The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(35)

He could guess what had motivated her bold request, and it enraged him. She would soon learn that he was a very different man from her father. Agreeing to her demand seemed like a small price to pay to ease her fear—especially given that he was confident the situation would never arise.

She would never have cause to leave him.

She would be his wife. No matter how it had come about—or whether he’d wanted it—Tor protected what was his. Always.

“Where is your daughter?” he asked.

Fraser waved his hand dismissively and sat down at the table to sign the contracts. “Preparing for the ceremony. Women,” he said with disdain. “They’ve no head for business. She was too busy fixing her hair and said she would meet us at the chapel.”

Something about the statement bothered him. The flippant remark seemed unlike her. But then again, he supposed that he didn’t really know her.

An hour later, when he walked into the chapel and saw her standing before the altar, he decided it was well worth the wait.

She took his breath away.

For a moment he stopped in his tracks, drinking in the lovely vision before him. A gold circlet studded with jewels crowned her head. Her dark hair had been braided and coiled into two rounds at her temples, secured by a gold crespinette. A sheer golden veil covered the back of her head and flowed down to her waist.

Normally, he didn’t pay much attention to women’s gowns, but this one was exquisite. The tight bodice and sleeves of the cote-hardie hugged her womanly curves in all the right places. She had the kind of lush curves that were built for one thing. Large br**sts, a slim waist, shapely hips, and a sweet round bottom for a man to hold tight in his hands. His imagination would have been bad enough, but his body was also dealing with very visceral memories.

God, had he really touched her like that? Had she melted and moved against him? Rubbed her bottom against his cock?

Hell.

Angered by his weakness and aware that he was staring, he schooled his features into impassivity and started down the center aisle of the chapel. As he drew near, however, his control faltered. He noticed how the dark verdant color in her gown emphasized the creamy ivory of her skin and the flecks of green in her dark, luminous eyes. Eyes that met his full force, drawing him in. He couldn’t have turned away if he’d wanted to.

All traces of her tears had vanished and the gaze that met his, though hesitant, was every bit as exotic and enticing as he remembered. Lust hit him like a fist in the gut. Those eyes. That sensual mouth. They were dangerous to a man’s sanity. Even in the nave of holiness, his body felt the hard carnal pull of sin.

Mine. A primitive wave of heat surged through him.

And he couldn’t wait to have her. Deep and hard. Over and over, until he purged the weakness from his loins.

“Where’s your sister?” Fraser demanded, breaking his trance.

Unsettled by his reaction, Tor felt the strange urge to thank her father for the interruption. What the hell was wrong with him? It was not as if he’d never seen a beautiful woman before. Though he couldn’t recall ever having examined one in such painstaking detail.

For the first time, he noticed that the woman standing beside her was not her sister but a serving maid.

“She wasn’t feeling well,” Christina answered evenly. “She will be at the jetty to see us off.”

If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, he wouldn’t have noticed the slight flicker of her gaze when she spoke. She was lying.

Fraser’s eyes narrowed. Whether he’d caught the movement or for some other reason, her father knew it, too. “Send for her,” he ordered. “She should be here.”

Instinctively, Tor moved to Christina’s side. “The lass is ill, leave her be.” To Lamberton he said, “The tide will not wait.” He took her hand and placed it in his, her soft fingers disappearing into the fold of his big, sword-hardened palm. “If you’ll begin.”

MacSorley grinned, his eyes twinkling wickedly. “Better hurry, Bishop. I believe MacLeod is eager to get his new bride home.” His gaze slid over Christina appreciatively. Too appreciatively, Tor thought with narrowed eyes. “Not that I blame him, my lady; your beauty this day is beyond compare.”

Christina blushed prettily, appearing inordinately pleased by the silly compliment.

It should have come from me, Tor realized angrily. But the lass had to know how tormentingly beautiful she was … didn’t she? He fought the strangest urge to smash MacSorley’s too-charming smile into the ground.

The amusement in the henchman’s gaze only deepened, as if he knew exactly what Tor was thinking.

But it was Tor who had the last laugh when he shot MacSorley a look that promised retribution. He would have three months to pay him back, and Tor vowed to make good use of every single day. MacDonald’s henchman would lose that swagger in blood, sweat, and pain. Plenty of it.

MacSorley knew it, too. The man known as the greatest seafarer in a land of men descended from pirates would never show fear, but the teasing grin fell flatly from his face.

Christina didn’t understand the silent exchange between the two men, but she was grateful for the reprieve.

Wittingly or unwittingly, the MacLeod chief had come to her rescue again, preventing her father from sending after Beatrix and discovering she was gone. Though her sister had sailed at dawn, Christina wanted to give her as much time as she could to get away. Every minute took her sister closer to safety.