the rope. A raven had landed on the dead man’s shoulder and was beginning to peck at his face. “Will you end like that with your eyes—”
“Nay,” she said. Tears betrayed her. “Nay, I will wed,” she said in broken sobs. “If only to have the chance to send you to hell first.”
“Fair enough,” he answered. “Priest, you have the woman’s agreement. Read the marriage lines.”
“Here? Without banns or—”
“Here and now, priest, before those eggs and rocks turn to musket balls. For you’ll not descend those stairs until you’ve made us man and wife.”
“How dare you?” the cleric sputtered. “I’ll protest to—”
“Little protesting you’ll do with a broken neck, Father. The words! This platform makes too easy a target.”
“I warn ye,” Cailin said softly, “I know not what madness possesses ye, but ken this, Englishman—I mean to take your life.”
“And I mean to save yours. Will ye, nill ye, woman, you shall not stir from this spot until you are my legal wife.”
“You’ll regret it,” she retorted.
“We’ll chance that, won’t we?”
“Aye, we will.”
And then the priest began to mutter the ceremony, and Cailin shut her eyes and made the correct responses with a heart as cold and dead as those that lay in Culloden Field.
Chapter 6
“Y ou arrogant Sassenach bastard,” Cailin reviled him. “You murder my father. You hit me when my hands are chained, and then ye force me to go through the mockery of a marriage ceremony. And now ye expect gratitude?”
Sterling glanced over his shoulder at his newly acquired wife and decided that marrying her was the stupidest thing he’d ever done in his life. The four days since he’d rescued her from the gallows had been a complete and utter disaster. After reason and patience had failed, he’d resorted to tying her wrists together in front of her and securing her ankles by a leather strap that ran under her horse’s belly. She was still far from subdued, and only the threat of gagging her with his stock had put an end to her calling out to every Scot that they passed to save her from an English kidnapper.
They’d not been in the saddle an hour this morning when he’d had to come to blows with a scowling Border lout who weighed twenty stone at the least. It wasn’t until he’d unhorsed the crude fellow and produced their marriage papers that the giant had let them cross his farm in peace.
The terms of Cailin MacGreggor’s release from the death penalty had been clear. He had to take her out of Scotland at once. If she ever returned, she was subject to arrest and hanging. She’d insisted on reading the writ herself, and she seemed to understand the English. Still, she had pleaded with him to let her go. When he’d refused, she’d turned the full force of her anger against him, and they’d remained at odds with each other since they’d ridden out of Edinburgh.
“Whatever ye plan on doin’ with me, you’ll regret it, I vow,” she flung at him.
He reined in his horse. “Woman, I warn you. I’ve heard enough of your foul tongue. I saved your life. Can you get that through your thick Scots head? I slapped you, I admit it. It’s not an act I’m proud of, but it was the only way I could keep you from committing suicide. You were hysterical, and if I hadn’t brought you to your senses, you’d be food for the ravens.”
“Aye,” she retorted. “’Twas all a favor you were doing me. And now ye will try to convince me that your running a sword through Johnnie MacLeod was for my own good too.”
His hand ached to slap her again. Not even the sound of her husky whiskey-voice, which made him go shaky inside every time she opened her mouth, took the edge off his temper. He was not a man for using violence against women. It went against his grain, and he’d suffered many a bruise in his lifetime for coming to the defense of some soiled tavern flower. But this woman ... He gritted his teeth in
“Nay,” she said. Tears betrayed her. “Nay, I will wed,” she said in broken sobs. “If only to have the chance to send you to hell first.”
“Fair enough,” he answered. “Priest, you have the woman’s agreement. Read the marriage lines.”
“Here? Without banns or—”
“Here and now, priest, before those eggs and rocks turn to musket balls. For you’ll not descend those stairs until you’ve made us man and wife.”
“How dare you?” the cleric sputtered. “I’ll protest to—”
“Little protesting you’ll do with a broken neck, Father. The words! This platform makes too easy a target.”
“I warn ye,” Cailin said softly, “I know not what madness possesses ye, but ken this, Englishman—I mean to take your life.”
“And I mean to save yours. Will ye, nill ye, woman, you shall not stir from this spot until you are my legal wife.”
“You’ll regret it,” she retorted.
“We’ll chance that, won’t we?”
“Aye, we will.”
And then the priest began to mutter the ceremony, and Cailin shut her eyes and made the correct responses with a heart as cold and dead as those that lay in Culloden Field.
Chapter 6
“Y ou arrogant Sassenach bastard,” Cailin reviled him. “You murder my father. You hit me when my hands are chained, and then ye force me to go through the mockery of a marriage ceremony. And now ye expect gratitude?”
Sterling glanced over his shoulder at his newly acquired wife and decided that marrying her was the stupidest thing he’d ever done in his life. The four days since he’d rescued her from the gallows had been a complete and utter disaster. After reason and patience had failed, he’d resorted to tying her wrists together in front of her and securing her ankles by a leather strap that ran under her horse’s belly. She was still far from subdued, and only the threat of gagging her with his stock had put an end to her calling out to every Scot that they passed to save her from an English kidnapper.
They’d not been in the saddle an hour this morning when he’d had to come to blows with a scowling Border lout who weighed twenty stone at the least. It wasn’t until he’d unhorsed the crude fellow and produced their marriage papers that the giant had let them cross his farm in peace.
The terms of Cailin MacGreggor’s release from the death penalty had been clear. He had to take her out of Scotland at once. If she ever returned, she was subject to arrest and hanging. She’d insisted on reading the writ herself, and she seemed to understand the English. Still, she had pleaded with him to let her go. When he’d refused, she’d turned the full force of her anger against him, and they’d remained at odds with each other since they’d ridden out of Edinburgh.
“Whatever ye plan on doin’ with me, you’ll regret it, I vow,” she flung at him.
He reined in his horse. “Woman, I warn you. I’ve heard enough of your foul tongue. I saved your life. Can you get that through your thick Scots head? I slapped you, I admit it. It’s not an act I’m proud of, but it was the only way I could keep you from committing suicide. You were hysterical, and if I hadn’t brought you to your senses, you’d be food for the ravens.”
“Aye,” she retorted. “’Twas all a favor you were doing me. And now ye will try to convince me that your running a sword through Johnnie MacLeod was for my own good too.”
His hand ached to slap her again. Not even the sound of her husky whiskey-voice, which made him go shaky inside every time she opened her mouth, took the edge off his temper. He was not a man for using violence against women. It went against his grain, and he’d suffered many a bruise in his lifetime for coming to the defense of some soiled tavern flower. But this woman ... He gritted his teeth in
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