MacArthur's Challenge - Laird's Love Vol. 2

Thousand More Times

"M'Laird?" Hamish asked, announcing his presence as he walked into the room where MacArthur kept his books. MacArthur nodded in greeting, offering a hand to the chair opposite him.

"Wha' brings you, Hamish?" Iain asked, though he had an inkling. Aimil's stepfather would no doubt wish to ensure that the Laird was not dallying with his dependent.

"Aimil," Hamish responded, confirming Iain's suspicion. The Laird nodded and stood, moving to a side table to pour Hamish a drink before he joined him back in front of the fire.

"Speak yer mind," Iain invited, watching Hamish quietly.

"She's been coming home with bruises," Hamish said, surprising Iain and causing the larger man to frown with concern and anger.

"Bruises?" Iain asked softly, though there was death in the tone. Hamish nodded, his expression pained.

"I'd 'oped it t'wasn't you," Hamish admitted, knowing the risk of saying it aloud. Whether it were true or not, even whispering it could ignite the temper of the Laird. There was a possibility, though Hamish believed it small, that MacArthur would attack him.

"Me?" Iain questioned, standing as energy ran through him. He felt as if his being were tearing apart. One piece of him demanded that he go to Aimil that moment. Another cried out for blood. Who would dare harm her?

"Aye, m'Laird," Hamish said, watching as Iain's body seemed to take on a dark pulse of violence. The warrior in the man before him was coming to the fore.

"I can see tha' tis no' the case," Hamish stated, certain of it. Iain's eyes held possessive fury. Hamish was convinced that whomever was harming Aimil would not be doing so for very long, now that the Laird knew.

"I need her," Iain said, his voice barely audible. Hamish nodded, though he knew the statement was not intended to be heard. MacArthur had clearly fallen for Hamish's stepdaughter.

"When would the ceremony be?" Hamish asked, a smile creaking across his face. This meeting may have begun with concern, but it was turning to something joyful.

Iain looked up into the eyes of Aimil's stepfather and then to the fire. He hadn't told the lass how he felt. He'd wanted to woo her properly, to take his time, to ensure that she felt the same. Her being hurt, though, was pushing up his timeline.

His beauty hadn't told him how she'd come to have a knife wound a week prior. And, though Iain felt himself keen in the ability to persuade, he had no doubt she'd not tell him who was giving her bruises. All he had to go on was her statement that there were women in the clan who wanted him. One or more of them had to be Aimil's attacker, but the damn lass was hiding their identity.

"I've no' asked 'er," the Laird finally said, moving to slump into the highbacked chair.

"Uncertain, are ye?" Hamish asked, his natural propensity to try to heal loosening his tongue.

He could see that the Laird was in deep and he empathized with the man. Hamish himself had been tied into knots over Aimil's mother as he sought to court her. When the Laird didn't answer, Hamish leaned back more in his chair and looked to the flames. Finally, he spoke.

"Aimil doesna speak to many," Hamish said softly. Iain's gaze turned to the man as he listened intently. "Her old Laird was a brute of a man, taking out his frustrations and emotions on his people," Hamish continued. "Aimil was not saved from it," Hamish stated flatly, capturing Iain's gaze.

"Tha' she faces the same 'ere jus' ta be with you," Hamish noted. "Is enough for me ta know tha' you'll ge' the answer ye wan', should ye ask her."

Iain nodded, feeling the darkness that had surrounded him on learning of Aimil's troubles lighten as he decided. Hamish was right. Iain had spent more time with Aimil than was typical without speaking his mind. He needed to secure his future with his love and, in the process, extend his protection to her.

No one would dare touch her again, not if he had a thing to say of it.

Standing, he nodded to Hamish, who returned the gesture. Iain moved out the door, intent on finding the woman who had been occupying his thoughts even before Hamish had come to see him. He was no green boy – it was time he acted like it.

It took Iain the better part of an hour, but eventually, he found Aimil in the gardens. He strode with determination toward her until he noted that she was not alone. Rather, Aimil was facing partially toward him, though likely could not see him around the backs of two women whose stances were threatening. Eyes narrowed, he heard only part of an insult being flung at his love before his temper exploded.

"Catriona, Gavina," Iain thundered. The two women turned, dropping rocks from their hands. They'd meant to stone his Aimil? Wrath overtook Iain as he closed the distance between him and the women, his voice loud enough for all the keep to hear.

"You will go to the dungeons," he demanded. "I will see to your punishments after I have ensured that my betrothed is safe and hale," Iain announced, causing both women to pale and Aimil's brows to rise. Betrothal was news to her.

Crying in fear, Catriona and Gavina ran toward the keep. Though both would rather run out to their homes, neither was willing to risk the anger of their Laird in disobeying his orders. They hadn't known Aimil was his intended and to find out they'd been injuring the future Lady of the keep was a shock. They did not know if they would survive the night.

As the women ran off, Aimil looked at Iain. His breathing was harsh, his shoulders hunched as he appeared to wrestle with his control. Knowing that he would not hurt her, she walked to him and laid her hand upon his cheek.

"Easy, Iain," she whispered. Breathing deeply, Iain pulled Aimil close, his arms collapsing around her as his head bent down. If Catriona and Davina done as they'd intended, his love could have died.

"If I hadna come," he said lowly, his fear surfacing past the receding anger.

"Aye," Aimil responded. "Bu' you did come, my love," she countered. "I'm safe, Iain," she stated, snuggling into his chest.

"Marry me," he said, his voice still carrying a hint of desperation. "Please, love, doona make me live withou' you."

Aimil smiled and tightened her hold around his large frame, feeling her nerves skitter and her heart pound. Being a Lady came with risks that Aimil wasn't fond of, but she couldn't say no. The strong, wonderful man in her arms wanted her and her love for him refused to be denied.

"Aye, Iain," she responded.

"Tomorrow," Iain said, pulling back and cupping her face. Aimil's shocked laughter met him, but he didn't look away.

"Iain," Aimil began, only for him to bend to run his nose along hers.

"Please?" he asked. He'd never begged for anything, but she'd said yes to marrying him when he uttered the word and he'd do it a thousand more times if he got his way. Aimil's smile was tender as she nodded, her eyes soft.

"Aye."