Page 29 of In Love With the Wrong Highland Sister
James saw her face and tilted her chin up to look at him. “Wrestling is a dangerous sport, Laria. You know that. It was not your fault. I should never have challenged you.”
Laria nodded, then began to concentrate on bandaging his arm. She tore another strip off the shirt to thicken the bandage, then tied it and looked up at him. “I am sorry,” she said again. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“Oh, Laria,” he whispered, “you could never hurt me.” He ignored the pain in his arm as he pulled her close and kissed her gently, then ran his hands all over her shoulders, back, and the sides of her breasts.
Laria moaned her need for him as her body reacted to his but drew away when she felt his arousal pressing against her, then looked helplessly into the sky-blue depths of his eyes.
James laughed softly as he cupped her face in his hands. “You are by far the strangest woman I have ever met, Laria. One moment you hate me, the next you are saying sorry to me, then kissing me. What is it about me that makes you hate me so much? What can you not overcome?”
Tears began to run down her cheeks. The situation they were in now was so like her last few moments with Robbie that she could not help herself. He had been dying, and James was not, but both were strong men who needed her help, but she had not been able to help Robbie…
Suddenly, her tears spilled over, and she began to weep in a way she had not done since Robbie’s death. This sorrow came straight from the depths of her soul, and she could not hold it back any longer. She realized that this was why she had stayed in mourning garb for so long and why she had hardly smiled. This was why she had sent away every other man who had tried to court her. She wept until she had no tears left, glad of the strong arms around her.
“I am so sorry,” James whispered as he kissed her hair. “I truly did not mean to upset you.”
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“You did not upset me,” she replied. “But seeing you hurt like this reminded me of the last few moments of my husband's life, except then I could not bandage him and make him better. Then, I could only watch and wait for him to die.
“This is the first time I have really cried for him,” Laria whispered. “I have wept before, but today when I saw those cannons…” She shook her head furiously. “He hated cannons. They always reminded him of battles he fought against the English when he was still a warrior. He hated their noise, and after a while, he hated the sight of them. He used to have nightmares about them and wake up with his hands over his ears as if he was trying to keep out the noise. We were married for three months before he died, and during that time, he had nightmares almost every night. I had to hold him and rock him as you would a baby to put him to sleep again.” Then she pushed James away, looking alarmed. “I don’t mean he was infantile. He was a strong man.”
“I know what you meant.” He smiled at her tenderly, then settled her head against his chest again. It was wonderful to be holding her, wonderful to be giving her support and consolation.
“Did they not have cannons at his castle, though?” James went on, puzzled.
“Yes, they did, but fortunately, there was no more fighting for the last few years, so they did not have to use them,” she replied. “When his father died and he took over the lairdship, things had already started to calm down, thank God, but he never got over his loathing of cannons and any loud noise that reminded him of them.”
“He sounded like a man who had suffered a lot,” James remarked. “How did you meet?”
Laria gave a half-laugh. “Do you really want to hear about that?”
“If it is not too painful for you,” he replied. “Then yes, I would.”
Laria nodded and began to tell him her story. Later, she would realize that telling James had been a major part of her healing.
A year and a half earlier…
Laria hated ceilidhs. She had always thought of them as places where the nobles traded daughters and sons like cattle in a market, and she deeply resented being treated that way. However, she was a laird’s daughter, and it was expected of her, so she allowed herself to be dragged along, then forced herself to grin and bear it. Nevertheless, she had sworn to herself that unless she found a husband she could love, then she would never marry at all.
She was pouring herself a glass of wine when her arm was jolted by someone who had stumbled against her. The red wine spilled everywhere, and she looked up with an angry remark on her lips, only to be struck dumb as she stared into the depths of two deep, dark eyes. They belonged to a tall young man with a head of bright red curls and the face of an angel, or so she thought in her state of utter besottedness.
“I am so sorry!” the young man said apologetically, looking around for something with which to wipe her dress. He found a napkin, then began to rub at the stain, which was on her breast. Then he suddenly realized what he was doing and jumped back and grabbed at the edge of a table, only just stopping himself from knocking over more glasses.
“Forgive me,” he said awkwardly, running his hands back through his dark hair in a gesture of agitation. “I did not mean to touch you so inappropriately.” His face lit up with a fiery blush, which Laria found infinitely endearing.
Laria was giggling helplessly by this time. “Do not trouble yourself,” she said. “I understand. This is a very old dress, and I have plenty more of them.” In fact, she had just told two lies. She was wearing the dress for the first time, and she had only three dresses that could be called ball gowns. However, it seemed important to console this young man because she loved him.
Immediately, she felt her heart skip a beat, and she began to laugh at herself. Of course she did not love him! She had only met him a minute ago, for heaven’s sake! She was being utterly fanciful, and yet as she looked into his dark eyes, she was almost swept away by the desire to throw herself into his arms.
I am being foolish,she told herself mutinously.There is no such thing as love at first sight.
“What is your name?” he asked, still gazing at her.
“Laria MacLean,” she replied, with a perfect curtsy. “And yours?”
“Robert Davison,” he answered, bowing. “But my friends call me Robbie. Will you be one of them?” He raised his eyebrows in a question, twitching the corners of his mouth in a smile.
“Your friend?” She smiled. “Of course. I would love to be your friend.”
