaded the arrow into the bow and tried to hit the large oak about fifteen feet away. Again, the arrow refused to behave and sit against the string. She swore, took a deep breath, and tried again.

  “Are ye having trouble, lass? Do ye need help?”

  Abby turned and narrowed her eyes on the laird, cursing his timing to see how useless she was at this sport. Typical of her luck. He’d probably lord it over her that he could do archery standing on his head. “No. I’m fine thank you. You don’t have to stay.”

  He raised his brow, but didn’t turn to go. Her gaze raked his form, his chiselled cheeks and strong jaw drew her eyes to his mouth. She’d be a liar if she said his presence or his body didn’t affect her.

  Aedan MacLeod was hot, and probably knew it. He cocked his head to the side and grinned. She glared back. Oh yes, he knew he was good-looking and no doubt thought she’d fall under his spell as well as any other.

  Fat chance.

  Liar…

  “Are ye alright, lass? Ye seem to be staring at me.” He looked himself over, touching his cheeks as if to check for food or something. “Do I have some of me lunch on my face?”

  “Not at all. I’m just stunned silent by the honor of your presence.”

  He shook his head. “You’re very good at sarcasm, but it still doesn’t help when you’re as good as useless with an arrow.” He walked toward her, reaching for the bow. “Here, let me show ye.”

  She sighed as he turned to stand behind her. His arms came around her body, and he helped her hold the bow and arrow in the correct position. Awareness swamped her, his heat and scent washed over her like a rain shower. She ground her teeth and tried to concentrate, but it was almost impossible.

  “If ye hold it slightly raised, it’ll be less likely to hit the ground when you fire. And always keep your eye on the target, forget everything about ye, and focus.”

  His whispered words grazed her cheek, and her breath stuck in her lungs. He held her outstretched arm, his large hand covered hers, and kept it locked about the wood of the bow. Heat coursed up her neck, and she cursed her inability to stay unflustered by him.

  Focus my ass. She’d be lucky not to go cross-eyed with desire.

  She wanted to pull away, to step away, but her pride wouldn’t allow it. She couldn’t let him know he affected her. He was just a guy. No different from any of the others she’d met.

  What a load of crap. He did affect her and deliciously so. Even now, with his other hand helping her pull the string back, keeping the arrow hard against the bow’s wood, all she could think about was his chest hard up against her spine, the deep timbre of his voice, soothing, coaxing…

  “Let go, lass,” he said faintly.

  The words sounded like a double entendre but she did as he advised and watched in amazement as the arrow sailed clearly through the air and imbedded itself into the tree. She stepped out of his hold, laughing. “Oh my gosh. I did it.” She turned and smiled. At his intense stare, her smile slipped a little. “Thank you for helping me. You seem to know what you’re doing.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of years to learn.” He walked over to the tree and collected the arrow. “Try again,” he said, handing it to her. “Let’s see if you can do it on your own.”

  Abby followed his previous instruction, and Aedan, true to his word, tweaked her stance, her hold here and there, but allowed her to do it herself. That she missed the tree entirely wasn’t so bad since she hit a small one a little farther away. “Maybe I’ll enter the archery competition and best all the lasses vying for your hand.”

  He laughed, collecting the arrow again for her. “Does that mean you’re going to vie for my hand? You’re comely enough. You need to learn your place and a few manners, and then you’d be a contender.”

  “Are you serious?” Abby rolled her eyes. “As much as I’ve enjoyed you teaching me this afternoon, and being kind…sort of, I’m not doing this to earn your favor. And I’ll certainly never ‘learn my place’ to gain a husband. Do you have any idea how annoying it is to hear a man speak about a woman in such a way?”

  “’Tis the natural way of things. I don’t understand why you’re so upset.” He crossed his arms, pulling her gaze to them.

  Damn it. She tore her attention back to his face and focused on his eyes. “You’re putting women in a box. Making them think they’ll never be anything other than a servant who’s taken a vow and married a man.” She paused, firing off another arrow, hitting the oak dead center. “Just imagine if my only need of you was sexual.”

  Abby walked up to him, walking her fingers up his chest before gliding her hand over his skin. A muscle worked in his jaw, and she half smiled. “How would you feel if you wanted to marry me because you loved me? That you couldn’t imagine your life without me, and I turned around and said, ‘I’m sorry, I may have sex with you, but there’ll never be any emotions involved. You have a job to perform and you better do it good, or I’ll find someone else who can.”

  He wa
tched her quietly for a moment, before sighing. “Are ye trying to tell me, lass, you’d like me to tup ye?”

  “What? No!” she said, stepping away and laughing in spite of herself. “I’m trying to explain to you how making your future wife go up against other women is foolish, not to mention, mean. You should pick a wife with your heart, not your head.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Because I fear your head is beneath your kilt at the moment, and not thinking clearly.” She paused. “You’re going to be with this woman for a long time. There has to be affection, because the lust will wane.”

  “I cannot marry a simpleton who’s good in my bed but has nothing between her ears. My wife must be accomplished in all things.”

  “And I understand that. I do. But don’t marry a perception of what you think is perfect, marry the perfect girl for you. I know you’re a laird, and with that comes certain obligations and standards that are expected. But most of the time you’re here, with your people, and no one is watching. And if you don’t like your perfect wife, what are you left with? Do you see where I’m coming from?”

  Aedan scooped up the spare arrows near her feet, silent for a moment. “Aye, I see yer point,” he said. “But such thoughts are foreign to me. ’Tis not how it’s done, not the way I was brought up to think. If we’re to work together, and make what little time ye have here peaceful at all between us, ye must concede to my way of thinking as well.”

  “That’s a fair point, and I promise I’ll try.” She asked for an arrow and took another shot. It embedded itself into the ground. “Why do you need to have a wife from one of these visiting clans, anyway? From what I’ve seen of your people and your home, you don’t seem to be low in coin. Everyone seems well fed and looked after.”

  He sat down on the ground beneath a nearby tree and watched her. “I’ll need many men to take down the O’Cain clan. The horrors they put Jinny through I dinna even want to imagine. A strong marriage that will unite two great homes is what’s required to succeed.”

  Pain crossed his features, and she knew he was thinking of his sibling. “You feel guilty about it, don’t you?”