The Highlander's Destiny (Highland Rogues #2) - Mary Wine Page 0,43
advantage.
“Damn ye, Faolan.” She hissed as her strength failed her. She was left in his embrace, detesting the way her flesh soaked up every detail of just how hard he was. “I saved me first kiss. Ye should no’ have taken it.”
Her words seemed to surprise him. The hold he had on her wrists slacked. Cora twisted and wrenched herself from his embrace. But he’d turned her so that she was on the back of the landing now. The only way to escape was past him to the stairs. But the shocked expression on his face infuriated her further.
“Do nae doubt me,” she insisted. “I did nae soil the sheet because I will no’ stain me own honor. I’ve been promised since childhood. I did nae want to face a marriage with another man’s kiss lingering in me memory, always between me and my husband.”
Her temper was raging, but two tears escaped her eyes. She clenched her hands into fists as she struggled to breathe. “I wanted to give it me…best effort.”
He reached out and caught the tears. Faolan McKay, for all his hardness, stroked her cheeks with the gentlest of touches. Somehow, the contact was even more jarring than his kiss had been. She was shaken to her core as he withdrew his hands.
“Ye slapped me justly, Cora.”
He clasped his wide belt, clearly trying to temper his impulse to touch her. Faolan drew in a stiff breath and nodded, but his lips twitched again until he was grinning.
“’Tis the truth that I am no’ as sorry as I should be, for ye have proved to me that not all women are intent on taking as much as they can from a man.”
Noreen suddenly popped into Cora’s mind and Malcolm’s words about her choosing between the two brothers. “Noreen truly took yer brother in favor of ye?”
Maybe she shouldn’t have asked the question. It was personal, and yet, Cora wasn’t sorry. Faolan’s expression darkened, but he nodded.
“Aye. And we best go, for she has set her mind to having yer dowry.”
Faolan closed his fingers around her wrist once more. He turned and took a look down the stairs before he tugged her along behind him.
So, he hadn’t abandoned her.
Tested was, in fact, the correct word.
Perhaps she should have been outraged. Instead, Cora discovered herself basking in the knowledge that she had withstood such a difficult challenge. She’d proven her worth. With a man such as Faolan, such was more important than a fine dowry.
Which was precisely why Cora was smiling by the time they reached the bottom of those stairs. True happiness could never be bought.
No, it had to be earned.
*
“Cover yer hair, lass.”
Faolan was looking both ways before he ventured into the passageway at the bottom of the stairs. His grip was firm without being biting. Cora tugged the plaid up and over her head as they crossed the open space. Faolan made his way toward the kitchens. Voices came from the hall where the matrons had gone with the bedsheet. Those few maids still in the kitchens were clustered around the doorways as they strained their necks to get a view of what was going on.
Faolan tugged her out of a side door and into the smaller yard, which served the kitchens. Chickens were clucking softly, still on their nests, because whoever was assigned to gather eggs was watching the entertainment in the hall instead.
It wouldn’t last long, though.
Faolan wasted no time crossing the yard and taking her toward the main gate. The weather was gloomy, but that aided in their escape, for the few people outside had their heads ducked low as they tried to avoid the drizzle. No one wanted to stop and chat where they would end up wet. So, she and Faolan were simply another pair of bodies intent on getting to whatever task they had to complete.
The McKay church was outside the large wall running between the towers of the McKay stronghold. There was likely a chapel inside, but near the village, there was a church.
Faolan stopped at the doors and reached up to pull his cap off before he crossed the threshold. The candles of the altar had been light. The scent of beeswax floated on the morning air along with the scent of porridge.
“Ye’ve come too late for the morning mass.”
The priest who had married them the night before appeared from a side door. He dabbed at his lips before tucking his hands into the wide sleeve of his robe.