The Highlander's Accidental Bride by Cathy MacRae

hugged the dog tightly, feeling the strong, muscled body wriggle against her. The dog’s pink tongue licked her cheek and Mary gave a slight laugh as she averted her face. Sitting on the rough stone floor, she leaned against the big hound, her arms still wrapped firmly around Sorcha’s warm, furry body.
    “You’re the only one here who likes me.” She sighed. “Well, Ranald isn’t too bad, and Ina thinks, since the laird married me, I must be acceptable.” She gave another sigh. “I wish I could fly away from here like a bird. No barriers to keep me so far from home.” She stared into the mountains, imagining the distant walls of Bellecourt Castle. Sorcha sat perfectly still beside her, poised as though listening to her mistress’s unhappy words.
    “Ye are the most fascinating young woman I have ever encountered.”
    Mary gasped and snapped her head around at the unexpected sound. Sorcha crooned softly, looking anxiously between her master and her new mistress. Laird Scott leaned a shoulder negligently against the doorway at the head of the stairs, his arms crossed over his chest, an inscrutable look on his face.
    “What do you mean?” Mary inadvertently tightened her grip on Sorcha who licked her arm in response. She relaxed her hand and stroked the dog’s head, grateful to have a reason to turn from Eaden’s gaze.
    “Ye argued with me this morning like a fallen angel, and this afternoon I find ye looking like a homeless waif with yer arms wrapped around my dog.”
    Sorcha thumped her tail on the ground. Mary buried her face against the dog’s furry neck.
    He sighed. “At least ye don’t appear to be about to leap from the parapet.”
    Intrigued, she glanced back at Eaden. “Do many Scott brides jump?”
    “Och, so ye’ve heard the ghost stories?”
    Mary nodded. “The castle seems to have a rather sinister reputation.”
    “Aye. The worst.”
    “And what of its laird?” she dared to ask. “What is his reputation?”
    Eaden looked surprised, but not angry at her question. “Until ye, lass? Sterling.”
    She stiffened. “What have I done?”
    “Och, not specifically ye, lass. The king is the main cause of my disreputable downfall.”
    “I’d have thought a king’s herald . . .” She paused, biting back the retort.
    “Ye thought I’d have the patience of a saint?” He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Even a saint grows weary if the provocation is great enough.”
    “So, why did the king think marrying you to Laird Barde’s daughter would bring peace between the clans?”
    “Apparently King Robert has a malicious sense of humor,” Eaden quipped. He sighed and pushed away from the wall, rubbing the back of his neck wearily. “There was one too many complaints from Laird Barde against Clan Scott. All untrue, unless ye count defending yer people a crime. The king decided an alliance between the clans was long overdue, so he bade me wed Barde’s daughter.”
    “That isn’t me,” Mary said quietly.
    “So ye’ve stressed.”
    They were silent for a few moments. Mary could plainly tell Laird Scott still did not believe she was not Miriam, and she grew weary of trying to convince him otherwise.
    “Does the view please ye?”
    “Yes,” Mary replied, a bit off-balance at the change in conversation. She rose to her feet and leaned over the chest-high stone wall. “It is beautiful from up here. It’s as though I can see forever, almost all the way to Bellecourt.”
    Eaden ignored the jibe and left the doorway to join her at the wall. “What did ye see from the parapet at Bellecourt?”
    “Miriam and I were not allowed on the walls. ‘Twas for our safety. We spent our time in the beautiful gardens beyond the kitchen. I’ve never seen a view like this before.”
    “If ye promise to no’ jump, I’ll instruct the men to allow ye up here whenever ye wish—provided we aren’t at war, of course,” he added dryly.
    Mary looked at him in surprise. “You’d prevent me from coming