Page 40 of Hunting for a Highlander (Highland Brides 8)

“But we canno’ be, Geordie,” she protested unhappily. “Ye do no’ ken what ye’re getting into, m’laird. Ye should ha’e been warned. Did me da tell ye what is happening at Innes ere he got ye to sign the contract? Nay, o’ course he did no’,” she answered herself before he could, and then added, “I’m sure ye can use that to get out o’ marrying me do ye wish it.”

Geordie stared at her miserable face, and sighed heavily with both weariness and relief as he realized that it was not that she didn’t wish to marry him, but that she was sure he wouldn’t want to once he knew . . . whatever the hell it was her father hadn’t told him, he thought grimly. He hadn’t a clue what that was, but supposed he’d better find out so that he could soothe her fears in that regard.

Easing her away from his chest, Geordie shifted himself up to sit with his back against the headboard, then caught Dwyn’s upper arms and dragged her up to rest against his chest. Peering down then, he stared at her beautiful breasts, sighed as he felt his cock stir and pressed her head to his chest before grabbing some of her hair and shifting it to cover as much of her body as he could.

“There,” he growled, once he couldn’t see her curvy little body and get distracted. “Now, tell me what ’tis ye’re so worried about.”

“’Tis the Brodies,” she said, raising her head to look up at him anxiously.

“Brodies,” he muttered with a frown as the name tugged at a memory string in his mind. Nodding as it came back to him, Geordie said, “Ye mentioned them the first morning in the tree. They want to add Innes to their holdings, ye said.”

“Aye,” Dwyn breathed woefully.

Geordie almost smiled then. This was no problem at all, he thought, and tightened his arms around her in a hug as he said, “Well, lass, they canno’ have it. Innes is yers, and ye’re mine now. So Brodie is out o’ luck.”

She appeared surprised by his words. “Surely Innes becomes yours once we marry?”

“We are married,” he growled. “And nay, it remains with you. I had it put in the contract. That way, should I die first, ye decide whether to marry again and canno’ be forced to it by yer father or anyone else.”

“But what if I die first?” she asked with a frown.

Geordie shrugged with unconcern, and then scowled as the thought sank in. Dwyn die? Leave him? And she could if his seed took and she got with child and died while trying to birth his son or daughter. Cursing, he leapt off the bed, and then turned to pick her up by the waist and swing her out in front of him so she dangled above the floor. He then began to lift her quickly up and down.

“M-m’l-laird,” she protested, grabbing at his arms. “W-what are y-ye d-doing?”

“Trying to shake me seed out o’ ye,” he muttered, continuing to jostle her up and down. “I meant to withdraw ere I spilled into ye, but forgot. Well, I did no’ exactly forget, I just did no’ even think on it. Ye felt so damned good and I— Ow!” he barked, nearly dropping her when she suddenly slapped at his face. Catching her before her feet hit the floor, he scowled at her. “What was that for?”

Dwyn scowled right back. “Because ye’re obviously hysterical or lost yer mind,” she explained, and ordered, “Put me down.”

“I canno’. Ye’re no’ supposed to stand with yer feet—”

“On the bed,” she said with exasperation.

“Fine.” Geordie heaved the word out on an irritated breath, and turned to set her on the bed, grousing, “But I’ve no’ lost me mind or gone hysterical, and if ye die on the birthing bed because ye would no’ let me shake me seed out o’ ye, I’ll never forgive ye.” His eyes narrowed when she rolled her eyes at that. “Lass—”

“Ye canno’ shake the seed out o’ me,” Dwyn assured him with exasperation, interrupting what would have been a fine lecture on the merits of respecting a husband and not rolling her eyes and such. But then she frowned and added, “At least, I do no’ think ye can.” She considered it briefly, and then shook her head. “Nay. Surely ’tis no’ possible or there would be no bastards in the world. Women would just do some jumping after being bedded and . . .” She shrugged.

Supposing that was true, Geordie bent and scooped her up into his arms.

“What are ye doing now?” she asked with concern as he started across the room with her.

“I’m taking ye to the table. Lovin’ ye’s made me hungry,” he muttered, and then paused as he reached the table and realized he could not set her in her seat. Her unbandaged feet would be in the rushes then. Shrugging, he set her on the table instead, and moved around her to look over what was left on the tray.

“M’laird,” she said, twisting her upper body around to frown at him. “We have to talk about the Brodies.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, lass. We’re married. Brodie canno’ marry ye, and he canno’ have Innes.”

“Da did tell ye?” she asked with surprise.

Geordie shrugged, and started picking through the meat, shifting the top pieces that had dried out and selecting the still-moist pieces underneath. Turning, he offered her one, and when she took it, he said, “Yer father said Brodie has been trying to force a marriage for the last couple years.”

“The last four years,” she said grimly. “Ever since he learned my betrothed had died.”

“I thought ye said yer betrothed died seven years ago?” he said, turning to peer at her in question.

“He did,” she murmured. “But Brodie did no’ ken who I was betrothed to, and only found out four years ago that he had passed.” Dwyn grimaced. “The minute he knew, he began pestering Da about marrying me. His own wife died the year before that, and he tried to convince Da it would be a good idea to marry the two lands. But Brodie is a brutal bastard—he once beat his wife right in front o’ us while we were visiting. It was the last time we visited,” she added grimly.

When Geordie scowled at the mention of the abuse, she sighed and continued, “Brodie seemed to let it go when Da said no that first time, but then he showed up at Innes again a couple months later bringing it up again, and then a month after that. This last year though, he’s been coming by more and more frequently and becoming more and more determined until he started coming by every week. And then he . . .”

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