The Highlander's Accidental Bride by Cathy MacRae Page A

here?”
    Eaden shrugged. “As Lady Scott, ye have the complete run of the place. But I’ll no’ have ye taking advantage of my men and trying to slip past them. ‘Twould put them in a verra bad light.”
    Mary dropped her gaze. “As I do not know where Bellecourt lies, beyond somewhere south of here, I have nowhere to go until you release me.” She spoke with quiet dignity.
    “Ah, Mairi, lass, yer home is here, now.”
    Mary shivered when he called her ‘Mairi.’ To her ears it seemed a softened version of her name, a kind of Scottish compromise between ‘Mary’ and ‘Miriam,’ full of secret longing the way it fell from his lips.
    She gulped a breath against the unexpected heat sliding through her and considered a more pressing problem: her unwillingness to admit no one from Bellecourt seemed to care what had happened to her. It had to have occurred to someone—Miriam, at least—that something dreadful had befallen her. How was it possible she could disappear without someone noticing?
    Her heart had leapt to hear Laird Barde had ridden toward Craigievar, and it had eaten at her ever since to know he’d turned back. What had happened? Where was Miriam? Surely her friend missed her.
    Mary settled a direct gaze on Eaden. “I don’t want to live here.”
    “I know ye dinnae,” he replied evenly. “But we’ve a good bit to sort out before we decide what’s to be done. I’d ask yer promise to no’ leave the castle without an escort.”
    Mary thought about his request. Not knowing Scott Castle’s location meant she would have difficulty simply starting down the road for Bellecourt. Add her fear of horses and the fact she’d never learned to ride, and thoughts of escape were hopelessly impossible.
    Surely the wait wouldn’t be so bad if he allowed her to come here. The high stone walls of the castle closed in like a prison, the parapet her only chance to breathe the crisp, clean air. It wasn’t as though she would be here forever.
    She nodded. “I promise to keep to the castle grounds except with an escort.” She looked at Eaden, the smallest hint of a smile on her lips for the first time.
    For the next few days, Mary managed to keep out of Eaden’s way during her waking hours. She maintained at least the appearance of domestic civility by joining him at mealtimes. But she didn’t act like a new wife, or a wife of any kind, for that matter, and the servants’ quick eyes missed nothing.
    Mary’s cheeks heated to see furtive looks as she seated herself at the table. She watched other men and women greet each other with quick kisses or a touch of easy familiarity. She shared no visible warmth with Laird Scott, but a part of her longed for the little intimacies. Yet she shuddered to consider such with the formidable man whom she now called husband.
    Uneasy still in his company, Mary barely endured his presence in her bed at night, Sorcha between them, and tried not to flinch when his hand touched hers as he passed her a dish at the table.
    A stir rose among the diners as the door to the hall opened and Ian and two other soldiers hurried in. Sending his two companions to the far table with a nod, Ian approached the head table. Ranald, seated at Eaden’s side, scooted his chair enough for Ian to sidle close to his laird. Mary, on Eaden’s other side, strained to hear the low-pitched voice of the laird’s trusted soldier.
    “It is said Laird Barde’s daughter has married du Melville’s youngest son. Barde realized the morning after your, er, wedding, his daughter went missing.” Ian cut his eyes to Mary, who placed a piece of meat into her mouth with a calmness she certainly did not feel. “He assumed you had kidnapped her, and mustered his soldiers to ride on Scott Castle. But before he crossed the border, he received word his daughter was no’ here, but at Melville Manor, and he withdrew to Bellecourt.”
    Eaden said nothing. He listened to Ian’s report and finally nodded his head. Ian took