Page 6 of My Scot, My Surrender
Brandt pulled her closer to him, his fingers firm, though not hurtful. One corner of his mouth tilted upward. “We are in a predicament. You need a groom to escape your unwanted betrothal. And I have desired that particular stallion for my stables for some time.”
He released her and with a slow forming smile, stuck out his hand. His changeling eyes remained cool. “Do we have an agreement, my lady?”
Sorcha frowned, backing up a step as the voices of the constable and her brothers grew louder. What kind of man would offer his name and a lifetime of wedlock in exchange for a horse? Even one as magnificent as Lockie. She loved him and had resisted offers of purchase for years—the stallion’s value was immeasurable, both in coin and sentiment. Then again, no one had ever offered this price…a way to escape Malvern. She should say no. The man was clearly dicked in the nob. But apparently, she was even more so.
“To be clear, you’re offering marriage for my horse,” she said. “Not anything else.”
He raked a hand through his bronzed hair, his eyes flicking to her mouth, a sliver of hesitation flashing for the barest instant before it was squashed. “Yes, the marriage will be in name only and annulled as soon as possible.”
In name only. Annulled.
Her limbs went soft with relief.
A way out, simply for the price of her most cherished possession. Her heart ached at the thought of turning Lockie over to another, but the sadness would pass. Eventually.
A marriage to Malvern would last forever.
Sorcha nodded and took his proffered hand with numb fingers.
“Aye, Mr. Pierce, we have an agreement.”
Chapter Three
The wedding was immediate and brief. Brandt’s future brothers-in-law served as grim-faced witnesses while Gavin Maclaren, thin-lipped vicar and cousin of the bride, performed the ceremony. It was a small church wedding, instead of the usual anvil wedding at the local blacksmith’s. Which might have been preferable, considering he and Lady Sorcha Maclaren were declaring fictitious intentions and exchanging false vows.
Well, at least he was getting something out of all this madness. Lochland Toss was a worthy prize. Or so he’d told himself at least a dozen times since he’d made the asinine offer.
He clenched his jaw tight as he retrieved the only ring he had in his possession from a cord around his neck—a woman’s ring his father had given him, with a green and gold crest emblazoned upon it. It had belonged to Brandt’s mother. Why Monty had kept it, and why Brandt had worn it all these years, was something he didn’t want to think about right then. As he slipped it on the third finger of his wife’s hand, he supposed it no longer mattered why. It was Sorcha’s now.
His wedded oath.
Hell.
All for a horse. Aninvaluablehorse. One he’d wanted for years. Lochland Toss would finally be his. What was Brandt’s name worth anyway? With luck, the marriage would be annulled within a week, once her betrothed was thwarted, and Brandt would be free to resume his life and his plans.
As would she.
The unbidden image of a brave, dark-haired little girl fighting off a ferocious wolf filled his mind. A woman of her courage would not have sunk to such drastic measures if she hadn’t been desperate. And to be fair,shehadn’t suggested marriage…her brothers and cousin had. She’d initiated a kiss only to cause enough gossip for someone to cry off.
And he knew why. The Marquess of Malvern was rumored to have a streak of brutality running through him that would make grown men cast up their accounts. The thought of this woman being possessed by such a man left him cold. The marquess would take pleasure in breaking her bold spirit until no spark remained in those vibrant blue eyes.
No, even though Sorcha had been a stranger up until that morning, Brandt could not have stood by and done nothing, knowing what he did about Malvern. Just as he could not have stood by when he’d found Ares, trapped as a foal in barbed wire and being stoned by a few ragtag hooligans.
She is not a horse, an inner voice whispered.
Nor was she a child.
A vision of delicate blond lace over a swelling bosom arose. Indeed, she was neither. But she had been in danger just the same, and Brandt’sacute sense of empathy, as Archer had often called it while rolling his eyes, had not allowed him to walk away.
Then again, his empathy had little to do with taking advantage of the perfect bargaining chip to finally lay claim to Lochland Toss. The opportunity had fallen into his lap, and while helping the lady would have been noble, Brandt was no altruist.
He was more than happy to let her brothers believe they had forced them to the altar. In all fairness, theycouldhave hunted him down and threatened to beat him to mash, but no one could have strong-armed Brandt into marriage. Not even two thickly built Highlanders foaming at the mouth to defend their sister’s ruination. A ruinationshehad completely fabricated.
Though it wasn’t as ifhehadn’t enthusiastically participated.
He’d wanted his mouth on hers the moment he’d seen it shape the word “Essex.” The sultry sound of it had prompted a number of lascivious thoughts, and that wasbeforeshe’d kissed him. When she had, her lips had been sinfully sweet, the taste of her burning through him like a dram of the finest whiskey. That had been the only cause for hesitation in the Selkirk jail. Clearly, he was attracted to her, but he would not let lust deter him from his prize.
Lochland Toss had no equal.
