The Highlander's Accidental Bride by Cathy MacRae Page A

practical, aye,” he admitted. “I have always known I would most likely marry to suit my people or my king. I gave no thought to seeking a wife who would suit me.”
    “And what if you were forced to marry someone you didn’t like?” Mary challenged him, jutting her chin defiantly. “Like me?”
    He shrugged. “I can adopt any son as my heir. It doesnae matter if he is legitimate.”
    “You can please yourself, then? Love the woman you chose, and ignore the wife bound to you by your vows? Does that mean your wife is free take a lover, too?” She flung the words, surprising him with the anger and hurt in her voice.
    She apparently did not understand he was not taunting her, merely stating a fact. He knew her own parentage to be a matter of some concern to her. But the thought of her in another man’s arms instantly set his blood to boil. His eyebrows met with a snap as he scowled at her, and Mary drew back, eyes wide with alarm.
    “Discreetly?” she offered in a small voice, though it sounded to him more like an appeasement than an apology.
    Eaden couldn’t believe his ears. Surely she knew such an action on her part was unthinkable; surely she was not so naïve! That was the trouble with virgins; they didn’t understand the rules.
    He advanced on her again, holding her wrist against her retreat, until he stood mere inches from her. “Nay,” he whispered, the menace in his voice daring her to pursue the argument.
    “Because women live by different rules than men?”
    “Nay. Because I would kill the man who dared lay a finger on ye.”
    Mary glanced up, clearly confused. “Why do you want me?”
    Eaden reined in his anger, realizing his ire only alienated her further. Using his free hand, he stroked the side of her face, gratified to see the stiff lines soften at his attempt to calm them both.
    His rage abated, and he could at last speak without heat. “Because ye belong to me and no other. Because ye are beautiful to me and I would not have ye in another man’s arms.”
    As her eyes changed from a hard, brittle green to the soft color of the leaves in the spring, desire rose in him, and he slowly lowered his head. “And because of this,” he murmured as his lips touched hers.
    To his surprise, Mary did not pull away, or attempt to slap at him. Her body stiffened, but also quivered beneath his hands. His breathing grew ragged as he fought to contain the passion exploding in him, damning himself to remember that beyond a kiss, she feared him.
    He wanted to show her how to love him, how to respond to him. He wanted to learn how to love her, to feel her response. But there was little or no privacy beyond the height of this cliff and a few well-placed rocks and trees. Releasing her wrist, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him, letting her sense the strength of his embrace and the wonder of what she aroused in him.
    A small cry escaped her as her weight shifted against him. Desire slammed through him, almost overriding his sense of caution. A nearby shout broke them apart.
    Eaden set Mary back on her feet, holding her until she caught her breath. He glanced at her flushed face and tucked her against his chest, angling her away from Ian’s direct gaze as he climbed the path toward them.
    “Ye told us to begin work on the second moat, and there are some questions only ye can answer, Laird.” Ian checked his gait, ducking his head in apology.
    Eaden weighed the man’s words, then grunted in acknowledgement and nodded once in Ian’s direction. “I’ll be there shortly,” he said, holding Mary’s suddenly stiff body against him. Ian bobbed his head once more and hurried back down the trail. Eaden could feel Mary’s breathing quicken, her muscles tighten beneath his hands. She pushed against him, struggling to break his embrace.
    He bent to kiss the top of her head. “Hold,” he commanded her, tightening his arms enough to let her know he was not ready to release her. She struggled