Page 7 of My Scot, My Surrender
Once his bride was free of Malvern, he would ensure that the marriage was annulled, and he and his new mount would travel south, back to Essex. It would all be a neat, tidy transaction. He’d be a stallion richer, his stables set up for immeasurable prosperity, and she would be rid of her unwanted fiancé.
As for the wedding night, self-restraint would not be a problem. Brandt had never allowed any woman to hold such sway over him, and he wasn’t about to start now—not even for one who kissed as well as Lady Sorcha Maclaren.
Brandt glanced at his new wife standing beside him, recalling the passionate cling of her mouth and the feel of her lithe, graceful body beneath his hands. She had fit perfectly in his arms, her hips cradling his in a snug fashion that was both intimate and arousing. A sudden sweep of lust shot through him, making him question his earlier conviction of sexual self-restraint.
“God bless ye,” the vicar said, “and yer marriage.”
Blessings that should have been hollow and meaningless, considering his and Sorcha’s agreement, now seemed ominous. Sorcha’s blue eyes were shadowed as Brandt led her from the church. Though she put on a brave countenance, he could feel her slender fingers trembling within his.
“What is it?” he murmured.
“Nothing.” She gnawed on a corner of her lower lip, her scars dark against her ashen face. Cold understanding of their new, if temporary, bonds of wedlock must have been settling in. Or perhaps she was upset only about losing her prized mount in the deal. Brandt felt a stab of satisfaction.Play with fire and you should be ready for the burn.
“Where are ye staying?” Finlay, the larger of her brothers, asked. “At Pollock’s?”
It was the only decent inn in Selkirk. Brandt nodded.
“Good, we’ll have yer wedding feast there.” Finlay shot him a hard look. “Then ye’ll do yer duty as husband with the bedding.”
Sorcha’s body pulled taut at his side at the blunt command. Brandt bristled as well, disgusted by the ease in which her brother called for the end of her virginity. Brandt squeezed her hand, but said nothing. He would tell her of his plan when they were alone and observing eyes and listening ears were no longer attuned to them. For now, she needed to eat something to put some color back into her cheeks.
However, it seemed he’d underestimated her. Moments before they entered the inn, Sorcha squared her shoulders and smoothed the red and navy Maclaren plaid pinned to her dress. The waxen anxiety disappeared from her face and a stoic, icy calm replaced it.
The transformation was astonishing. This was the fearless woman he’d seen in the paddock. Her confidence then had been innate, part and parcel of her skill with a sword. Now, this poise was all an act, and she wore it like armor. Her palm remained shaky and sweaty, clasped in his, but her chin angled upward as she followed her brothers into the boisterous eating room.
“Congratulations!” someone shouted drunkenly, “on yer blessed nuptials!”
“More like cursed,” another voice muttered. It belonged to Craig Dunbar, the man his bride had neatly dispatched earlier.
The former chant was taken up until the noise was deafening. Some patrons eyed him with curiosity, others with suspicion, but it was clear the inn got its fair share of anvil weddings. Brandt noticed a table of Scots looking at Sorcha with unmasked grimaces. They nudged one another, and only after looking their fill at Sorcha’s face did they glance at Brandt. Their expressions shifted, changing from horror to pity, as if to say they knew he’d been shackled to her by way of some scandal. They shook their heads. One man even had the ballocks to murmur, “Poor lad.”
The renewed tension in Sorcha’s body told Brandt that she’d heard. He hauled her up against him, his gaze hard until the men at that table averted their pitying eyes.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said.
Brandt eyed her. “Do what?”
“Defend me. I’m used to it. The stares, the comments, the whispers. People have been doing it my whole life. They’re not going to stop now that some Sassenach was fool enough to wed the Beast of Maclaren.”
Beast of Maclaren?Was that what they called her? It was absurd. The scars gave her a wild, nearly savage look, but she was far from a beast.
“Perhaps those worried looks were for you,” Brandt said in a light tone, even though he knew it wasn’t true.
She shot him a look. “Forme?”
“You did marry a poor English stable master, after all. Perhaps all these pitying glances are on your behalf, not mine. We English tend to be dry and humorless, stingy with our coin, and predisposed to rampant cases of gout.”
Sorcha slowed as they made their way toward a table at the back, near a low, peaty hearth blaze. Her gaze raked him from head to toe, a faint blush coloring her cheeks as her eyes met his once more. She strained against a smile. “Your claims of gout would serve you better if you had a paunch or jowls to your credit.” Her lips finally curved slightly, a sparkle blooming in those blue eyes. “Furthermore, a man without a sense of humor does not marry a woman on a whim, Mr. Pierce. Even for a horse of unequaled value.”
“Brandt,” he murmured. “And humor has nothing to do with it. I’m making out in spades with this arrangement,wife.”
The smile froze and faded from her lips. He cursed himself, recalling her brother’s coarse command minutes ago about Brandt claiming his husbandly rights. He might have been in this for the horse, but he wasn’t a complete scapegrace.
“That isn’t what I meant,” he said, but she’d looked away from him, her expression only more frigid. They’d agreed on an annulment, and that would only be possible if he didn’t bed her. He’d assumed that was obvious. But perhaps not.
Brandt abandoned the idea of explaining, given the dozen pairs of ears in such close proximity hanging on to their every word.
Following Evan and Finlay, they took their places at a large table at one end of the room. Within minutes, it was covered in freshly baked breads, fruit, trenchers of thick mutton stew, an entire roasted pig, and foam-topped goblets of ale. They were joined by Gavin shortly thereafter, who had remained in the chapel to prepare the necessary documentation of their marriage vows.
