Victoria Roberts: To Wed A Wicked Highlander

“This is the second time ye and Father have made such a reminder. Why do I get the feeling ye donna trust me to take this responsibility seriously? I am a MacKenzie. I know what is to be gained from recovering the stone.” When his eyes flashed with the same familiar display of impatience, she added, “But I understand what ye mean. I will make certain I have the MacDonell’s trust before I start to search for the stone so he isnae suspicious of me.”

Colin kissed her on the cheek and then rose. “I will see ye in a few hours for your wedding, Sister. Try to get some rest.” He was about to open the door when she spoke.

“And Colin?”

He turned around and raised his brow. “Aye?”

“Seek your own chamber and stop your wanderings lest we both find ourselves upon the gallows.”

He rolled his eyes and closed the door behind him.

“Where the hell is he?” asked Alex for the hundredth time.

“Donna worry. We will find him,” said John reassuringly.

“And ye searched the chambers?”

“Aye.”

“The bailey, stables, parapet.” Alex knew there was no need to continue because Colin MacKenzie had simply walked into the great hall. Turning to John, Alex snarled, “Make sure Ian keeps a firm watch on the MacKenzie’s son now. I will see ye on the morrow or in a few short hours.”

Alex reached the hall to his chamber. When he heard laughter, he glanced up as Aunt Iseabail and William walked from the other end of the hall, arm in arm. Alex made a mad dash inside his bedchamber and closed the door. When William’s voice carried through the hall, Alex couldn’t help himself and he paused inside the door.

“Lady Iseabail, I must thank ye for a most enjoyable evening. I havenae had the pleasure of such delightful company for quite some time.”

“I thoroughly enjoyed your company as well, William. Ye have many entertaining stories. I am especially fond of your tales as a young lad. They were verra charming.”

“’Tis been my pleasure. I shall see ye on the morrow for the wedding.”

“Aye, the wedding. We have waited so long for Dòmhnall to wed, and frankly, I ne’er thought it would happen. My husband and I are verra proud of him.”

William paused and Alex cringed. But he had to give William credit when the MacKenzie man simply made a polite farewell and left his aunt to her own devices. Poor Aunt Iseabail. Alex wished he could cease his aunt’s memory lapses, but at least she was otherwise healthy and happy.

He finally crawled into bed only to find himself staring at the ceiling. When he grew tired of that, he gazed at the wall. He lay in the drowsy warmth of his bed, thinking. He wasn’t sure how long he had remained in the same position when an image popped into his mind.

Five years ago, Alexander first laid eyes on the fair-colored lass with her golden tresses and dusty rose cheeks. She was going to jump from the top of the waterfall. Alex admired a lass who showed some bollocks. Of course, that was before he realized the wily female was a dreaded MacKenzie. At the time, he could not say what had surprised him more. The fact that the damn MacKenzies stepped foot on his father’s land or his own brazen mockery of kissing his enemy’s daughter.

The lass had barely spoken with him this eve, but he knew he hadn’t really gone out of his way to initiate conversation with her, either. He probably should have made more of an effort, been more attentive. Sybella said she had a headache. Perhaps he should show her some kindness and ask if she needed anything—well, if she was still awake.

Alex threw the covers from the bed and stood. Hastily, he donned his kilt. He walked toward the adjoining door, completely aware that the headstrong MacKenzie lass probably had it barred. He was momentarily taken aback when he tried the latch and found it unlocked. He knocked softly and then slowly pushed open the door.

One bedside candle remained lit, illuminating Sybella’s long golden tresses. He stood close to the edge of the bed and simply watched her. Her nightrail had slipped down over her shoulder and displayed the milky color of her skin. Her hair tumbled carelessly down her back, and her seductive young body and wholesome good looks tightened his groin.

Her smooth skin glowed with pale undertones, and her cheeks were of rose and pearl. She looked more delicate and ethereal than ever. The prolonged anticipation of touching her was almost unbearable.

He stepped forward and extended his fingers over the contours of her shapely figure. He was close enough that he could almost caress her. When reality sunk in, Alex hastily pulled back his hand, knowing the mere touch of her body would be his undoing. With one last look, he lazily appraised her.

She was beautiful. And in a few hours she would be his.

He walked back through the adjoining door and gently closed it behind him—completely unaware that Sybella’s eyes were open.

Sybella’s eyes burned from sleeplessness. Her mind kept turning to last eve—or should she say a few short hours ago—when her betrothed had snuck into her chamber through the adjoining door. Alexander had some bollocks; she would give him that. Did he presume their wedding night would start earlier than expected? She had feigned sleep to deter any advances and had breathed a sigh of relief when he eventually left. Only the gods knew what went on in that man’s head.

She pulled out her wedding dress and tossed it on the bed. At least her tiredness would keep her sanity at bay. She splashed some water from the bowl onto her face, but it was not as cold and bracing as she’d hoped it would be. She needed something to snap out of this tired stupor. When there was a knock at her door, she picked up a cloth and dried her eyes.

“Sybella, ’tis Mary.”

Praise the saints.

Mary swung open the door, and Sybella didn’t think fast enough to close it again. Mary stood with her hands on her hips, assessing Sybella from head to toe. “Look at ye. Ye arenae even dressed. Your hair is a mess, and your eyes look as though ye were in a brawl.”

“And good morn to ye as well, Mary,” said Sybella with a bright smile.

Mary closed the door and spoke in a rush of words. “Come now. Ye must make haste.” She approached the bed and then brushed the top of the feather mattress with her hand as if she were wiping crumbs from the table. “I am nae saying anything about last eve because I know ye were distraught, but there is something we need to discuss before ye speak your vows.”

Sybella cringed. “And what might that be?”

“There is nay delicate way to speak upon such matters so I will be blunt.”

“I would expect naught less,” Sybella said dryly.

“There are certain duties a man expects from his bride on the eve of his wedding.”

When stains of scarlet appeared on Mary’s cheeks, Sybella gave her a polite smile. “Please spare us both. Ye donna need to discuss such subjects with me.”

“Since your dear mother is nay longer with us and I am the only woman of close relation, ’tis my duty, Sybella. How will ye know what to expect if nay one tells ye?”

A suffocating sensation tightened Sybella’s throat. From the look upon Mary’s face, she was not going to give up on her commentary any time soon. With a sense of dread, Sybella knew the battle of wills was lost before it had even begun. It didn’t help that Mary was right. Sybella didn’t know what to expect on the eve of her wedding, and frankly, she was more than a little curious and nervous.

While Mary talked in very specific terms, Sybella studied the furnishings. She gazed at her gown. She stretched her neck and almost forgot to give the occasional nod. With that, the detailed instruction on coupling was finished, and they got back to the task at hand.