Page 7 of Her Reluctant Highlander Husband

It didn’t matter if he found her lovely or not; nothing would come of it. He’d already had a lovely, beautiful wife and lost her. He would not allow himself to get close to another woman. Even one he was now wed to. There was only one woman whose memory he kept in his broken heart.

Dorie wasn’t smiling as they packed mud on the flea-ridden mutt. Bryce wasn’t sure what kind of dog he was. Maybe a mixture of many kinds. His feet and ears were of a size. It made him look lanky and clumsy.

“Shall we name him Rags?” he asked.

Dorie was quick to shake her head. She pointed toward the castle and then to him. He didn’t understand. Apparently their ability to communicate had been short lived.

Just then the dog shook the mud and water all over them, spattering them with filth. “Be still, you wee rascal,” he commanded and, amazingly, the dog obeyed. At least for the moment.

Dorie grabbed his arm and nodded.

“What is it, lass?” he asked, as if she could explain herself.

In answer she pointed to his lips. Then tapped her own. For a moment he thought she was requesting he kiss her, but then she pointed to the dog.

Hmm. Something he’d just said? “Wee rascal?” he repeated, thinking that must be what she meant.

She nodded enthusiastically and pointed to the dog again. He finally understood, though how he did, he wasn’t sure.

“You want to call the dog Rascal?”

Another nod and another blasted smile that stirred something he’d thought had died years ago. He cleared his throat, trying to force down the lump that had formed there, then looked away from her.

“Very well, Rascal he is. At least until he flings mud all over us again. Then he’ll be called the late Rascal.”

At Dorie’s gasp, he tempered his words with a grin so she’d know he didn’t mean the dog any real harm. As if on cue, Rascal shook, spraying them again with mud and water. Bryce let out a curse and looked up at Dorie when she laughed.

She pointed at his face, no doubt spattered with mud, and laughed again. The sound made him smile, something he’d not done in so long it felt tight and unnatural on his lips.

When she covered her mouth to hide her laughter, she smeared mud across her face, which had him laughing and pointing at her. She splashed him with water, probably to clean the mud from his face. He splashed her back, his only intention to get her wet and make her squeal in protest.

She was quick to oblige and used both hands to throw water at him.

Before long they were both soaked, water dripping from the ends of her hair.

He’d been having fun, and when he realized it, the smile slid from his lips. His temporary giddiness faded back into solemnity. Nodding toward the blanket in the sun, he let out a breath.

“Enough. Let’s dry off. We’ll need to get back soon.” She gave a nod and he was sad to see the smile die from her face. Like the sun setting on a perfect day you didn’t want to end.

He’d had many perfect days in his life, but the sun had set, never to rise again.

…

When Rascal was bathed and they’d dried from the ordeal, Bryce looked up at the sky and let out a sigh. Dorie knew what he was going to say next and wished she could keep him from voicing their need to return. Here in their quiet piece of the world, it was easy to pretend things would be fine.

Bryce’s smile had faded and he was the serious man she’d married, but she trusted him already. Seeing the kindness he’d shown an animal told her the type of man he was. She was safe with him. She couldn’t be sure of the rest of the MacKinlays waiting back at the castle.

“It’s time we get home,” he said, sealing her fate.

She stiffened, knowing what awaited them. The McCurdys wouldn’t leave until the marriage was consummated with her blood. It was clear by the frown on her husband’s face that it wouldn’t be as fun as bathing the dog.

“I feel like maybe we’ve made some ground between us. I hope you can trust me. What I have to do now will not be pleasant, but it must be done.”

She remembered her brother’s words. Bloodying his sheets. She had no idea what he’d meant by that, but it sounded painful. She stood, ready to run if needed.

“I’ll not hurt you. You have my word.”

She settled, even when he pulled his dirk. He lifted his kilt enough to reveal a muscled thigh. He drew his blade across the flesh and hissed as blood welled along the line of the cut.